"Did you sleep well?" Jimmy's voice is groggy as he stretches, rubbing his face. He blinks, finding me sitting up in bed, arms wrapped around my knees, staring at the large painting on the wall but not really seeing it.

"I didn't sleep much, Jim. Maybe ten minutes." I sigh, glancing at my phone, which lies tossed on the floor, silent and lifeless.

"Are you gonna turn it back on?" He yawns, rolling onto his side to face me.

"I'm afraid to." It's the truth.

"You'll have to eventually." He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Come on, let's go. Tea for you, coffee for me. We can talk now that I've had my beauty sleep." He smirks, but I don't laugh. Not even a flicker of a smile.

We move to the small, cozy kitchen. I sit at the table, hands resting on my lap, waiting for my tea. I don't help like I normally would. I don't move around, I don't fill the silence with useless chatter. I just exist—like a wounded bird deciding if it's worth attempting to fly again.

Jimmy places the cup in front of me and studies me with sympathy.

"Ella, please get over it. It meant absolutely nothing, love." His voice is gentle, but I don't respond. I only nod—just a gesture, not a conviction.

After a few beats, he clears his throat, shifting in his seat.

"About what you asked me before..."

My eyes snap up, anticipation creeping in. "Yeah?"

"You can't tell anyone. It was a long time ago." His voice drops, almost a whisper, his hands gripping his coffee cup like it's anchoring him.

"Of course." I don't look at him. Instead, I stare into my tea, suddenly more awake than I've felt in hours.

"Don't do that."

"Do what?"

"Pretend like you're all noble, giving me space and privacy when we both know it's killing you not to ask me a million questions." He smirks, taking a slow sip before standing and moving to the sofa.

I bite my lip, my patience thinning. "Please, please just tell me already."

"Does Harry know?"

He nods.

"He does?"

Another nod.

"Soooo?"

"Soooo?" he mimics with a teasing grin.

I narrow my eyes. "Are you going to fucking tell me or what? I'm pissed off and stressed enough as it is." I know I'm not playing fair, but I don't care.

He sighs, rolling his neck like he's preparing for battle. "What's more to say? I was in love with Gemma once upon a time, in a faraway kingdom." His smirk is forced, his tone laced with sarcasm.

"And...?" I press, my frustration mounting.

He exhales heavily and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Fine. I'll tell you. But no questions, alright?"

"Fine." I whisper, holding my breath.

And then he starts.

"Harry and I have been friends since we were kids. You know that. It was always me, H, and Matt."

"Matt?"

"I said no questions," he reminds me, chuckling.

"The three of us were inseparable—school, sports, getting into trouble. We were always together. And then... Gemma grew up." He pauses, taking a slow breath.

"There was an unspoken rule. No one set it, but we all knew it. You don't mess around with your friend's exes, sisters, or mothers. No. Fucking. Way." He shakes his head, letting out a bitter chuckle.

"So I kept my feelings for her hidden. I watched her from afar. I found excuses to be at their house more, told Harry to bring her with us when we went out—said it was so we could 'keep an eye on her.' But really? I just wanted to be near her."

He finally looks at me, and the difference is staggering. This isn't the confident, smirking, always-in-control Jimmy I know. He looks like a man who was once a boy with a shattered first love.

"She was this innocent, beautiful girl with long brown hair, sparkling eyes, and those dimples. God, those dimples. I became her own personal clown just to see her smile."

His gaze drifts away, lost in the past. I'm not even sure he sees me anymore.

"She told me everything. Her worries, her dreams. Whenever she fought with Harry—which was rare—she came to me. She trusted me." He exhales, rubbing his temples.

"And?" I whisper.

He hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "And... one day, she came to me for advice."

His expression changes, like he's bracing for impact.

"She was crying so hard. You know I don't do well with girls crying. It's my fucking weak spot." He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "I tried to comfort her, but nothing worked. Then she said something I'll never forget."

Silence stretches between us before he finally speaks.

"She said, 'I'm pregnant. It's Matt's.'"

I feel like the air has been knocked out of me. My breath catches, my heartbeat stutters.

"Oh my God, Jimmy..." The words barely escape me.

His fingers tighten around his coffee cup. "I was her best friend. Her confidant. And I had to sit there and listen to the girl I loved tell me she was carrying another man's baby."

I swallow hard, my heart breaking for him.

"I'm so sorry." I reach for his hand, and for a second, I feel the slightest tremble in his fingers.

"Don't be." He shrugs, but the weight in his voice is impossible to ignore.

"So where is Matt now?" I ask, realizing I've never even heard of him before.

Jimmy exhales sharply, his jaw tightening. "The moment he found out Gemma was pregnant, all hell broke loose."

I lean in slightly. "What do you mean?"

His grip on his coffee cup tightens. "The bastard denied it at first—acted like it was some kind of mistake. Then he started questioning whether the baby was even his. And when shit got real? He took off."

A long, frustrated sigh leaves his lips as he shakes his head. "So many years of friendship... meant nothing. He vanished. Like Gemma and his baby were nothing."

I swallow, my throat dry. "Did she love him?"

Jimmy lets out a humourless laugh, rubbing a hand over his face. "She was crazy about him." His voice is steady, but there's an edge to it—a wound still raw, even after all this time.

His pain is palpable, hanging heavy between us.

"How?" I whisper, more to myself than to him.

He glances at me. "How I didn't know?" He shrugs. "I guess they were careful. Real careful."

A beat of silence stretches between us before I gather the courage to ask: "How did Harry find out... about your feelings for Gemma?"

Jimmy lets out a bitter chuckle, looking down. "Matt told him."

I frown. "How would Matt know?"

Jimmy leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. "Because I beat the shit out of him outside Harry's house when he had the audacity to insult Gemma—like she was some kind of slut. He threw it in my face, called me out, right there in front of Harry."

I gape at him. "And Harry... what did he do?"

Jimmy smiles, but there's no joy in it. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" I echo, surprised.

"We were cool. He knows me, Ella. He knows who I am, what I stand for. We've been through hell and back together. When my dad died, he was there, crying right next to me. When his niece got sick, I was a fucking zombie for weeks."

He exhales slowly before looking me dead in the eyes. "We are not friends, Ella. We are family. And blood has nothing to do with it."

Something about the way he says it makes my chest tighten.

I hesitate before asking the next question, but I have to know. "And what about your feelings for Gemma?"

For the first time since he started talking, Jimmy hesitates. His fingers drum lightly against his cup before he sighs, letting out a small chuckle.

"I love Gemma. Always will."

He pauses, his expression unreadable. "But she's like a sister to me now. Nat is a sweetheart. I like Niall. He's good to them."

He smirks, but I don't miss the way his jaw tenses. "I don't even want to punch him."

I raise an eyebrow, watching him carefully. He laughs, but I can't shake the feeling that there's more to the story than he's letting on.

"Time heals, Ella. It mends wounded hearts, it fixes nearly everything." Jimmy exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "I love Gemma, but I'm not in love with her anymore. I was a wreck when I first found out about her and Matt, but I got over it. Harry helped me. Don't ask how, but he did."

I nod, sensing he's ready to close that chapter of his life.

Jimmy smirks suddenly, nudging my side. "Now, listen up, my dear friend—don't give up on Harry so easily." He leans in conspiratorially. "Look at it this way... you get to rub it in her face. He went back to you after her, right? He doesn't do knockoffs, hates cheap imitations. You, my love, are Gucci." His smirk widens. "And Brenda? She's one of those fake-ass rip-offs that shady guys sell at the town square next to the hot dog stall. Come on."

I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head. "I don't know, Jimmy." The heaviness in my chest still lingers.

"I'll tell you what. Go home, take a shower, eat something, get some sleep. We'll talk in the morning, alright?"

I nod, not fully convinced but too drained to argue. "Okay."

I gather my things, and before I leave, Jimmy pulls me into a long, warm hug—the kind that reminds me why I trust him more than anyone. His heart is huge, his loyalty unwavering. As I drive home, my mind swirls with everything he told me. It all makes sense now—the way he tried to help Gemma financially but hid behind Chrys's dad, the way he always checked in on her. I wonder if she ever knew about his feelings. Maybe she did.

When I finally get home, I throw myself onto my bed and switch on my phone.

The screen floods with countless missed calls, texts, and voicemails. My heart races. I scroll through them, reading each one carefully.

Baby, answer me. I love you.

Ella, please. I'm yours, and you're mine.

I love you to the moon and back.

Please tell me we're okay. Please.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.

I love you so fucking much.

I hesitate, then open the voicemail. His voice, broken and desperate, fills the quiet room.

"Ella, baby, please. I love you so much. Don't do this to us, baby. Don't give up on me. I love you—so, so much. It was a stupid mistake. She means nothing to me. Nothing. I want you, I love you, I need you. Please, Ella. I am so sorry."

I don't cry. Cry is too small a word for what I do.

I sob.

I bawl.

The tears pour out of me, hot and relentless, a year's worth of heartache crashing over me in waves. It's almost 6 AM, and I've read the messages and replayed the voicemail at least three times. My chest aches with the weight of everything.

A soft knock at my door startles me. I sit up, wiping my face quickly, feeling guilty that I probably woke Chrys up. She opens the door hesitantly, rubbing her eyes.

"Ella... are you okay?" she asks groggily.

I sniffle, swallowing hard. "I will be."

She frowns slightly. "Are you waiting for someone?"

My stomach drops.

"No... why?" My voice comes out shaky.

She scratches her head, blinking sleepily. "Someone's been knocking at the front door."

I freeze.

Then I run.

I tear down the hallway, heart hammering in my chest, reaching the door in seconds. My hands fumble with the lock, and when I finally yank it open—

There he is.

Harry.

He's leaning against the doorframe, exhausted, wrecked, completely undone. His eyes are red-rimmed, dark circles bruising the skin beneath them. My breath catches as I take in the sight of him—his wrinkled shirt, the way he's just standing there, looking like he hasn't slept in days.

Before I can say a word, he moves.

He grabs me, pulling me into the tightest embrace, holding me so fiercely that we both collapse to our knees in the doorway. His body shakes against mine, his breath uneven, his face buried in the crook of my neck.

And then I feel it—

The hot, heavy tears spilling onto my skin.

His grip tightens around me, as if letting go would mean losing everything.

"I'm so sorry," he sobs. "I love you, Ella. Please, baby. Don't break us. I just got you back. Please... I love you so fucking much."

His voice cracks, and that's when I completely fall apart.

Tears stream down my face, my fingers digging into his back.

"Shhh, shhh, I know. I love you too, Harry. I love you so much."

And with every tear that spills down my cheek, I let go of the anger.

Because this man—the one on his knees, begging for me—is all I ever wanted.

He is all I will ever need.

And we are in this together.

To the moon and back.