Page 59 of Vegas with my Ex’s Best Friends

Andrew still doesn't know. That's the part I've been circling since I woke up.

Every version of this ends differently.

In one, he walks out.

In another, he shuts down—polite, controlled, unreachable.

In the worst one, he stays.

Not because he wants to.

Because he feels obligated.

I spent twenty minutes in my bathroom going over what Ethan would say. Simple and factual. The version that lands cleanest. Twenty minutes didn't make it easier to hear in my own head.

Ethan, Liam, and I sit at the kitchen table. Just the three of us and the city waking up outside the windows.

My hands won't stay still. I press my palms flat against the table like that might stop the shaking.

Liam's knee brushes mine underneath—barely there, a reminder that I'm not alone. I don't move away. Neither does he.

Ethan stays perfectly still on my other side, but I feel him tracking everything.

The door swings open harder than usual.

Andrew comes in the way he always does—earbuds in one hand, shoes held by the heel in the other, slightly damp along the collar. He's already reaching for the cabinet where the glasses are before he actually looks at us.

Then he looks up. Stops short.

“Sit down,” Ethan says.

Andrew's eyes go straight to mine.

I don't look away.

He pulls out the chair across from Ethan and sits.

Ethan's voice stays steady.

“Eight weeks,” he says. “Bloodwork confirmed. We've already scheduled the follow-up.”

Ethan keeps his voice flat, clinical. Exactly the way I'd practiced hearing it.

Andrew doesn't interrupt, doesn't ask questions. His fingers curl slowly against the edge of the table, knuckles whitening one notch at a time. His jaw tightens halfway through whatever Ethan is saying. He looks down once, just once, like if he looks too long something inside him might break.

When Ethan finishes, the room goes quiet. My stomach drops when Andrew doesn't move toward the door.

For a long second he just sits there, shoulders tight, like he's physically holding himself in place. His gaze flicks to Liam, then to Ethan, then back to me. Something raw crosses his face, gone before I can name it.

He walks toward me.

Liam shifts slightly behind me, his heat pressing in at my back.

Andrew crouches down in front of my chair so he's below eye level, looking up at me, arms resting on his knees.

Up close, I can see it now. The thing I couldn't read from across the table. His hands, resting on his knees, are not quite steady.

“How are you feeling?” he asks. His voice is careful the way it gets when something matters too much.