Page 98 of Filthy Rich Brother's Best Friends

Eventually, he gives up and opens with work talk.

“How’s Miles’s ‘break year’ project going?”

“Depends on the hour,” I say. “Still figuring out how to stop the reminders from stacking when someone pauses mid-session.”

“Buggy?”

“Annoyingly so,” I say. “But we’ve seen worse.”

Wes nods. “I heard you’ve been taking on a lot of UX work.”

“Trying to keep it lean until he decides if this is something we’re actually launching or a very time-consuming hobby.”

We talk a little more about launch windows, beta feedback, someone we both know who got poached by another firm. It’s easy. Familiar. And absolutely not the reason he’s here.

“I saw Lola walking back from your place this morning.”

And there it is.

“Yeah,” I say, keeping my tone even.

“She was wearing one of your jerseys.”

“She spilled her coffee. Didn’t want to walk home soaked. Pretty sure she just grabbed the first thing she found in the dryer.”

He narrows his eyes but doesn’t say anything.

My head runs through every possible version of this moment. The fight. The fallout. Will he see through my lies? Does he know I’ve been half in love with his sister since she was a teenager?

“You want to tell me what’s going on?” he asks.

“She’s having a hard time, Wes. Between shit with her studio and her asshole roommates, she’s drowning.”

“You could’ve told me she was struggling.”

“Yeah, that would have gone over well. You know how Lola is.”

He doesn’t answer right away. I can feel him peeling back every layer looking for the lie. Deep down he knows the truth. He’s just not ready to accept it and I'm definitely not ready to tell him.

“She never asks for help, Reid. You and I both know that. You should’ve told me.”

“It wasn’t our place, Wes. She’s a big girl and if she doesn’t want to ask for your help, she doesn’t have to.” My hands curl around the bottle in my hand. “You would’ve taken over. You would’ve made decisions for her, then convinced her they were her own.”

His jaw ticks.

“She needed some support. Not someone to jump in and do everything for her,” I add, more quietly this time.

“And that’s what you’re doing?” he asks. “Supporting her?”

“That’s what I’m trying to do.”

“That's all you’re doing?”

If I lie, he’ll know. So, I avoid answering directly. “If you want that answer, askher.”

“I’m askingyou. You’re the one who’s been my best friend for ten years.”

Wes isn’t dramatic. He doesn’t throw history around unless he wants to remind you of what’s at stake. And this one hits exactly where he wanted it to.