Jett
Scarlett's hand finds mine, sending a ripple of warmth through me. Her fingers lace with mine, soft and reassuring. I want to savor this moment, to freeze time and live in it forever.
“You're quiet,” she says, tilting her head to look at me with those big eyes that see right through my bullshit. “Are you worried?”
Am I worried? Hell yes. My stomach's tied in knots, my palms are sweaty, and my heart's racing like I'm about to step on stage in front of thousands. But I can't let her see that.
The thought of facing Daniel, my best friend since childhood, with this newfound relationship between me and his sister, is both exhilarating and terrifying. We've been through everything together, from scraped knees to broken hearts. But this... this is uncharted territory.
I force a grin, determined to keep my fear in check around her. “Nah, can't wait. I've got a surprise for him.”
She arches a perfectly shaped brow.
“Relax, babe.” I tug her closer, brushing my lips against her temple. “It's a good surprise, I promise.”
Her skeptical look melts into a soft smile at the affectionate gesture. “If you say so.”
As we drive through the familiar streets of our hometown, memories flood back. The old oak tree where we built our first treehouse, the park where we spent countless summer afternoons, the convenience store where we'd spend our hard-earned pocket money to buy sodas and candy.
“Do you think we should have given him a heads-up?” Scarlett asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “This is kind of an ambush.”
I shake my head. “Nah, we agreed to keep it quiet, remember? Don't want to steal the spotlight from the happy couple.”
She nods, but I can see the doubt lingering in her eyes.
Houses I've known since childhood come into view on either side. Each house, each corner holds a story from our shared past.
Scarlett shifts in her seat, her excitement palpable. “There it is,” she breathes, pointing to Daniel's house.
The two-story colonial looks exactly as I remember it--white picket fence, neatly trimmed lawn, and the old tire swing still hanging from the massive oak in the front yard. How many summer days did we spend on that swing, laughing and dreaming?
I pull up to the curb, cutting the engine. This is it. The moment of truth with my best friend. My brother in all but blood.
Scarlett's already unbuckling her seatbelt but I move slower, prolonging these last moments before everything changes.
What if Daniel doesn't approve? What if this ruins our friendship? The weight of these questions sits heavy on my shoulders as we make our way up the familiar path.
I take a deep breath, squeezing her hand tighter as we reach the front porch. Before I can knock the door swings open.
“Hey, big brother,” Scarlett says breezily. “Surprise!”
Daniel's gaze zeroes in on our interlocked fingers, his face twisting with rage. “You piece of shit!” he roars.
Daniel's fist connects with my jaw in a sickening crack. White-hot pain explodes through my skull, lights flashing behind my eyes.
The force of the blow sends me staggering backward, my vision blurring. The world spins for a moment, and I have to brace myself against the porch railing to stay upright.
The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth, and I feel a sharp sting where my teeth have cut into the inside of my cheek.
I raise a hand to my throbbing face. “What the fuck?”
Confusion and hurt war within me. This is Daniel, my best friend, the guy who's always had my back. Why is he looking at me like I'm his worst enemy?
Scarlett's frozen in place, her eyes darting between Daniel and me, confusion written all over her features.
Daniel's on me again, gripping my shirt, shoving me backward until my spine slams against the wall. His chest is heaving, his grip on my shirt tightening. He looks like he's ready to kill me.
I open my mouth to try and reason with him, but he cuts me off, his arm rears back for another swing.
“Stop!” Scarlett cries, grabbing his arm. Her voice is shrill with panic, a sound I've never heard from her before. It cuts through the tension like a knife.
“You lying sack of shit,” he growls through gritted teeth. “How could you do this to Heather?”
I have no idea what he's talking about. “What does Heather have to do with this?”
“You got her pregnant and then cheated on her? With my sister?”
Heather? A baby? What the fuck? “What are you talking about?” I choke out, my jaw throbbing where he hit me.
Daniel shoves his phone in my face. “See for yourself, asshole.”
I pry his white-knuckled grip off my shirt and grab the phone. “Rock Star's Secret Scandal-ex-Girlfriend Miscarries Baby After Affair Pics Leak.”
The words on the screen swim before my eyes, each one a punch to the gut. My mind reels, trying to make sense of this nightmare. Heather pregnant? A miscarriage? An affair? None of this makes any sense.
My vision blurs as I scan the vile words, putting together the twisted lies. According to this trash article, I knocked up my on-again, off-again girlfriend Heather, only to cheat on her with Scarlett. The “stress” from the affair photos caused Heather to miscarry our baby.
What. The. Fuck.
Heather and I dated, but we broke it off. She was never pregnant, at least not with my kid. This is all bullshit. I'm used to the press making up lies about my personal life. But having my name tied to something as sickening as causing a miscarriage?
That's a new low.
It’s the photos that gut me. As I look at the pictures of Scarlett, her head thrown back in laughter, bile rises in my throat. We were grocery shopping for Christ's sake. How did something innocent become so twisted?
I shove the phone back at Daniel, disgust burning in my veins. “It's not true, man. You know me better than to believe that garbage.”
“Save it,” Daniel snaps. “I trusted you with my sister, and this is how you repay me?”
I look past Daniel to Scarlett. She's pale, her lips pressed into a thin line. I can see the questions and the doubt creeping in. I feel sick.
“Scarlett,” I plead, willing her to understand. “Those pictures in the article? They're from that day at the supermarket. Remember that guy who asked for a selfie?”
A flicker of recognition crosses Scarlett's face. “The one we argued about?”
“I told you about the paparazzi following me,” I insist, my gaze locked on Scarlett.
Scarlett's eyes widen with realization. “You got us trucker hats.”
“So what?” Daniel snarls. “That doesn't prove anything.”
I press on, desperate to make them understand. “That guy wasn't just a fan. He was probably the paparazzo who snapped those pics.”
“Don't listen to him, Scar,” Daniel interrupts, stepping between us. “He's just trying to manipulate you.”
I see the doubt lingering in Scarlett's eyes, but she's shrinking behind Daniel. It's like watching a wall being built between us, brick by brick, and Daniel's the one laying the mortar.
I reach out to bridge the gap between us. “Scar,” I start, my voice hoarse. “This isn't?—”
But before I can finish, Daniel tucks Scarlett behind him, his body a shield. The message is clear- you're not getting near her.
I recognize his anger for what it is—it's rooted in his love and fierce protectiveness of Scarlett. If our positions were reversed, wouldn't I do the same?
The realization doesn't make it hurt any less.
“Scarlett,” I croak, my weak voice sounding foreign.
“Don't you dare speak to her,” Daniel growls, his voice low and dangerous. “You've done enough damage.”
My gaze darts between him and Scarlett. Years of our friendship and all the trust we've built are crumbling before my eyes.
I'm drowning, gasping for air in a sea of misunderstanding. How did we get here? Moments ago, Scarlett and I were laughing, sharing secrets, and falling deeper into whatever this is between us. And now? Now I'm the villain in their story.
I can't lose them both over these vicious lies.
I open my mouth to try again, but Daniel is already turning away, his shoulders rigid. “You should go, Jett. Now.”
The words die in my throat. I swallow hard, tasting blood and shame. No explanation I give right now will change that.
With a deep breath, I shove past Daniel, and stride toward my car—his car—my wedding gift to him, my mind racing.
As I slide into the driver's seat, I catch a glimpse of them in the rearview mirror. Daniel, his arm protectively around Scarlett's shoulders. Scarlett, her face a mask of confusion and hurt. The image burns itself into my memory, fueling my determination to make this right.
As I start the engine, their gazes burn into me—Daniel's angry, Scarlett's bewildered. For a moment, I see a flicker of something—doubt? Hope? Whatever it is, it's gone in an instant, replaced by a guarded wariness.
The heartbreaking image sears itself into my mind as I pull away, the tires squealing in protest.
My mind races, formulating a plan. I know who to call, who to pressure to make this right. It isn't about clearing my name anymore. It's about protecting Scarlett from scandal and salvaging my friendship with Daniel.
I know exactly who to contact. My fingers fly over the phone screen, muscle memory dialing numbers I'd sworn I'd never use. It's amazing what you can do when your back's against the wall.
The news editor—that prick—the sleaziest man in the business answers gruffly. “Mitch Adams.”
“Jett Silver.” I cut straight to the chase, not bothering with pleasantries. “I need everything you've got on the Heather story. And I mean everything.”
There's a pause, then a chuckle. “That'll cost you.”
I grit my teeth. “Name your price.”
He names a figure that would make most people choke. To me, it's pocket change. “You've got a deal.”
As I hang up, a wave of exhaustion washes over me. This isn't how I wanted to spend the day before my best friend's wedding. I should be helping with last-minute preparations, joking around with Daniel, and stealing moments with Scarlett.
Instead, I'm alone in my car, desperately trying to undo a mess I didn't even create.
A couple of hours and a small fortune later, my phone pings. It’s the evidence I need—a video file from Mitch.
My hands shake as I click play. Heather's face fills the screen, her eyes puffy from crying.
“I'm sorry,” she sniffles. “There was no baby.”
It was all bullshit—no baby, no broken heart. Just a grab for fame and fortune. All this pain, all this destruction, over a lie.
Anger courses through me, hot and fierce. How could she do this? How could anyone be so callous, so selfish? The Heather I knew would never have stooped this low. Or maybe I never really knew her at all.
Just a grab for fame and fortune. All this pain, all this destruction, over a lie.
I've been sucker-punched, but there's another message from Mitch. My publicist orchestrated the whole thing. Sloane talked Heather into lying, and Sloane hired the paparazzo who stalked us.
The betrayal cuts deep. The person I trusted with my career and my image, who’s been there through thick and thin, always ready with a solution to any PR crisis. And now this? It's like the ground is shifting beneath my feet.
My mind races. If Sloane was behind this, could my manager, Gary be involved too? The thought makes me sick, but I need to know. I can't risk making another mistake.
I dial Gary’s number, my heart pounding as it rings. “Jett? What's going on?” He sounds groggy like he’s just woken up.
“Did you know?” I demand, not bothering with pleasantries. “About Sloane and the fake Heather story?”
There's a pause on the other end of the line. “Whoa, slow down,” Gary says. “What fake story are you talking about? What's going on?”
I take a deep breath and explain everything–the false pregnancy story, the paparazzi photos, and Sloane's betrayal.
Gary’s wide awake now, letting out a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. “Jesus. I had no idea about any of this. I swear to you.”
His reaction seems genuine. At least I still have someone I can trust.
“Okay, here's what's happening,” I tell him. “I'm firing Sloane and suing her and Heather for damages. I need you to handle the media fallout from this mess.”
“Got it,” Gary says, determination ringing in his voice. “I'll take care of everything on my end.”
As I hang up, I feel a bit steadier. It's not much, but it's a start.
I allow myself a moment of grim satisfaction, but there's one more thing to do. The hardest thing.
I've got the video ready to share online, but Daniel deserves to hear the truth from me first. I forward it to him with a simple message: “Meet me at the Four Friends bar.”
The damage is done—to my reputation, Daniel's trust, whatever was blossoming between Scarlett and me.
Losing her, losing them both, it's a physical ache in my chest. Will he believe me? Will Scarlett?
Scarlett. Her name echoes in my mind. Even if Daniel believes me, will she? Or have I lost her before I ever really had her?
The ball's in his court, but what if it's too late to fix what I've broken?
As I sit in my parked car, waiting for Daniel's response, I'm hit with a wave of nostalgia. The Four Friends bar, where we've shared so many laughs, celebrated victories, and nursed broken hearts. It seems fitting that this is where I'm making my last stand.
My phone remains silent, no response from Daniel. The uncertainty gnaws at me, but I cling to a sliver of hope. We've been through too much together for it to end like this. And Scarlett... God, Scarlett. The memory of her smile, her laugh, the way she sees right through my rock star facade - it's all I have to hold onto right now.
Whatever happens next, I know one thing for certain: I'm not giving up without a fight. On Daniel, on Scarlett, on us. Because some things are worth fighting for, no matter the cost.