Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 19

The closer I get to home, the harder it is to keep my body moving.

My feet ache—

A deep, burning pain radiating up through my calves from hours on pointe and miles walked.

My arm throbs with every heartbeat, a deep, bruised ache that feels like it’s sinking into the bone.

My eyes sting from crying, my throat raw and tight from screaming, from holding back all the words I didn’t know how to say.

By the time I reach my porch, I’m trembling so hard that my keys slip through my fingers the first time I try to fit them into the lock.

I clench my jaw, blinking hard against the hot flood of tears, and try again.

The key misses the hole, scraping uselessly against the doorframe.

The third time, I just... stop.

I lean my forehead against the cold wood, squeezing my eyes shut, letting the sobs finally rip free from the tight cage of my chest.

Tears spill over fast and hard, soaking my cheeks, my sleeves, my skin.

It’s too much.

It’s all just too much.

The exhaustion, the fear, the heartbreak—

It crashes down over me in one massive, crushing wave, and I can’t breathe through it, can’t think through it, can’t hold it back anymore.

I don’t even hear him until I turn to wipe my face and—

"Jesus Christ," I gasp, stumbling back, heart lurching into my throat.

Asher is standing there.

Right there.

A shadow under the porch light, huge and solid and silent like he’s been carved out of the dark itself.

"What the hell," I shriek, swiping at my wet face, "how do you even move like that? You’re a giant. You’re supposed to make noise."

He doesn’t answer.

Just stands there, watching me with that unreadable expression that somehow makes me feel even more exposed.

"And why are you even here?" I snap, my voice pitching higher, more hysterical.

Something breaks loose in me.

I slam my palms against his chest—hard.

He doesn’t move.

Not an inch.

I shove him again, irrational, desperate, furious with him, with Tyler, with the world, with myself.

I throw myself at him, pounding my fists against his chest, trying to push him off my porch, out of my head, out of my life.

He just stands there.

A wall.

Unmoving.

Unbothered.

Finally, when all the energy drains out of me and I sag against the doorframe, gasping for breath, he says in that low, calm, infuriating voice—

"Are you done?"

I let out a shaky, broken breath.

"Yes," I mutter, defeated.

I wipe at my eyes again, sniff hard, and glare up at him.

"Why are you here?" I demand, hating how wrecked my voice sounds.

He studies me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes.

"Making sure you got home safe," he says simply.

I scoff, turning back to the door, fumbling with my keys again.

"Why do you even care?" I mutter.

"I don't," he says. "It’s just the right thing to do. When a woman’s walking home alone at night."

"Barely eight o’clock," I shoot back bitterly.

"You saw what kind of dickheads are out at eight o'clock," he counters without missing a beat.

The words hit harder than I expect, and I shiver, the memory of rough hands and mocking voices crashing back too fast.

He must see it in my face, because without warning, he steps closer and grabs my wrist—

Not hard.

Not painfully.

Just firmly enough to make me look at him.

Without saying a word, he plucks the keys from my shaking fingers and unlocks the door himself.

He holds it open for me.

Doesn’t step inside.

Doesn’t hand the keys back, either.

I slip past him into the dark hallway, hugging myself tight.

I turn, my voice tight and wary.

"What are you doing?"

"Someone needs to take a look at your arm," he says flatly.

"It’s fine," I argue weakly.

"Probably," he says. "But it still needs to be checked out."

"And then what? You’ll leave me alone?"

He nods once.

Silent. Unreadable.

I hesitate—because I’m exhausted, because I don't want to argue anymore, because part of me... part of me doesn’t want to be alone just yet.

I nod toward the hallway.

"Bathroom’s this way."

He follows quietly, the floor creaking under our feet, his presence filling the small space like a storm cloud.

In the bathroom, I switch on the light, blinking against the sudden brightness, and peel off my bolero.

The bruise looks even worse now.

A deep, angry blossom of red and purple spreading across my upper arm, faint crescent cuts from fingernails just beginning to swell.

I grimace, my reflection crumpling.

"What can you even do to check a bruise?" I mumble.

Asher steps closer, reaching out without hesitation.

His fingers close around my arm—rough, careful, deliberate.

His touch is never gentle, but it’s not cruel, either.

He turns my arm slightly, inspecting the damage, frowning harder.

"I think there’s nail marks too," he says, voice low.

I bite my lip hard, the pressure making my eyes sting again.

He grabs a clean cloth from the rack, runs it under warm water, and wrings it out with military precision before pressing it gently against the bruise.

The warmth seeps into my skin, making me shudder.

For a moment—

A long, stretched-out moment—

I forget to breathe.

I look up at him.

Really look.

His black hair is messy, falling into his forehead, damp with sweat from whatever run he took before all of this.

There’s a scar cutting through his left eyebrow, another faint white line just barely visible along the strong column of his throat.

His jaw is sharp, dusted with dark stubble, his mouth set in a grim line of focus.

And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Sharp. Dark.

But not cruel.

Not right now.

He’s watching the bruise like it personally offends him.

Like he’d tear apart the world with his bare hands to make sure it doesn’t happen again.

I realize too late that I’m crying again.

Silent, helpless tears sliding down my cheeks.

He notices.

He stops moving.

For a second, neither of us breathes.

"I’m sorry," I whisper, voice cracking.

The words tumble out, one after another, too fast to stop.

"I know you think I’m entitled, and a princess, and—and maybe I am compared to all the things you’ve been through," I sob, gripping the sink like it might keep me standing. "But being in control, keeping everything perfect—it’s the only way I know how to keep my life together."

I shake my head, feeling the shame burn hot under my skin.

"I was so happy today," I whisper. "More proud of myself than I’ve ever been. And the way it ended—I just—I lost it. I acted irrationally."

I wipe at my face uselessly, feeling smaller and more pathetic by the second.

"I got so scared out there," I whisper. "I didn’t know what to do. I—"

I break off, hiccupping another ugly sob.

He says nothing for a long moment.

I finally dare to lift my head, looking at him through blurry eyes.

His expression hasn’t changed much.

Still hard. Still sharp.

But softer, too.

Just enough.

"I shouldn’t have yelled at you," he says, voice low and gruff. "And I don’t know enough about you to call you entitled."

I let out a broken laugh, wiping at my nose with the back of my hand.

"Oh, sure," I mutter. "Now you’re taking pity on me. Now that you know my parents ditched me, my boyfriend ditched me, the bus ditched me, even the Uber drivers ditched me."

He smirks.

Just barely.

The tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Something like that," he says dryly.

I stare at him for a long second, feeling something loosen painfully in my chest.

He steps back suddenly, dropping his hands to his sides.

"You gonna be okay alone?" he asks, voice rough again.

The thought makes me shiver, but I force a nod.

"Yeah," I lie.

He nods once, short and sharp, and turns to go.

I follow him down the hall, the floor creaking under our feet.

At the door, he hesitates, glancing back once.

"Asher," I call softly.

He turns.

"Thank you," I say.

For everything.

For showing up.

For not leaving me.

He just nods again, almost awkwardly, and steps out into the night.

I watch him walk down the steps, into the shadows, the dark swallowing him up.

On impulse, I call after him.

"Try not to get stabbed on the way home!" I shout.

He doesn’t answer.

But just before he disappears into the dark, I swear I see him shake his head—

And smile.