Page 130 of My Brother’s Best Friends Entanglement

He sighs, long and pained — fifteen years of friendship has taught me what that means: he's about to open up and he's not happy about it. “No. I've tried. A few times. She pulls away. Or suddenly remembers somewhere she needs to be.”

“Same,” I offer. “I don't like that she won't let us be there for her.”

He tucks the leggings into the bag and zips it up. “I think you can guess what's going on in her head.”

“Yeah. And it's exactly what I'm afraid of.” Not just that she's shutting us out, but punishing herself, like keeping us at arm's length is some penance she's decided she owes for lying to her brother. “It's going to get worse if she won't talk to anyone.”

“Give her time. She might be different once he's awake,” he says, his rare optimism worrying me almost as much as her detachment.

“She won't be the only one.” I rub a hand over my face. “Fuck, he does not look good.”

Rhys doesn't say anything. He puts the duffel bag down, crosses the room and hugs me, arms tight enough I feel the breath go out of me. His hand fists once in my shirt, like he needs the anchor too. Neither of us moves to end it first.

We're still standing there letting each other be our support when Marcus walks in.

“Are you —” He stops in the doorway, a giant box of protein bars under one arm, and looks genuinely wounded. “Hey! Did you two wait until I was busy in the kitchen to have a moment? I need a hug too, yaknow?”

I roll my eyes at him over Rhys's shoulder. “Get in here, then.”

He lets out a delighted sound — I want to say 'squeal' — and creates a gap with his body and wedges himself in, turning it into a three-way group hug, all elbows and complaints about feet being stepped on. None of us pulls away first.

“It's not the same without our fourth,” Marcus says into my shoulder.

I feel Rhys stiffen, before I say, “Is it seriously fucked up I don't know which Riley sibling you mean?”

Marcus sighs and then shakes his head. “No. It's why I didn't stipulate. I guess it was a test.”

“Well, I fucking failed it,” I say.

Rhys pulls back, searching my eyes for an answer I don't have — not one I'm willing to give. Finally: “I think I did too. Still don't know what that means. Which one did we fail?”

“Well, I think having this conversation means we've failed them both,” I reply, dropping my head onto someone's shoulder. I don't care whose. “How are we going to tell him?”

There's a collective shudder through the group hug, which has now lasted way too long. Rhys steps back, clearly at his limit for outward affection toward anyone who isn't Alexia.

Marcus lets out a whimpering noise, and I give him a little squeeze in consolation. In another life, he'd probably be some sort of pack animal.

“That's something we discuss with Alexia first,” Rhys says, peering into the toiletries bag I 'packed,' scrunching his nose before tipping everything out to repack. “She has to agree to him knowing before we figure out how.”

“You don't really think she'll want to hide it, do you?” Marcus says, flopping onto the bed. “You heard her. They don't hide things from each other.”

“Near-fatal car accidents aren't the same as 'so, hey, just thought you should know, all your best friends are fucking me,'” I contribute.

Marcus frowns. “That's not all we're doing here.” He flicks his eyes to us. “Not for me, at least. Can't speak for you two.”

Rhys gives him an insulted look but doesn't address it. “Regardless of what we're doing — or feeling — we're involved with his sister. Someone he's always said was off limits. How do you think he's going to take it?” He looks pointedly at Marcus. “You're not even that close with your sister — if one of us told you we were involved with Sophie, how would you feel?”

Marcus's jaw goes tight, and he doesn't argue.

“Bottom line,” Rhys says. “We have to talk to her.”

“But she's not really in the mood to talk right now,” Marcus says, turning over and burying his head in her pillow. “I mean, I feel like she's acting like I have a raging case of syphilis or something.”

I give Rhys a 'told you' look. “Yeah. If even this doofus has picked up on that, it's gotta be pretty damn obvious.”

“Hey, I pick up on things!” Marcus says, his voice muffled. Then he pushes off the bed with a groan. “Come on. Let's get back to her.” He grabs the bags and pauses at the door, the joking dropping off him. “For what it's worth, Leon's what matters right now. We need that fucker to wake up.”

Nobody argues with that either.