Page 86 of Filthy Twisted Devil

“It wasn’t like that. He has a business deal with Wade, and they wanted to meet in person.”

“He could have flown Wade out here,” Brinley points out.

“You know Wade. He hates leaving the ranch if he doesn’t have to.” I push the elevator button. “Luke did me a favor, so I don’t mind helping him out.”

“You’re too nice to him,” Brinley says. It sounds like an accusation.

The elevator doors open, and we both step inside. I reach for the button for Luke’s floor, but Brinley grabs my wrist.

“Eden, I have to ask you something. I need you to promise to be completely honest.”

I freeze. That’s not the kind of question you can say no to, not to your best friend. “Of course.”

“I just have to ask. You and Luke. Is it still fake?”

Words sit at the tip of my tongue—denials that taste like dirt. I promised an honest answer, and it’s not something I want to deny, anyway.

“I don’t know anymore,” I say quietly.

Brinley doesn’t look surprised. She just nods grimly, like I’ve confirmed a truth she’s suspected for a long time. She lets me press the elevator button and sinks back against the elevator wall. In the mirrored wall, I can see her reflection staring at the ground, her expression unreadable. My heart thuds double time, and I feel slightly dizzy.

Thirteen years of friendship, and I can’t read her face. That’s how I know how badly I’ve screwed up—Brinley has never once been unreadable to me.

Did I just lose my best friend?

The elevator doors open, and we’re met with a buzz of activity. Our friends mill around the kitchen and the living room, chatting with doctors in white coats who I’m guessing are there for the birth. I don’t have time to work it out, because Brinley’s headed into the fray and I can’t let her go like this.

I grab her hand and pull her toward a hallway where I know a guest room sits. She doesn’t fight me. She just flatly asks me, “What do you want, Eden?”

I almost laugh, because the answer is so damning. I want Luke to have the same feelings for me that I do for him. I want Brinley to be happy for me. I want a fantasy that’s never going to turn into reality.

“Look, Brin, I don’t know how Luke feels, and I can’t speak for him. Maybe I’m saying all this for nothing, and it’s all going to collapse and burn. But I…I have feelings for Luke, and I think he might have them for me, too. But if Luke and I turn into something real, I’d need your blessing. If that’s not something you can give, then tell me. I’ll end the whole thing right now. Whatever you say, I’ll accept it.”

Even as I say it, my heart aches like I’m wrenching it into two pieces—Luke in one piece, Brinley in the other. I can’t give up the friend I’ve kept for thirteen years, who knows me better than anyone. The woman who generously let me into her apartment, with no moveout date and no rent. She saw the farm girl from the middle of nowhere and decided to make me her best friend.

God, I must be the worst best friend on the planet.

“Look, I'm glad you're finally being honest,” Brinley says. She sounds more tired than angry. “But I don't have an answer for you. I don't know how to tell you I approve of something I know is going to break your heart. I love you, and if this is really what you want…well, it’s not like I can talk you out of it. I just…I need time.”

She turns and walks into the party, heading right for the couch where Maura’s sitting with baby Hazel. Beau immediately comes to her side, like she exerts a natural gravity over him.

I’m left standing all alone.

36

LUKE

As far as Cat knows, she’s having a home birth with two doulas and Nate. In case of emergency, they’ll head to the hospital.

Because Nate conveniently forgot to mention that he transformed the poker room into a mini-hospital. All the medical equipment Cat could possibly need has been brought into the building. James even reluctantly let him use Maura’s industrial elevator to haul a portable MRI machine up to the penthouse. If anything goes wrong with the home birth, there’s a whole team of medical experts ready to swoop down and take charge.

Unfortunately for me, they’re all camped out in my apartment, where all my friends can either entertain or ignore them.

“So hypothetically, a tail transplant would be possible?” Ryan asks Dr. Rashid, a bearded surgeon in his late fifties.

“Hypothetically, perhaps,” Dr. Rashid says. “Practically, if you were transplanting a tail from an animal, your body would almost certainly reject the tissue, and you wouldn’t have the same control over the muscle, anyway. I suppose if you grafted human skin⁠—”

“Please, no skin grafting talk,” Pippa groans. “Ryan, you’re not getting a tail.”