His Best Friend

I take a cab back to the apartment I share with Ryan—the one he pays for while I scramble to cover groceries and utilities with my bookstore salary and the second I walk through the door I know I can’t stay here.

I can’t be here when he comes back from wherever the hell he’s been for three months.

I can’t have this conversation while standing in the living room of an apartment that’s never felt like mine.

I grab my duffel bag from the closet and start throwing things in without really thinking about what I’m packing—jeans, shirts, underwear, my toothbrush, phone charger.

Everything that matters fits in one bag.

That should tell me something about my life but I don’t have time to think about it now.

I check my bank account one more time even though I know what it’s going to say.

$200.37

Not enough for a deposit on a new place.

Not enough for anything except maybe two weeks of food if I’m careful.

And now I’m pregnant.

I zip the bag closed and sling it over my shoulder, and I’m halfway to the door when I stop and look around at this apartment one last time.

Two years of my life were spent here.

Two years of waiting for Ryan to come home from work, of eating dinner alone, of sleeping in a bed that felt emptier even when he was in it.

I should feel sad about leaving.

But all I feel is relief.

***

Jeremy’s building looks worse in daylight than I remember from that party six months ago—paint peeling off the exterior, cracked steps leading up to a door that doesn’t quite close all the way.

I climb three flights of stairs because there’s no elevator and by the time I reach his door my bag feels like it weighs a thousand pounds and I can barely catch my breath.

I stand there staring at the apartment number for a full minute before I can make myself knock.

What am I even doing here?

Jeremy is Ryan’s best friend, he’s probably going to call Ryan the second I tell him what’s going on, and then I’ll have nowhere to go and no plan and—

I knock before I can talk myself out of it.

Three sharp raps that echo in the empty hallway.

I hear footsteps on the other side, a lock turning, and then the door swings open and Jeremy’s standing there in a paint-stained t-shirt with his hair sticking up like he’s been running his hands through it.

His eyes go wide when he sees me.

“Cam.”

Just my name, nothing else, and hearing it—hearing him call me that, when Ryan only ever uses my full name like we’re in a business meeting—something in my chest cracks wide open.

“Hey,” I manage, and my voice comes out wrong, too rough.

He’s looking at me like he’s trying to solve a puzzle, taking in the duffel bag and probably the expression on my face. “What happened?”

“Can I come in?”

He steps back immediately, no hesitation. “Yeah, of course.”

His apartment is small and cluttered in a way that feels lived-in instead of messy—paint supplies scattered across the coffee table, an easel by the window with a half-finished canvas, books stacked in piles against the wall.

It smells like coffee and turpentine and something warm I can’t identify, I set my bag down.

“You want some water or something?” Jeremy asks, gesturing toward the kitchen. “Coffee?”

“Water’s fine.”

He disappears down the narrow hallway and I hear the tap running, the clink of glass against the counter, and I’m left standing there in the middle of his living room trying not to feel like I’m intruding on a life I have no right to be part of.

There’s a sketch pinned to the wall near the easel—charcoal on paper, rough lines forming the outline of a woman’s face that I can’t quite make out from this distance. Next to it, another one, this time of hands reaching toward something just out of frame.

“You’ve been painting a lot,” I say when he comes back with a glass of water.

“It’s how I think,” he says, handing it to me. Our fingers brush for just a second and he pulls back quickly like the contact startled him. “Helps me process things when my head gets too loud.”

I take a sip of the water even though I’m not particularly thirsty, I just need something to do with my hands.

“Sorry about the mess,” he says, moving a stack of sketches off the couch. “I wasn’t expecting company.”

“It’s fine.”

I stare down at the glass and he’s watching me with this careful expression, and I can see him holding back about a dozen questions.

“Is Ryan okay?” he asks finally.

“I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in three months.”

Jeremy goes very still. “Three months?”

“He left on a business trip. Sent one text saying he was busy. That’s it.”

“And you haven’t heard from him since?”

I shake my head.

Something shifts in Jeremy’s expression, something that looks like anger, and he turns away like he’s trying to get it under control.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I didn’t know. He didn’t tell me he was going anywhere.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“Still.” He turns back to face me. “What do you need, Cam?”

The question is so simple, so direct, and I wasn’t ready for it.

“A place to stay. Just for a few days while I figure things out. I can pay you back as soon as—”

“You don’t have to pay me anything.”

“Jeremy—”

“Seriously. You can stay as long as you need to.”

Relief floods through me so fast and complete I have to blink back tears.

I want to argue, want to tell him I can’t just impose on him like this, but the truth is I don’t have anywhere else to go and we both know it.

“The bedroom’s yours,” he continues, nodding toward the hallway. “I’ll take the couch. There’s not much space but it’s clean and the mattress is decent.”

“Jeremy, I can’t take your bed—”

“Yes, you can. It’s already decided.”

There’s no room for negotiation in his tone and part of me is too exhausted to fight him on it anyway.

“Thank you, I promise I won’t be in your way, I’ll pay you back as soon as—”

“Cam.” He cuts me off gently. “It’s fine. But you need to tell me what’s really going on.”

Before I can figure out how to answer that, my phone starts ringing in my pocket.

I pull it out and the name on the screen makes my hands start trembling.

Jeremy catches on fast.

“Cam?”

I decline the call and shove the phone back in my pocket but my pulse is hammering now and I can’t seem to catch my breath.

“What’s going on?” Jeremy asks, and there’s an edge to his voice now. “Was that him?”

“Yeah.”

“Are you okay?”

I open my mouth to answer—

Three loud knocks slam against the door.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Jer! Open the door!”

My blood turns to ice in my veins.

I know that voice.

It’s Ryan.