Semua Bab In Love With My Best Friend’s Brother : Bab 81 - Bab 90

Jordan’s POV — The Knock at the DoorThe storm had rolled in without warning.Thunder cracked in the distance, the kind that made the whole house hum — or maybe that was just the way my chest felt when I opened the door and saw the ghost standing on the porch.My father.He wasn’t supposed to exist anymore — at least not in my world. I’d buried him years ago, the same day he packed his bags, slammed the door, and left behind a broken wife, a crying daughter, and a boy who had to grow up too fast.But there he was. Soaked, older, his once-broad shoulders sagging under a coat that looked a size too big. His hair had thinned, grey threading through the black, and his eyes — the same eyes I saw in the mirror every morning — were dull, rimmed red, and searching for something he didn’t deserve.“Jordan,” he said softly, like saying my name could undo the last ten years.My throat dried up. The storm didn’t help. The air was thick with rain and something else — anger, disbelief, a kind of gr

Jordan’s POV — The Man Who LeftThe diner looked exactly the same.Same flickering neon sign, same squeaky door hinges, same red leather booths that had seen better days. I used to come here with my dad on Sundays when I was a kid. He’d order pancakes and call me “champ,” and I’d pretend not to notice the smell of whiskey hiding under his breath.Now, sitting here, waiting for him to show up after all these years, all I could taste was metal, the sharp, bitter edge of old memories.I kept tapping my thumb against the table, trying to drown out the noise in my head. I told myself I didn’t care. That I was just doing this to end it.To prove to myself that I wasn’t twelve anymore.That he didn’t get to haunt me.But when the bell above the diner door chimed and he walked in , the world stopped anyway.He looked… smaller.Not the giant I remembered yelling in the kitchen, breaking things, breaking us. His hair had gone gray, and his clothes hung looser than I remembered. His eyes, God, h

Jordan’s POV — Morning LightI can’t remember the last time I woke up feeling… calm.The light spilling through my window is soft, gold around the edges, like the world decided to go easy on me for once.No hangover. No bad dreams. Just the faint ache of last night still sitting somewhere between my chest and my ribs.Miley.Her name alone feels like an exhale.The way she looked at me when I told her about my dad—it wasn’t pity. It wasn’t fear.It was… understanding.Like she’d seen the ugliest part of me and decided to stay anyway.That thought alone could ruin me in the best way.I toss on a hoodie and head downstairs. Scott’s already there, sprawled on the couch with a bowl of cereal balanced on his knee. He glances up when I walk in, eyes still glued to his phone.“Morning, lover boy,” he says without missing a beat.I groan. “Please don’t start.”“Oh, I’m starting.” He smirks. “Liv texted Miley last night. Said you showed up, had your little heart-to-heart moment. Cute. Very Nic

Jordan’s POVThe house was quieter than usual. Too quiet. Even with Liv in the living room humming to a random pop song, and Scott somewhere outside fixing his bike, the air still felt tense — like something was waiting to break.Jordan hadn’t been sleeping well. Not since that day. Not since his father had shown up again with that same nervous smile and an apology that barely held itself together. He hadn’t even told Miley what was really going on. She thought his distance was because of school stress or the upcoming regional showcase. It wasn’t. It was the past clawing its way back.He sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his phone. His father’s last message sat unread. “Please, Jordan. Just come talk to me.”He wanted to throw the phone across the room. Instead, he pressed his palms over his face and exhaled.He didn’t get to do this — not after years of silence. Not after he left him and Liv to deal with the chaos on their own.A knock came at his door.“Jordan?” Liv’s voice was

Miley’s POV The Call By the time Miley got home with Harry, the night sky had turned deep indigo. Their mum was waiting by the porch light, hands dusted with flour, the faint smell of banana bread spilling into the air. For a brief, golden moment, everything felt normal again — like the kind of evening you’d want to bottle up forever. Harry and her mum fell into easy laughter as they unpacked his things, teasing each other about who snored louder. Miley sat at the kitchen counter, smiling into her mug of cocoa. It was the first time in months that the house felt full again — warm, loud, alive. Later, when Harry went upstairs to unpack and her mum disappeared into her room with a stack of laundry, Miley lingered in the quiet kitchen. The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, and for once, she didn’t feel the need to rush off to the studio or drown herself in music. She was rinsing her cup when her phone buzzed on the counter. Jordan. Her heart did that small, famili