Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 18

The drive is silent.

The kind of silence that doesn’t settle so much as hum under the skin, a live wire running just under the surface, making every shift of her body, every shaky breath she tries to smother, feel louder, heavier.

I grip the steering wheel tighter than I should, my knuckles whitening under the strain, my jaw locked so tight it feels like my teeth might crack.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her.

Tucked small into the passenger seat, her knees pulled up slightly, her bag hugged tight to her chest, her head bowed like she’s trying to disappear into herself.

She’s trying not to cry.

Trying so hard not to break.

And for a moment—

A stupid, reckless, dangerous moment—

I want to say something.

Something not sharp.

Not angry.

Something that might stitch together even a sliver of the damage hanging between us.

I open my mouth—

I’m about to speak—

When her phone buzzes.

She jumps at the sound, fumbling for it, her fingers clumsy with exhaustion and nerves.

She glances at the screen, then looks at me.

I don’t look back.

I keep my eyes on the road, every muscle locked tight.

She answers.

"Hi," she says, her voice thin and trembling but trying to sound bright.

"Yeah, I’m okay."

A small, shaky laugh. "It went really well. I—um—I’m almost home."

A pause.

And then, quieter—

"Oh. Okay. Okay. Bye."

The call ends.

She stares down at her screen for a long second, her thumb hovering over the glass like she wants to say something more but doesn’t know how.

I glance at her, then back at the road.

"You didn’t tell him," I say, my voice low and dangerous.

She flinches slightly, like she forgot I was there.

"Tell him what?" she asks, defensive already, curling into herself tighter.

"That you got attacked," I say. "That you’re in the car with me."

She swallows hard, staring at the dashboard like it’s personally betrayed her.

"He’s at a friend’s house," she mumbles. "He sounded in a hurry."

Her voice trails off, small and miserable, disappearing into the whine of the tires on asphalt.

I breathe out a harsh laugh, humorless and sharp.

Of course he’s at a friend's house.

Of course he’s too busy to care that his girlfriend was almost dragged into an alley and—

I cut off the thought before it burns me alive.

"He’s my brother," I say, anger crawling up my spine like fire. "But why the hell are you dating him?"

She stiffens, turning in her seat to glare at me.

"He’s been nothing but nice to me," she snaps, the words brittle and desperate.

"Nice?" I bark, incredulous. "Nice is a guy who shows up. Nice is a guy who puts you first. Nice is not letting you walk home alone after dark across the damn city because he couldn’t be bothered to call a cab or drive ten minutes."

She sucks in a breath, her eyes flashing with something too close to hurt.

"You don’t know him," she says fiercely. "You don’t know us."

"I know he’s not here," I say, my voice low and dangerous.

The silence that falls after that feels like a crack down the center of the car, splitting it clean in two.

We’re almost at the neighborhood now, the familiar streets slipping past the windows, the neat rows of houses blurring together.

I turn onto our street, the headlights sweeping over the empty sidewalk.

And then she says it.

Low.

Shaky.

Raw.

"If you hate me so much," she says, her voice cracking in the middle, "why didn’t you just let me get assaulted and killed back there?"

I slam the brakes harder than necessary, jerking the car to a stop in front of my parents' house, the tires skidding slightly on the loose gravel.

She throws the door open before I can say anything, before I can even process the way her words punched through my chest like a bullet.

She stumbles out onto the sidewalk, slamming the door shut behind her.

I shove the gearshift into park and lean over, furious.

"Where are you going?"

She turns, her face flushed with fury, her eyes still shining with unshed tears.

"Home," she says, her voice bright and cutting like a blade. "And if you’re lucky, some creep will get to me before I make it there. That way you won’t have to look at my entitled, annoying face anymore."

And then she spins on her heel and stalks off down the sidewalk, her bag thudding against her side, her body stiff and trembling with every furious step.

I sit there for a second.

Just one.

Long enough to hear the door to the house open.

Long enough to hear my mom’s voice calling a cheerful, distant greeting.

Long enough to realize that if I don’t move, if I don’t do something, I’m going to regret it in ways I can’t even name yet.

I shove the door open, slam it shut behind me, and stalk down the sidewalk after her.

Because she’s wrong.

It’s not that I don’t want to look at her.

It’s that I can’t look at her and not want to rip the entire world apart for making her believe she doesn’t deserve better.

Better than Tyler.

Better than being left alone.

Better than walking home shaking and hurt with no one but herself to count on.

I watch her small figure storming down the street, her steps growing smaller and smaller the farther she gets.

And my fists clench at my sides.

Because someone needs to take a better look at that bruise on her arm.

Because someone needs to make sure she gets inside safe.

Because someone needs to shake her until she realizes she’s not as untouchable as she wants to believe.

And apparently—

That someone is me.