All Chapters of My Bestfriend's Boy: Chapter 51 - Chapter 60

63 Chapters

The Ghost on the Wall

EthanNew York was nothing like Los Angeles. The energy was sharper, faster, like the city was always in a hurry to get somewhere else. I stood at the window of my temporary apartment in Chelsea, watching the taxis swarm below, and felt a familiar ache in my chest. I’d been here a week. The gallery show opened in three days. Everything was on track—the paintings had arrived, the curator was happy, the critics had been invited. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was forgetting something. Or someone. At the gallery, the space was called The Brightside. White walls, high ceilings, track lighting that made everything look like it belonged in a museum. My paintings were already hung—a mix of old and new, landscapes and abstracts, and three pieces from the series that had made me famous. The ones of Ava. I stood in front of them now, my hands in my pockets, my reflection ghosting over her face.“You’re brooding,” said a voice behind me.I turned. Leo, the gallery owner, was leaning aga

The Distance Between

MiaThe apartment was too quiet without him. I hadn't realized how much space Ethan filled until he was gone. His sketchbooks on the coffee table. His coffee mug in the sink. The sound of his pencil scratching paper late at night. All of it was absent, and the silence felt like a physical weight. I paced the living room, then the kitchen, then back again. The clock on the wall said 11 PM. He’d called at 9, tired but excited about the show. I’d listened to him talk about the gallery, the curator, the decision to remove Ava’s paintings.“I’m taking the paintings of her out of the show.”I’d wanted to be happy. I’d wanted to feel relieved. But all I felt was a familiar, ugly twist in my chest. Jealousy. I thought I’d buried it. I thought I’d moved past it. But hearing him say her name—even in the context of letting her go—had reopened something I’d pretended was healed. You’re being ridiculous, I told myself. He chose you. He’s with you. He’s not in love with her anymore. But the voice i

The weight of Growing

AvaThe first trimester felt like a secret I was carrying under my ribs.Only Oliver knew. We’d decided to wait—to let the news settle, to make sure everything was okay, to have something that was just ours before the world weighed in. But the secret was heavy, and every day I felt it pressing against my chest.The nausea came in waves. Some mornings, I couldn’t even look at coffee. Other mornings, I craved pickles and ice cream in the same breath. Oliver found me crying in the kitchen once, my hand on my still‑flat stomach, overwhelmed by a feeling I couldn’t name.“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice soft.“I don’t know. I’m happy. I think. But I’m also terrified.”He wrapped his arms around me. “That’s allowed.”“Is it? Everyone says pregnancy is supposed to be joyful.”“Everyone hasn’t been through what you’ve been through.”I leaned into him. “What if I’m not good at this? What if I mess up the way my mother didn’t? What if the baby grows up and resents me?”Oliver pulled back and

The Space between us

Paris was supposed to be a triumph. The gallery on Rue des Saints‑Pères was smaller than the one in New York, but more intimate, the kind of space where every brushstroke felt personal. Ethan stood in the center of the main room, his hands in his pockets, watching workers hang his paintings. The abstracts—the ones he had made after removing Ava’s portraits—dominated the walls. Swirls of blue and gold, bursts of orange and gray, pieces that represented everything he had been trying to say without words.Leo had come with him, along with a publicist named Chantal who seemed to know everyone in Paris. She was efficient, sharp, and beautiful in a way that made Ethan uncomfortable. Not because he was interested—he wasn’t—but because she looked at him like she was trying to solve a puzzle.“You’re nervous,” Chantal said, appearing at his elbow.“I’m focused.”“Same thing, with artists.” She smiled. “The preview is tonight. Critics, collectors, a few journalists. Just be yourself.”“What if

Ethan

Ethan flew home the next day. The flight was long, the seats cramped, but he didn’t mind. He spent most of it staring out the window, watching the clouds drift beneath the wing, and thinking about the card he had thrown away. It wasn’t the card that mattered. It was what it represented: the old Ethan, the one who ran from discomfort, who sought validation in the eyes of strangers, who needed to be wanted to feel like he existed. He had almost kept it. Almost. But the new Ethan, the one Mia had helped him become—had dropped it in the trash.When the plane landed in Las Vegas, the desert heat hit him like a wall. He breathed it in, felt the dryness in his lungs, and smiled. He was home.Mia was waiting at baggage claim, holding a sign that said Welcome back, artist. Her hair was pulled back, her face tired but happy. He dropped his bag and pulled her into his arms, burying his face in her neck. She smelled like coffee and laundry detergent and something floral he couldn’t name.“I misse

The Ripple effect

Mia noticed the difference immediately. Ethan wasn’t just back from Paris; he was present in a way he hadn’t been before. He laughed more. He slept through the night. He stopped checking his phone every five minutes, as if waiting for bad news. When they made love, it was slower, sweeter, less desperate. He looked at her like she was enough—not a consolation prize, not a second choice, but exactly who he wanted to be with.She wanted to trust it. She wanted to believe that the old ghosts were finally buried. But trust, for Mia, had never come easily. She had spent so many years wanting what she couldn’t have, reaching for things that belonged to someone else. Now that she had something real, she kept waiting for it to shatter.“You’re thinking too loud,” Ethan said one morning, not looking up from his sketchbook.“I’m always thinking.”“About?”She wanted to lie. She wanted to say nothing, to brush it off, to protect herself from the vulnerability of honesty. But that was the old Mia.

The new dynamic

The wedding was two weeks away when Tori called an emergency meeting. Derek had been fielding calls from his mother, who was upset about the seating chart. Tori’s mother had RSVP’d yes, which was a miracle, but she’d also asked if she could bring her new boyfriend, which was not. The group chat exploded with opinions. Marcus suggested eloping. Jake offered to run interference. Samira, who had never met any of the parents, wisely stayed quiet.In the end, they decided to keep the seating chart as is and let the drama unfold. Tori texted: If my mom’s boyfriend makes a scene, Derek’s mom can handle him. She’s terrifying.Derek replied: She’s not terrifying. She’s assertive.Same thing.Ethan watched the chaos from his couch, Mia beside him, and felt something he hadn’t expected: contentment. Not the restless, anxious contentment of someone waiting for disaster, but the quiet kind. The kind that came from knowing he had people who would show up.“Are you nervous?” Mia asked.“About what?”

The Wedding

The wedding was held in a garden on the outskirts of Las Vegas, a place where the desert met something softer. Rows of white chairs faced a simple arch covered in flowers. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. A string quartet played something soft and familiar.Ava sat in the second row, Oliver beside her, her hand resting on her small bump. Priya was on her other side, already crying. Across the aisle, Ethan and Mia sat close together, their shoulders touching. Marcus and Samira had taken the row behind, the twins miraculously quiet. Jake was the best man, standing at the front in a suit that actually fit, looking nervous.The music changed. Everyone stood.Tori walked down the aisle alone. It had been her choice—no father to give her away, no mother who deserved the honor. She walked with her head high, her dress simple and elegant, her eyes fixed on Derek. He was crying before she reached him. So was she.When she

Building the Future

The weeks after the wedding settled into something ordinary. Not the heavy ordinary of waiting for disaster, but the light ordinary of routine. Tori and Derek returned from their honeymoon—a quiet week in a cabin in Montana—and immediately started arguing about where to hang the wedding photos. Marcus and Samira finally hired a part-time nanny for the twins, which meant they could go on actual dates again. Jake started seeing someone new, a bartender named Nina, and for once he didn’t sabotage it within the first month.Ava’s pregnancy progressed. The bump grew from a small swell to something unmistakable. She stopped fitting into her old jeans and started wearing Oliver’s sweaters around the apartment. The baby kicked at odd hours—early morning, late at night, always when she was trying to write. She had abandoned the novel she’d been struggling with and started a new one, something about a woman who learns to trust herself. The words came easier now.Oliver talke

Birth

The first week of Elena’s life was a blur of sleepless nights and tiny onesies and the strange, overwhelming love that Ava hadn’t known she was capable of. She had read about it—the rush of hormones, the instinct to protect—but reading and experiencing were two different things. Every time the baby cried, her heart raced. Every time the baby slept, she watched her breathe, terrified that she would stop.Oliver was a natural. He changed diapers without complaint, rocked Elena to sleep in the crook of his arm, and talked to her in a low, steady voice that seemed to calm her instantly. Ava watched him with a mixture of admiration and envy. Why was it so easy for him? Why did she feel like she was drowning?One night, Elena wouldn’t stop crying. Nothing worked—feeding, burping, rocking, singing. Oliver was at work, and Ava was alone, pacing the living room with the baby in her arms, tears streaming down her face.“I don’t know what you want,” she whispered. “I

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