My Brother’s Best friend

Chapter Nine — Half-Truths

(Harper’s POV)

I try pretending everything’s fine.

It’s almost convincing — if you don’t count the fact that my heart trips over itself every time I hear Jace’s voice down the hall.

Noah doesn’t notice at first. He’s too busy with his new job and late-night workouts. But when we’re eating dinner one night, he narrows his eyes between bites of pasta.

“You and Jace fighting or something?”

The fork freezes in my hand. “What? No. Why?”

He shrugs. “He’s been weird lately. Short with me. You usually keep him from brooding.”

I force a laugh. “Maybe he’s just tired.”

Noah nods slowly, still watching me. “Right.”

I change the subject as fast as humanly possible.

⸻

Later that night, I can’t sleep. The glow of my laptop paints everything in soft blue light. I start typing without thinking—my main character sitting across from a man she shouldn’t want, his voice low, his eyes saying everything he can’t.

By the time I stop, there are three new pages, and my chest feels lighter.

It’s not about me, I tell myself. It’s fiction.

I close the laptop and crash.

⸻

The next afternoon, I come home to find Jace on the porch. His phone’s in his hand, his hair messy from running his fingers through it.

“Hey,” he says carefully.

“Hey.”

“I, uh… might’ve opened your laptop earlier.”

My stomach drops. “You what?”

He lifts his hands defensively. “It was open! I thought it was Noah’s—until I saw your name on the document.”

“Oh my god.” My face burns. “You read it?”

“Just a few lines.” He hesitates. “It was good, Harper. Really good.”

I groan. “That was a draft. It’s not even—”

He interrupts quietly. “Was it about me?”

The question hits the air like thunder.

My throat tightens. “Does it matter?”

“It might.”

For a heartbeat, neither of us moves. The air feels heavy again, charged the way it was that night under the string lights.

Finally, I find my voice. “It’s fiction, Jace.”

“Yeah,” he says, almost smiling. “That’s the half-truth, isn’t it?”

Before I can respond, Noah’s truck pulls into the driveway. The moment shatters.

Jace steps back, his face unreadable. “We’ll talk later.”

But he doesn’t.

And that night, when I open my laptop again, I can’t write a single word—because the line between my story and my life feels paper-thin.