Chapter Nine
Brittany
Three weeks of living out of a suitcase, and now I’m packing up to leave again. The apartment hunt took less time than I expected, but I’m not complaining.
The sooner I get my own place, the sooner I can start rebuilding my life.
“So, I’ll have movers bring the rest of your things to you later today,” Parker says as I grab my last bag and drop it on the floor by the entryway. “That should give us enough time to move what you have here and get settled.”
“Are you labeling that one ‘Miscellaneous’ or ‘Random Crap’?” I ask Parker, who’s meticulously writing on a box with his perfect block lettering.
“Has it occurred to you that proper organization might help you function better in life?”
“Has it occurred to you that you might be a control freak?” I counter, tossing a throw pillow at him.
He catches it without looking. “You know, for someone who’s lived here less than a month, you’ve somehow managed to get dust everywhere. I didn’t even know I had dust.”
“It’s a gift,” I say. “I bring chaos and particles wherever I go.”
I smooth out my jeans and glance out of Parker’s floor-to-ceiling windows, seeing the overcast skies. “I hope it doesn’t rain on us.”
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Parker says with a shrug. “It rained on me twice while moving. I almost think Mother Nature enjoys watching me suffer.”
I raise my brows. “Are you ever positive?”
“I’m positive that Weston needs to hurry up,” he says, checking his phone. Then, more casually, “Have you told Dad yet about your new place?”
I nod. “I texted him this morning—gave him a brief synopsis of everything that’s happened. He texted me back and said that we’d have to get lunch sometime.”
Parker stills. Just barely, but I catch it.
“Okay,” he says flatly. Which is exactly how he always sounds when it comes to our dad. “Well,” he adds after a beat, rocking back on his heels, “that’s … something.”
I frown. I don’t know why it still surprises me how complicated he is about our dad—about both our parents, really.
I mean, I get it. Growing up in a house where money was always tight, voices were always raised, and doors were always slamming, does things to you.
Their divorce wasn’t quiet, or civil. Or anything close.
It was years of fighting, custody schedules, bitterness, and us stuck in the middle, trying to pretend it was normal.
Then Mom started dating. A lot. New men, new apartments, new promises that never lasted. Dad stayed angry. Tired. Working himself into the ground and carrying a chip on his shoulder about what he couldn’t give us.
It wasn’t exactly a recipe for emotional stability.
But he showed up. In his own imperfect way, he did.
“He’s trying,” I say carefully.
Parker drags a hand over his mouth, then gestures toward the windows. “It’s a long way.”
The comment catches me off guard. “What is?”
“From here,” he says. “You’re moving a long way from here.”
Oh.
I tilt my head. “You know I’m not moving to another country, right?”
He gives a short huff. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
I soften. “I’ll still come visit you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“I’m not worried,” he says immediately.
Which, of course, means he is.
I smile. “You hate change almost as much as Dad hates spending money.”
“That’s not true,” he says. “I hate change more.”
I laugh, and he rolls his eyes, but there’s something quieter underneath it. Something familiar. The same thing he’s always carried—the need to hold things steady, because nothing ever was.
The doorbell rings before either of us can say anything else.
Parker moves for it a little too quickly.
I know he’s dodging the conversation. He always does.
But my annoyance fades the second the door opens and Weston steps inside. He’s wearing a hoodie, jeans, and Converse, and I have to admit the look is quite different from his norm.
But I like it.
“Well, are we ready to get this show on the road?” Weston rubs his hands together, his eyes bouncing between the two of us. “Neither one of you looks all that happy.”
“You know my brother.” I snort. “I don’t think he’s ever been happy.”
“Not true,” Weston counters, shooting Parker a mischievous grin. “I think there’s this lady who makes him pretty happy. He’s just still in denial.”
“Why won’t you just let it go?” Parker snaps, his usual grumpiness now in full-blown annoyance. “It’s not what you’re making it out to be, and you know it.”
I clear my throat, deciding it’d probably be best to move past this. “It’s time to get moving. I’d love to grab a coffee on the way.”
Weston meets my gaze, a smile tugging at his lips. “I love the idea of getting a coffee on the way.” The intensity of his gaze leaves my stomach doing a flip-flop, but I chalk it up to moving-day nerves.
“Let’s finish loading all this stuff up, and then we can head over. If you want, you can ride with Brittany? I don’t have any extra space,” Parker instructs, grabbing an armload of bags. Weston picks up the only box left, and I grab my overnight bag.
“Got everything?” Weston turns to me, using his foot to hold open the door as Parker moves out into the hallway.
I nod. “I think so. I mean, if I do forget something, it’s not like I can’t come back.”
“Well, I wouldn’t give your brother that much credit,” Weston teases. “He might play the finders-keepers game. Then you’ll never get it back.”
“I doubt anything I own would be seen as valuable to my brother.” I burst into laughter, cackling a little harder as Parker gives me the stink eye from the elevator.
“I know you guys are talking about me.” He grunts, using his knuckle to smash the ground-level button. “I’ve given up on the idea that you two talk about anything other than me.”
“Wow.” I giggle. “Self-absorbed much?”
“Just a little,” Weston chimes, nudging Parker as the elevator starts its descent. It’s a quick ride down, and it doesn’t take long before we’re all cramming what’s left of my stuff into the back of our cars.
“Yeah, you’re gonna have to ride with her.” Parker steps back, his car loaded down. “I didn’t realize how much stuff she’d acquired.”
I shrug as Weston laughs. “I just kept grabbing things from storage.”
“Yeah, and it shows,” Parker mutters, and then gives us both a nod. “I’ll meet you guys over there. And please don’t take too long getting coffee.”
“Got it.” Weston salutes him.
Parker makes a face. “I don’t know why you do that.”
“I don’t know why you don’t.” Weston’s tone is goofy to the point that I can’t help but laugh. My brother and his best friend are nearly polar opposites, and my brother has no idea that he is not the fun one.
Or maybe he does know.
“See you there,” I call after Parker as he disappears into the driver’s side of his car.
Weston gives me a smirk as he opens up the passenger door. “I hope you’re a better driver than your brother.”
I roll my eyes. “I think a three-year-old toddler is a better driver than my brother. He’s seriously terrifying to ride with.”
He chuckles, plopping down into the seat. He grabs for the seatbelt and buckles himself in while I start the car and back out of the parking spot. “So, coffee?”
“Absolutely.”