Blurred Lines: A Reverse Harem, Dad's Best Friends Romance (The Why Choose Haremland)

31. Finn

After the party ends, I dont hang back. I can see the tiredness in Caelebs eyes. He needs to get some sleep, and if Im being blunt, all of us do.

How do we handle this? Silas asks gruffly, never one for softer sentiments. Do we just … never contact her again, even though shes in the damn town?

Caeleb rubs his face wearily. Ugh. Why is it so complicated with her? Why didnt she just tell us shes pregnant?

I look into the distance. Im not sure. But I have a feeling it has something to do with Harvey.

Caeleb releases an exasperated grunt. Yes, because everything leads back to him.

I shrug as we begin walking to the front of Caelebs home. Look, Im not saying she did the right thing by not telling us any of it. All Im saying is that she likely felt wed be asshole dads.

Or, wed argue between ourselves about whose kid it is, Silas butts in, voice frayed.

Hell, that possibility hadnt actually occurred to me. Why the hell would we do that? I ask blankly. Its … its her baby. We—to be a dad when I never?—

I stop talking because the emotions that are taking control over me right now are just too much. I never got the chance to be a father. And I sure as hell wouldnt let go of this chance to be a parent based on something so frivolous as who the real dad is. So far as Im concerned, all of us are involved in this.

Its our fault, if you think about it, Caeleb intones. We didnt have this conversation.

We didnt consider it a possibility, Silas counters. She said it would never happen, remember.

Dont be bitter, I say reasonably, patting Silass shoulder. You sound like a jackass right now. She probably didnt think it would be possible either, which is why she was guarding the secret like her life depended on it.

Oh, Silas says, voice dropping to a mumble. Didnt think of it that way.

I sigh and look at my car. Lets just go home and let Caeleb sleep. Come over to my place in the morning, both of you.

Why? Silas scowls. Its Sunday, Im sleeping in.

No, I say, giving him the stink eye. We have work to do.

Silas mutters something about me being an asshole and walks to his car. I grin at his retreating form.

Youre thinking of going to the mansion, says Caeleb, eyes fixed on my face.

I shake my head impassively. Im thinking about sleeping. The rest will fall into place in the morning.

The moon hangs low, a silent witness in the ink-black sky as I make my way back home. The streets are deserted, only cars and the distant ocean humming against the chirping of crickets. Its late, later than I usually prefer, but the night holds a tranquility Ive grown to appreciate. My thoughts drift to Emily, to the tumultuous sea of our past interactions, and how against all odds, I find myself at peace.

Theres a healing in understanding oneself, in acknowledging the strength buried beneath layers of grief.

Unlocking the door to my dwelling, the familiar scent of aged wood and lingering spices welcomes me. I discard my jacket, the fabric whispering against the back of a chair, and make my way to the bedroom.

Ill think about everything tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow is best.

I sleep quicker and easier than Id thought possible. Morning arrives too soon, painting the sky in hues of gold and lavender. I wake up and potter to the kitchen to make myself a cup of tea. The kettles soft whistle breaks the silence, and I move with a practiced grace. Tea leaves, a hint of cinnamon, and a splash of milk merge in the cup, the steam rising like prayers whispered in the dark.

I wrap my hands around the warmth, the porcelain almost burning against my skin, a pleasant reminder that Im here, alive, and somehow thriving. I close my eyes, letting the heat from the first sip seep into my bones, chasing away the remnants of last nights chill. Its as if Im stitching the frayed edges of my soul back together, one sip at a time.

Once the last sip is done, I make the calls and summon the men. They both come, although Silas still looks like he could take great pleasure in pummeling me as I say what I want us to do.

Im not going to the mansion, he barks, his eyes narrowed and angry. Im not getting involved in this mess.

Youre very angry, I observe calmly.

No shit, Sherlock, he almost shouts. Do you not see what shes done to us? How can you?—

Because I still love her. And so do you. And she needs our help right now. And she is carrying our baby.

Silas stops talking. He drops his face between his palms and lets out a groan. Damn this to hell.

Caeleb pats his back. Lets go, man. Theres no fighting this.

Fine, he finally mutters. But when everything goes south like it will, dont you dare blame me.

We head to Emilys in fifteen minutes. The sun is softer today, still veiled behind a thin sheet of gray clouds. As we pull up in the driveway, I see her out in the garden, a book in her hand. She sees us coming and her face goes dark.

What are you doing here? she asks, her tone jagged.

Weve come to help find the treasure, I say calmly. And before you make a big show and tell us you can do it without us, Ill save you the trouble by saying we already know that. We know you can do everything on your own, that youve fought and won your wars by going solo. We respect that, hell, thats one of the reasons we?—

I falter for a second. Its not about your independence here. We came because we want to be of use, to make this a little easier for you, even if we dont really need to. If you still dont want our help, say the words and well be out of your hair.

Emily looks at all three of us, her eyes somehow entirely unreadable. I see her lips tremble. Then, she stands up from her chair. Thanks. I could do with the help. Do you want something to eat first?

Work first, food later, I say, trying to keep the grin off my face. A faint flush colors Emilys cheeks, a touch of pink against the lingering paleness. Small victories, I suppose.

Silas huffs behind me, but a hint of the usual fire is missing from his eyes. I catch Caeleb shooting him a relieved look. Progress, however slow, is still progress.

Emily nods, a determined set to her shoulders as she leads us through the labyrinthine corridors of her extravagant mansion. My boots scuff the polished marble floors, the echo a stark contrast to the tense silence that stretches between us. We quickly step back outside and head to the library. The familiar scent of old paper and leather washes over me as we step through the doorway. Emily points towards the towering bookcase, her voice barely above a whisper. Is that the one?

I nod and point to the book that hides the passageway. Emily pulls it out slowly, almost reverentially. Like the last time, the room that never was looms ahead. I hear her intake a sharp breath. All the years I lived here, she mumbles to herself. I never knew.

My heart suddenly hurts for her. How little she knew her own father, all because of his past, his demons, his heartaches. I silently vow to never repeat this.

Alright, lets get to it then, Caeleb says, his tone matter-of-fact.

An awkward dance of avoidance ensues. We follow Emily across the chamber. Years of neglect have left a fine layer of dust on everything, but even so, the opulence is undeniable. Sunlight filters through a narrow slit high in the wall, casting a spectral glow on the treasures stashed within. My breath hitches when I see it: a delicate, antique dresser tucked into an alcove. Its porcelain handles are shaped like blooming roses, a stark contrast to the harsh stone of the room.

This was my grandmothers, Emily says, her voice hushed as she runs a fingertip over the smooth wood surface. Shed spend hours here, brushing my hair, telling me stories.

A small, ornate key rests on the dresser top, glinting dully in the dim light. Emily picks it up, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. I didnt even know this was here.

Her gaze settles on a large, weathered chest of drawers standing against the far wall. Hope flickers in her eyes as she cautiously crosses the room and inserts the key into a tarnished brass lock. With a rusty groan, the lock gives, and she tentatively pulls open the top drawer.

An involuntary gasp escapes my lips. Instead of stacks of linens or disused silverware, the drawer is filled with neatly folded childrens clothes. Silken dresses, delicate bonnets, and tiny, embroidered shoes.

Oh my God, Emily breathes, reaching inside with trembling fingers. She lifts a faded blue dress, its fabric soft and worn with age. I remember this. She runs a finger over the intricate lace trim, her eyes misting over. It was my absolute favorite. My mother made it for my sixth birthday.

For a moment, the strong, independent Emily fades away, replaced by a little girl clinging to a memory of simpler times. My chest aches with a mix of sadness and a fierce protectiveness.

Lets see what else is in here, Caeleb says gently, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. He understands, on some level, the significance of this discovery.

Together, we sift through the drawers, uncovering a trove of childhood treasures. A chipped wooden doll with mismatched eyes, its painted smile a testament to countless hours of play. A small, battered music box that still plays a tinny, haunting melody.

As we reach the bottom drawer, Emilys hand stills.

There, like a forgotten treasure, is a small, metallic safe.

Youve got to be kidding me, Silas mutters, a rare flicker of amusement in his eyes.

Emily looks like she might faint. How on earth are we supposed to open that? she asks, panic rising in her voice.

Combination lock, I observe, tracing the cold metal with my fingertips. Numbers, probably a date. Your birthday?

Caeleb shoots me a knowing look. Ive always been good at remembering dates, the useless facts sticking in my brain like stubborn burrs. Emily nods hesitantly, and with trembling fingers, spins the dials.

The click as the lock disengages is shockingly loud in the silence. With a deep breath, Emily swings the safe door open. She reaches inside, her hand disappearing into the darkness for a heart-stopping moment before reemerging with a bundle wrapped in faded velvet cloth.

She unwraps it on the dusty floor, revealing an exquisite tapestry. Threads of gold shimmer in the dim light, intricate designs swirling into scenes of what looks like a mythical kingdom. The air crackles with a sense of forgotten magic, of secrets whispered through centuries.

But what catches my eye the most is the picture woven into the center. A father, presumably, with his daughters holding each of his hands, trailing behind an old woman.

Emilys breath hitches. She moves a careful finger over the art, her eyes full of mist.

My gosh, Silas murmurs. Its beautiful.

A smile begins to bloom on my lips, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, weve found a way to help Emily take back control. The moment shatters with the force of a hurricane.

What the hell do you think youre doing in here?

The shout sends a shiver down my spine. We whirl around to find Verona standing in the doorway, her face contorted in fury. Jealousy burns in her eyes, a wildfire threatening to consume everything in its path.

Emily pales. Verona, what are you?—

What am I doing? What are YOU doing? Verona spits back, her voice rising with each accusation. Snooping through family heirlooms? Desecrating this room with those grubby little paws?

Caeleb steps forward, his protective instincts flaring. Its her house, her room. She can do whatever she damn well pleases.

You stay out of this! Verona hisses, but her eyes never leave Emily. This isnt yours anymore. You gave up this life, turned your back on everything when you went running off.

Emily flinches, and I see the flash of hurt in her eyes. My hands clench into fists. I swore to myself Id stay cool, focus on helping Emily. But this woman, this bitter viper, is testing the limits of my resolve.

Listen here, Silas barks out. Get your sorry ass?—

SILAS! Emily cuts in, her voice sharp. Stop it. Its pointless.

She turns to Verona, her expression unreadable. What do you want?

Verona smirks, something cruel behind her eyes. Thats better. I just wanted to see what you were so desperate to hide. Funny, that Harvey would leave this for you when he never gave you the time of day while he was alive. Seems a bit … suspicious, dont you think? I wonder what else I can find here.

She looks around the room greedily.

Emilys jaw tightens. Theres nothing to find here. Now leave us alone.

Oh, I dont think I will, Verona replies, a wicked smile playing on her lips. I think Ill stay right here and watch while your precious little friends help you dig your own grave. On the subject of open graves, do you have reception?

A frown begins to form on my forehead. I check my phone and find that I have two bars. I nod imperceptibly. I do, I mouth to Silas and Caeleb. Emily squares her shoulders. Why do I need reception? To call the cops on you?

You may well do that, she says, with unmistakable glee in her eyes. But Id check your social media news feed first.

My heart sinks. What does she have on us? Why do I know it cant be good?

Emily fishes out her phone and opens her socials. She checks the news feed. I see her eyes widen. I have to know. Wordlessly, I extend my hand to her, hoping she will tell me.

She doesnt speak, but she hands me her phone. There, the first picture, is one of her and Caeleb. Its been blurred, but the forms are unmistakable. Theres more. Theres also a picture of the three of us with her in the movie hall. Our looks, our stances, the way we were sitting—all of it paints us in an unflattering light.

My eyes fall on the caption as I open the second picture to get a better look.

Seriously, take a look at the hot mess societys become. Weve got young influencers, who could actually inspire people to, I dont know, plant a tree or something, choosing instead to juggle not just one but three guys old enough to be her uncool uncles.

Everyone thought Emily Martin was going to be different, right?

Shes all about doing the right thing and standing up for whats real—except, apparently, when it comes to her own love life. Turns out, shes just another headline waiting to happen, mixing pleasure with a questionable choice in company. So much for high moral standards.

Guess its easier to preach than to practice, or in her case, easier to switch from moral high ground to just … high drama.

Emilys tone is thick now, heavy with either anger, misery, or both. I need all of you to leave. That includes you, Verona. Get out or Im going to claw your eyes out of your head and pin them to my fridge. You may like that. Itll help you stalk me better.

Maybe its her voice, the rage in her eyes, or the way she looks like she means what she says. All of us pool out of the room and leave, one by one. Verona is the first to run.