Chapter 3 - Reed Sterling

REED

Closing Scarlett’s door, I take a deep breath, my back connecting against it while my heart races.

What are you doing, Reed? I whisper to myself, trying to inject some sense back into my swirling thoughts. If her mother hadn’t walked in, I would have ruined everything. The intensity of the moment lingers, and I find myself grappling with my emotions.

I didn’t mean for it to happen, but the truth is getting harder and harder to deny. For the past two years, I’ve been convincing myself that I’m not in love with Scarlett Mathews, that we are just friends because I know she doesn’t reciprocate my feelings.

I’ve tried to be okay with that but failed because as the months pass, the emotional struggle has gotten worse–and tonight–tonight I almost ruined everything.

The soul-warming and wrenching realization hit me two years ago after I left home to complete my studies overseas. It was the first time that we were separated and the realization hit me with frightening clarity–I was in love with my best friend.

We grew up together, with Scarlett treating me like a brother. I thought it was the same for me, that I also saw her as a sister until I suddenly realized that it was not and the realization left me shaken.

Leaving to go study overseas made me realize the depth of my feelings. The distance from her was agonizing, and it became hard to concentrate on anything else. And then, as if I weren’t already a mess, she confessed her misery without me, which made my struggle even worse. I knew she didn’t mean it in the sense that I did, but that didn’t matter.

My parents had advised me to come home only during holidays since I’m doing a dual major, hardly leaving room for anything else and I agreed with them. However, staying away from Scarlett was unbearable. So I made a promise to come home every month, even if it meant never getting a full night of sleep again.

I push away from her door, running my fingers through my hair, while the corridor feels stifling as I replay the moment in my mind—the almost kiss, the tension, and the abrupt interruption.

The fear of ruining our friendship claws at me and I don't know what to do with myself. I know I need to confront these feelings and come to terms with them because it’s not fair to Scarlett, and it’s certainly not fair to me.

I make my way down the hallway, self-reproach bubbling within me. However, my thoughts are soon cut off by the sound of footsteps coming up the stairs just as I reach the top, about to go down.

My father appears and his eyes light up, the spark of recognition replacing the frustration etched on his face just a moment ago. Without a word, we find ourselves wrapped in a long-overdue hug.

I asked for him when I arrived, and Mom told me he went to attend a dinner at the de Villeneuve. She said Pierre de Villeneuve, who is my father’s business partner, had some announcements to make, but she couldn’t go because of the party.

However, I knew it wasn’t because of the party that she couldn’t go; she didn’t want to. Mom doesn’t socialize much, and my dad often goes alone at events and things. Mom only goes if she absolutely has to.

He asks how I’m doing, and I say I’m okay as we pull back from the hug before redirecting the question to him. He says he’s well too and asks when I got home. We fall into a conversation about my studies and it’s the talk we’ve had many times before, but it’s strangely comforting.

However, as we go on, it becomes clear that I’m not the only one who noticed the frustration earlier. He pauses, looks at me, and asks, “Are you okay?” I nod, assuring him I am before turning the question back to him, and he lets out a heavy sigh that carries the weight of something unsaid.

“The dinner didn’t go well,” he confesses before saying he’s too edgy to sleep and decides to have one drink for the night.

“Want to join me?” he asks, and I accept. We head to the bar and as I settle on the barstools, he grabs a bottle and pours a drink for us. I thank him and we sip in companionable silence before I speak, noticing his troubled expression once more.

“Do you want to talk about what happened at the dinner?” I ask with a tentative voice. But my father shakes his head, a small smile playing on his lips as he says he’d rather discuss what’s bothering me instead.

I feign nonchalance, dismissing it as nothing serious, even though, deep down, I know I’m only fooling myself. I’ve never been able to hide things from my father, and tonight is no exception. Before I know it, I’m throwing down my guard along with my shots, blurting out that I think I’m in love before quickly correcting myself, saying I know I’m in love.

My father’s eyes light up at my revelation, and he reaches for the bottle, pouring another round while asking if he knows this person. However, his hand freezes in mid-air as I whisper the name.

“As in our Scarlett?” My father’s question cuts through the air, clearly surprised by my answer and I nod, a lump forming in my throat as I continue before he can say anything else. “I know it’s wrong, Dad,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper, “but I can’t help how I feel.”

The truth spills out like a confession as I open up to my father, pouring out the thoughts that have been plaguing me. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” I confess, my vulnerability laid bare. And then, in a moment of unfiltered honesty, I reveal the near-kiss with Scarlett just minutes ago. The room seems to still as the weight of my words settles between us and I brace myself for my father’s reaction. The moment stretches, tense and uncertain, until he finally breaks the silence.

“Well, the only way to know for sure how she feels is to speak to her. Tell her how you feel,” he advises, and I look at him in shock. His response is not what I expected. I expected him to echo my fears and caution against revealing my feelings and risking our connection.

“You don’t think it’s wrong?” I ask and he says no before adding that one can’t help who they fall in love with. Plus, Scarlett is a good person. She’s smart and kind, and she has a bright future ahead of her. I let out a sigh of relief at that.

“What if she doesn’t feel the same way, Dad?” I mumble, the fear of rejection clawing at me, and my father leans back, studying me for a moment before offering a reassuring smile. “You’ll never know unless you try, son. Love is a risk, but it’s a risk worth taking.”

His words linger in the air, and the weight on my shoulders feels a little lighter. Maybe it’s time to confront these feelings head-on, so taking a deep breath, I nod in acknowledgment. “Thanks, Dad.”