Sweet Twins For My Brother's Best Friend: An Enemies To Lovers Romance (The Sweet Twins Collection)

Chapter Thirty

Christopher

Hannah’s mother, Piper, stands at the door, her red hair full of static, stray hairs surrounding her head like a halo.

Her hair is a slightly duller color than Hannah’s, and her eyes are rimmed in thick eyeliner that settles into the creases of her skin.

In her arms is a massive bag of dog food, as though Hannah was planning on staying here forever.

Maybe she is. That wouldn’t be so bad.

“Christopher.” Her voice is serious and prim.

I’ve known her a long time, since Tyler and I were just young men, and she has never greeted me with anything other than a kiss on the cheek and a shoulder shake. To be served this frosty glass of disdain hurts.

“Hi, Mrs. Jackson. Come in, please.”

I open the door wider and wave her in, putting a smile on my face even though I don’t feel it. I feel a sick wave of anxiety instead, settling into my stomach.

Piper shoves the dog food into my chest and pulls her cardigan off to hang it on my coat rack before crossing her arms. “So. Where is she?”

“Who?” I ask jokingly, but the withering look she gives me straightens me out quickly and zaps me of whatever humor I had hoped to bring to the interaction.

“Sorry. She’s in the bathroom taking a test now.”

Piper looks up to the sky, her green eyes silently begging for help, recognition, something.

“This is a nice place you have here, Christopher,” Piper tells me, walking in circles.

She stops when she sees the small pile of pregnancy tests. “We haven’t seen you at the house in a while. Where have you been?”

I shrug anxiously. “Just. Busy. Life.”

“You have been busy, haven’t you?”

Hannah’s mother is shorter than she is and much shorter than I am.

She peers up at me. Despite her stature, she’s intimidating. I sense an anger within her that’s just waiting to be released.

Sighing, I sit on the couch. “I get it,” I tell her, pulling imaginary hairs off my shirt. “Busy. Ha ha.”

“Do you find this funny, Chris? Hannah might be pregnant, and she’s only just started her life.”

“I find this intimidation act funny. Come on, Miss Piper. You have known me since I was a little runt.”

She sighs and sits down beside me. Her fingers drum on her thighs. “I have. And you’ve been like family, but I can’t condone this.”

“Condone?” I ask, the word slipping from my mouth like a dirty word. It feels wrapped in fire in my mouth.

“What does that even mean? What can’t you condone? Me and your daughter being together?”

“You really did it this time, Chris. You have been in our lives for years. Why would you do this to Tyler?”

She spits out the words ‘do this’ like I hit the family dog with my car.

“What’s wrong with us being together? And…to Tyler? What have I done to Tyler?” I ask her, more harshly than I mean to.

Her head tilts at my tone, the look of a woman who is daring me to keep going. I resent the question.

What about Hannah? What about what I’ve done to Hannah? I took her virginity and maybe got her pregnant. Her entire life is on hold until we have answers, and her mother’s question is about Tyler?

I watch her green eyes, so much like Hannah’s, light up with excitement at my response.

“What did you do to him? How do you think Tyler would feel about this, Chris? You betrayed him.”

How will Tyler feel? Who cares how Tyler feels right now?

I laugh bitterly, throwing my head back. “Betrayed him? You’re joking, Piper.”

“Mrs. Jackson,” she corrects me through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Mrs. Jackson, there is no way you think this is a betrayal. I simply won’t believe it. You know me. I would never betray Tyler. He’s been the only constant in my life.”

I sit, comfortable in my own haughtiness, positive about my role and my morality, until Miss Piper asks, “Well, then I assume he knows about the two of you? Or, on second thought, have you lied to him about it?”

She must see something in my face because she crosses her arms triumphantly.

I run my tongue over my top teeth. Samantha. The invented woman to take the place of Hannah in my stories. Fine, so I’ve lied. But this still isn’t about him. Or me.

“I don’t care how Tyler feels right now, to be frank. I am worried about your daughter, who has done everythingng for everyone else and is probably very scared right about now. I am not worried about Tyler. I love Tyler, but this is not about him.”

“Of course this is about Hannah, but Tyler is your best friend. And he’s very protective of Hannah. You owe him your loyalty. You know he wouldn’t have approved of this.”

She isn’t backing down, but rather than convince me, it only ignites a deeper sense of protectiveness over Hannah’s experience.

I feel further and further from Tyler the more Mrs. Jackson brings him up.

“I did not betray Tyler. This isn’t the 1800s. Tyler doesn’t have any say over what Hannah does. I don’t have to ask his permission or his approval. Hannah is perfectly capable of making her own adult decisions.”

I realize I’m using Hannah’s earlier diatribe, but hearing my own words thrown back at me really sheds a light on how ridiculous the sentiment actually is.

“Hannah is her own person, a wonderfully capable person, who I will honor by respecting whatever decision she makes or, if she lets me, that we make together about our future and the future of this baby. Who, I might remind you, we’re not even sure yet exists.”

Mrs. Jackson opens her mouth to respond, although from the look in her eyes I can tell the response won’t be ‘You’re 100% correct, Chris, and you did nothing wrong.’

Before she can lay into me, the bathroom door opens and Hannah stands in the doorway, her face pale, her lips like two rose petals in a snowy bank.

“Hannah? Are you okay, baby?” Mrs. Jackson asks, standing up quickly and moving toward Hannah.

“Mom,” she whispers.

“What? What? Tell us.”

I let Mrs. Jackson gather Hannah’s head into her hands and pet her hair. She might have been ripping into me just moments ago, but she is being the mother to her daughter, and it’s clear when the two of them are together.

I desperately want to reach out and hug Hannah, but I leave the moment to them. “It’s okay, Hannah,” I tell her from the couch.

Her face leans onto her mother’s shoulder, but her eyes focus on mine. “Best two out of three.”

She holds up the three pregnancy tests, all three with either two lines or the word ‘pregnant’ in all caps, like the baby is screaming itself into existence.