Undeniably Enemies: Chapter 11

“This is so not the place I thought you were going to pick,” Sorel says, shoving a handful of popcorn straight from the bag into her mouth as we meander around furniture pieces.

“How come?”

“It’s fancy.”

“My mom picked it.” I glance around. “Too fancy for me?”

She shrugs. “No. It’s great. Just a little modern for your taste. Or compared to what I saw in your apartment.”

“The couch I currently have is not only my parents’ old one, but it won’t fit right in my new space.” I drop down onto one and immediately bounce back up. Too stiff. And yeah, a bit modern.

“Right. I’m sure we’ll find you something, but couches can take a while to be delivered. When do you move again?”

“Wednesday,” I tell her with a grimace. I didn’t really think about that. “I kind of suck at adulting.”

“All doctors do. We spend our entire lives in school, and once we’re at the top of the food chain, we then have to learn how to be adults. In our thirties.” She takes in the store around us. “Hmm. Okay,” she garbles around more popcorn. “We’ll find you something great. Something you. Are your mom or sister meeting us here? As much as I love hanging out and am honored you chose me as your shopping buddy, your mom and Estlin have impeccable taste.”

“You have impeccable taste.”

She arches a challenging eyebrow. “I believe we’ve already discussed this.”

“Yes. They’re meeting us here in about ten minutes or so.”

Relief flashes across her face. “Good. That should help since I haven’t seen the space yet.”

“Estlin hasn’t either. Only my mom has.”

She drops down onto a deep sofa I would kill for, but not only is it too expensive, it’s too big. Her feet kick up on the coffee table, and she continues to eat.

“Good stuff.” She pats the space beside her. “Let’s wait for them.”

I come and sit beside her, then steal a piece of her popcorn.

“Excuse me, do you and your wife need any help?” a sales associate asks in a sharp tone.

“No, thank you,” I reply, holding in my laughter. “Not yet. We’re waiting on a few other people.”

“Of course.” She offers us a fake smile before pointedly glaring at Sorel. “But there is no eating here.”

“Right.” Sorel crumples up the top of the bag. “My apologies.”

The woman gives us a snide sniff and walks off. Both Sorel and I crack up, and I nudge her with my elbow. “You got reprimanded.”

“I totally did!” she exclaims, laughing harder. “See what I mean about the adulting thing? And she thinks I’m your wife. Your pregnant wife. I do look pregnant now, right?”

I glance down at her stomach. “Yes. I’d think you were, but as a man, we’re trained never to be stupid enough to ask a woman. Speaking of, how’s your fake husband?”

Sorel huffs and nudges me back with her elbow before she glances around to make sure that the coast is clear and reopens the bag to steal a piece of popcorn. “He’s fine. He’s great, actually. Everything is amazing with us now and all sorted out. Well, except for the fake marriage part. That’s a whole other bag of popcorn I don’t have the energy to get into right now. Where are you moving again?”

“Commonwealth.”

She twists to face me, her eyes wide, and I hold up my hand to stop her.

“Owen already told me that Wren lives there. It’s not the same building.” I’m positive of it, though I didn’t follow up with him about it, and I refuse to ask her.

“You already know this?”

I shrug. “Not for sure, but it’s Wren, and she’s a Fritz princess.”

Sorel gives me an unimpressed look. “I’m a Fritz princess.”

“Exactly. You’re a billionaire heiress who lives in a huge penthouse. You just proved my point.”

“It was Mason’s penthouse before I moved in. I lived in a three-story walkup before that.”

I shake my head. “Doesn’t count. You hated that place and didn’t pick it out. That was all your ex. Your grandparents live on a compound. Owen’s house is a freaking mansion. Stone lives next to Mason in a similarly enormous penthouse. Keegan and Kenna have a giant place. Your people don’t live in average-sized one-bedroom apartments in brownstones.”

“Umm… yeah, we do, Mr. Judgy. Wren does.” Her eyes widen as she emphasizes that to nail her meaning.

My stomach drops, but I quickly dismiss it. “That’s Dr. Judgy, and it’s not the same building. That would be improbable.”

“But not impossible. I don’t remember her building number, but maybe you should check with Owen. I think it was near Exeter. Or was it Berkley? Shit, I can’t remember now. This pregnancy is destroying my brain.”

I shake my head. I own my condo. I just bought it. It’s the first good thing that’s truly mine that no one can take from me, and I’ve worked my ass off for it. I refuse to allow Wren Fritz to enter into that at all. There is no way that spoiled princess lives in my building. No way.

“Speaking of…” Her eyebrows bounce suggestively, and I already know where this is headed. “How are things with my little cousin?”

“Which one?” I quip. “You only have ten thousand.”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Spill the tea before Estlin gets here.”

Estlin and Wren are good friends and have become closer since Estlin moved back home a year ago. And since Estlin is engaged to my best friend, I unfortunately have to suffer through Wren more than I’d like when I hang out with them.

“I want to know how things are with you and Wren,” she continues. “I didn’t see much action today, which frankly was disappointing.”

I toss my arm around her shoulder and covertly steal more popcorn. “That’s because there’s nothing to tell.”

She scoffs and takes more popcorn for herself. “You’re such a liar.”

“You’re her cousin.”

“I’m your friend,” she argues, looking hurt as if I’d keep things from her based on that. “I promise. It’ll stay between us.”

I know it will. It’s why I talk to Sorel. I trust Owen with everything in my life except this because I can’t talk to him about this. I can’t talk to anyone about this, and it’s been eating at me for far too long. Maybe that’s what I need to expel Wren from my system once and for all. A good purging.

I throw her a warning look. “Remember, I did the pregnancy dipstick on your urine. That’s true friendship.”

She rests her head on my shoulder. “Best friendship. I mean it. I’m a vault.”

“You can’t react.”

“Okay.”

“I slept with Wren.”

She gasps, and her head shoots up, her eyes wide and her lips puckered, making her look like a goldfish.

I point at her. “You told me you wouldn’t react.”

“Shit. Right. Sorry.” She drops her head back to my shoulder. “But you can’t drop that on me and expect me not to react. How? When? Give me all the details.”

“It was a long time ago. I was still in LA, and she was… fuck, she was only a college kid. I didn’t know it was her. We were at a masked Halloween party at some Hollywood producer’s house. We shared this crazy drink.” I pause here, debating if I should tell her what the drink was called or the lore behind it, and decide that’s not important since it was all bullshit. “One thing led to another, and I… god, Sorel, I took her virginity. I didn’t know,” I quickly continue when I feel her stiffen against me. “We, well, we started, and I saw she was in pain, and that’s when she told me. I pulled off her mask and freaked out when I realized it was her. But…” I trail off because this is the bad part. The worst part. The part that still haunts me.

“But?” she prompts when I don’t finish that.

“But even after I realized it was her”—I blow out a strained breath—“I didn’t stop.”

“Jack.”

“I should have,” I rush out before she can say anything. “I know that. I fucking know that. I’ve felt nothing but guilt and regret since. I hurt her, and I did it all wrong, and she’s Owen’s little sister. Anyway, it didn’t end well. She stormed off, and I didn’t follow after her.” Another regret. “Now she hates me, and I hate her. It’s easier that way.”

“Because you like her,” she states matter-of-factly.

I shake my head adamantly. “I don’t. I can’t stand her.”

She sits up and levels me with a dubious expression, and I hate how part of me squirms at that. “Uh-huh. You know you can’t lie to me, right?”

“What do you want me to say? Where does admitting anything get me?”

“Say whatever you want, but you have tension.”

I throw her a side-eye. “Tension?”

“Yes. Tension. The kind you feel under your skin and thrumming through your veins. The not-so-innocent kind. We all see it. We just didn’t know what it was about.”

My breath stalls. “Does Owen see it?”

She snorts. “Owen is a guy, and he’s clueless. Women see it. Not men. Clearly.” She pans a hand over to me.

“It doesn’t matter,” I defend. “Nothing will happen with us again. Not ever. She hates me, and she’s hardly my favorite person either. That works just fine for us.”

I don’t mention the texting thing. I don’t think Wren will text again and I’m going to treat it like it never happened.

“Wren’s been through a lot, Jack. I know you say you don’t like her, but just don’t be too rough on her.”

I open my mouth to ask what she’s referring to when my mother’s voice sings out through the store.

“We’re here. I’m sorry we’re late. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”

My mother comes over with Estlin at her side, and I stand to give them both a hug. Sorel does the same because my family has known the Fritz family forever.

“Owen and Rory are around the corner having an ice cream,” Estlin explains. “They want to see your place after this.”

“Great!” I smile. “Let’s find me a sofa first.”

It doesn’t take us long to do that. Not even ten minutes into this, my mother and Estlin declare the perfect sofa is the light gray leather one. It’s in my budget and will fit in my new place, so it’s a win. Sorel even works some Fritz magic and somehow discovers they have one in stock in their warehouse. They’ll deliver it next Thursday, which couldn’t be more perfect.

Owen and Rory are waiting for us outside, and Rory comes racing over to give me and Sorel a big hug.

“Careful, Rory,” Owen states. “You just had⁠—”

Rory lurches, and before she can throw up on Sorel, I grab her by the waist, spin her around, and she splatter paints the side of a building with brown liquid.

“—ice cream,” he finishes with a sigh. “Thank you, Jack. That was quick work.”

“Yes,” Sorel agrees. “Thank you. That almost landed all over me.”

“Life of an ER doctor.” I set her down once I think she’s done. “You okay, kiddo?”

She nods lowly. Rory is a puker. It’s what she does at least once a week. Owen’s had all kinds of GI workups done on her, but there’s nothing wrong—thank God—other than the fact that she has an insanely sensitive stomach.

“Oh, honey.” Estlin pulls Rory’s hair back from her face and grabs a wet wipe from her purse. She uses it to clean up Rory’s mouth and chin. “Do you think you’re done?”

“I think so, but my tummy still hurts,” Rory complains.

“Let’s get you home then.” Owen comes over and picks her up so she can tuck her body into his. “Sorry, Jack. We’ll have to come and see your place another time.”

I wave him off. “No worries. We’ll do it after I move in. I’ll have the art book I bought for Rory waiting.”

Her eyes brighten, but she doesn’t lift her head from her dad’s chest.

“Feel better, kiddo.” I rub the back of her hair. “Later.” I give Estlin a hug and Owen a fist bump.

“I’m going to take off too,” Sorel explains as she empties her water over the puke to try to wash some of it away. “I’ll see you tomorrow at work.”

“I’ll drive you home,” my mom offers, and we all part ways on the vomit-covered sidewalk.

I should just go back to my old place and finish the last of my packing, but it’s all boxed up and depressing. So I decide to grab some takeout and eat it in my new place. A place where Wren does not live or occupy. Sorel’s words have been sitting heavily on me, and as I enter my building, jog up the steps to the second floor, and unlock my door, I don’t want to think about Wren.

The place smells like fresh paint and sawdust and feels open and bright thanks to the extra overhead lighting I had installed. I slide my hand along the smooth, cool stone countertop in my kitchen and take in the nice stainless-steel appliances I’ll have to make myself learn how to use.

It’s mine. All of this is, and it’s a feeling of accomplishment like nothing else.

Probably because everything else in my life that I’ve worked for or wanted has fallen apart on me. College football died when my hand got sliced open and nerves were severed. My scholarship was revoked, and I transferred schools, needing to get away from all of it. But with that injury, my career in surgery was over before it ever began. Tilly took what was left of my heart and pride and bashed them to a pulp with a bat. Then what happened with Wren was my final straw.

Not much has been right for me.

Except for this.

So no, Wren isn’t going to be allowed to fuck this up. Even if my concern for her living, at the very least nearby, is growing.