Chapter 151: Layla POV

By the time I finish my last morning class on Tuesday and make it home, all I want is to curl up with something salty and someone who doesn’t need me to pretend that I’m fine.

Fortunately, I’ve got both queued up.

I kick my bedroom door closed behind me with the heel of my foot and flop onto my bed, my phone in one hand, and a half-eaten bag of sour cream & onion chips in the other. A can of soda sweats on the nightstand beside me, and the pillow behind my back is freshly fluffed. I even lit one of Cade’s fancy candles. The one that smells like cedar and expensive libraries.

On-screen, the video call rings through. One beat. Two. Then Becca’s smiling face lights up my screen.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite emotionally-stunted genius,” she grins. “How’s life in Domestic Dreamland?”

I laugh, flipping her off as I settle back against my headboard. “Still dramatic. Still mildly cursed. Still filled with men who refuse to leave me alone.”

“So basically, your own personal fantasy,” she says, cracking open a can of something fizzy and taking a sip. “You look good, though.”

“Do not start with me,” I say as I roll my eyes.

Becca smirks. “Just saying. You’ve got that whole ‘slightly overwhelmed but quietly thriving’ vibe going on. New skincare routine? Or is that just what casual affection does to a bitch?”

I throw a chip at the screen, and she snorts. “Missed me.”

We fall into our familiar rhythm fast. It always happens like that—like no time passed at all. She tells me about her chaotic roommates and the professor who still mispronounces her last name even though it’s literally Montgomery. I, in turn, fill her in on my classes, my shifts at the coffee shop, and the guys. At least the parts I can say out loud without spiraling into emotional confetti.

Then, eventually, I say, “So…something new happened.”

Becca pauses mid-bite of her third strawberry Twizzler and lifts a brow. “Go on.”

I sigh, nervously twisting the edge of my blanket between my fingers. “I got served.”

Her whole body freezes up. “Like…legally?”

I nod. “My mother filed a legal claim—she’s trying to force me to sell the house.”

Becca’s face darkens like a storm cloud that’s moving in. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“I wish.”

“That woman has the emotional depth of a paper plate.”

I laugh, even though I probably shouldn’t. “It’s fine. I’ve got Xavier handling the legal stuff, and the guys have been...honestly? Incredible.”

Becca leans closer to her screen. “Layla.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not alone in this. You don’t have to handle it with grace or pretend it’s not huge. You’re allowed to be mad. Or scared. Or even both.”

“I know,” I murmur. “But I also… I’m finally realizing I don’t have to do it all by myself.”

She gives me a soft smile. “About damn time.”

Then her eyes light up again. “Now that we’ve covered your ongoing saga of maternal villainy, I have gossip of my own.”

I blink, my spirits lifting again, then ask curiously, “Oh?”

Becca fans herself with her hand. “There’s a new guy in one of my psych lectures. Dark hair, a nose ring, and brooding intellectual energy. He wears all black, but somehow doesn’t give off ‘theater kid’ vibes. Ten out of ten would let him ruin my GPA.”

I act scandalized. “Becca.”

She grins, her teeth sharp and wicked. “What? It’s been a dry semester, okay. A girl’s gotta hydrate.”

I’m still giggling when my bedroom door creaks open slightly.

Hunter pokes his head inside, his hair damp from a shower and cheeks pink from the heat. “Hey, just checking if you—” His gaze lands on the phone in my hand. “Am I interrupting?”

“Not at all,” I say, straightening up. “Come meet Becca.”

Becca leans towards the camera like she’s judging his soul through the screen. “So you’re the quiet one with the bodyguard energy.”

Hunter blinks at her. “Uh… I guess?”

She narrows her eyes, then says, “You look like you give excellent hugs. Confirm or deny.”

“Uh...confirm,” he says slowly.

“Good. Hurt her, and I will end you. Violently.”

He gives me a bewildered glance, but there’s a flicker of amusement in it. “Noted.”

As he steps back out, Cade swoops in like he was just waiting for his cue. “Who’s this?” he asks, leaning on the edge of the bed and grinning at the screen.

Becca gives a low whistle. “Damn. That smirk should come with a warning label.”

Cade perks up. “You must be the infamous bestie. I’ve heard things.”

“I bet you have. So, which one are you? The chaos gremlin?”

“Excuse you,” he says, mock-offended. “I am the sunshine.”

Becca snorts. “Okay, chaos gremlin and sunshine then.”

He winks at me, then kisses the top of my head, and walks out. “I like her.”

“I like him,” Becca calls after him.

Before the door even shuts properly, it’s pushed open again, and Xavier walks in, his sleeves rolled up, and his glasses low on his nose like he’s halfway through writing a thesis. He pauses when he sees my phone’s screen.

“Who am I speaking to?” he asks, polite but curious.

“Xavier, this is Becca. Becca, this is the man keeping me out of court jail.”

Becca clasps her hands together dramatically. “Oh, thank god. Thank you for being competent. Also, for being hot. I assume that wasn’t required, but it’s appreciated.”

Xavier pushes his glasses up. “I’ll take that as a compliment. It’s good to finally put a face to the name.”

“She’s the one who knows all my secrets,” I add.

“I figured as much,” he says with a faint smirk. “She’s got that gleam in her eye.”

He gives us a short nod and then exits the room with the calm of someone who always gets the last word in.

Becca exhales. “That one could probably read a restraining order and still make it sound sexy.”

“You’re impossible.”

Then the last voice comes from the doorway. “Is that the infamous Becca?” AJ asks, his tone casual but laced with amusement.

I tilt my head at him. “Who?”

He then walks toward me, his shirt slung over one shoulder, an apple in one hand. “Your childhood partner-in-crime. The one who used to convince you glitter was a personality trait.”

Becca leans in toward the screen, squinting. “Is that AJ Rhodes? You got…taller.”

He bites into the apple and gives a one-shouldered shrug. “Puberty does that sometimes.”

Becca smirks. “Still broody, I see.”

He lifts the apple slightly towards her, like a toast. “Still trouble, I see.”

I lean back, watching them interact after all these years like it’s a spectator sport. “Should I get popcorn or step in before someone throws shade?”

Becca flashes a grin. “Please. I haven’t even warmed up yet.”

He gives me a lingering look before brushing his fingers across my shoulder and disappearing without another word.

I’m left a little breathless, and Becca just raises a brow. “You’re doomed.”

“I know.”

She takes a long sip of her drink and sighs. “Okay. I approve of your emotional harem.”

“They’re not—” I pause. “Okay, I don’t know what they are.”

Becca tilts her head. “Whatever they are, just make sure they’re good to you. Or I swear I will drive over there and introduce them to my tire iron.”

I laugh, and it’s full and loud. “God, I missed you.”

“I missed me, too,” she replies sassily.

We talk for a little longer—about nonsense, mostly—but when we finally hang up, I feel so much better, and so much lighter.

I’m filled with the kind of fullness that has nothing to do with food, but the kind that means you’re loved.

Even from across a screen.