Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 198

“…so he thinks it’s a real grenade,” Boomer’s saying, eyes wide, hands flying, “and instead of running or tossing it, this idiot *bites* it. Full teeth. Like he thinks that’ll disarm it somehow.”

I’m laughing — *actually* laughing. My stomach hurts from it. Not because the story’s that funny, but because Boomer’s telling it like he’s still trying to process it himself. His whole face is animated, his voice incredulous, and there’s something about him that makes it easy to feel okay — at least for a little while.

“Oh my God,” I manage, wiping tears from the corner of my eye. “What happened after?”

“He got discharged for ‘extreme misjudgment of threat levels,’” Boomer says, grinning. “And probably for biting a live training device like it was an apple.”

I giggle again, and he just looks at me, kind of stunned. Like maybe he wasn’t expecting to make me laugh that hard. He shifts, suddenly bashful, scratching the back of his neck.

“You’ve got a good laugh,” he says quietly.

I smile. It’s genuine, but it fades a little when I glance at the clock on the wall. Thirty-five minutes. Still nothing.

Asher’s still behind that door, in whatever meeting this is. Whatever *secret* this is. Every part of me wants to press my ear to that door, scream until someone tells me what’s going on. But that won’t help. And it’s not what he’d want.

So I breathe. I sip the last of the soda Boomer gave me. I laugh at his stories. I try to wait.

The door creaks open behind us.

Two guys stroll into the room, uniforms wrinkled, sleeves pushed up, boots heavy. Older — probably Asher’s age, or a bit younger. Their faces are all sharp edges and smirks, the kind of guys who make it clear they think the world owes them something.

Boomer tenses beside me the second he sees them.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath.

The guys head to the vending machine, but their conversation dies the moment they actually *see* me.

One of them does a full stop, his gaze dragging over me slowly, like he’s cataloguing a weapon.

“Well, well,” the taller one says, grinning. “Boomer, who’s this pretty little thing you’ve got stashed in here?”

Boomer’s already standing. “Leave her alone, Mac.”

The second guy whistles low. “She *yours*, Boom? Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“Seriously. Back off.”

The taller guy — Mac — turns toward me, slow and deliberate. His eyes sweep down my legs, over my dress, then up to my face again. It feels like oil slicking across my skin.

“You sharein’ tonight, soldier?” he says with a grin. “Or you done with her already?”

I freeze.

Every muscle in my body locks up. The laughter from minutes ago is gone, yanked out like it never existed. My stomach flips.

Boomer steps in front of me so fast the chair screeches behind him. He places a hand back, nudging me behind him gently, shielding me.

“She’s not for you. *Go*.”

The second guy — the one who hasn’t shut up yet — chuckles. “C’mon, Boom. Don’t make this difficult. You know the drill. Chain of command. That means when we ask, you don’t get to say no.”

Boomer’s hand curls tighter around mine. He doesn’t look back, but I can feel the tremor in him. Not because he’s afraid of them physically. But because of what saying no *means* here.

“Mac,” Boomer says slowly, “I’m telling you — you don’t want to do this.”

Mac scoffs. “The hell I don’t.”

Boomer swallows hard. “She’s with…”

He hesitates.

And I feel it — this moment breaking, snapping like a wire pulled too tight.

Then—

“Me,” comes the voice.

One word. Cold. Commanding.

The entire room shifts.

I whip my head toward the door.

Asher.

He’s standing in the doorway, one shoulder leaned against the frame, arms folded across his chest like they’re made of stone. His jaw is sharp enough to cut steel, and his eyes — his eyes — are locked on Mac with something ancient and dangerous inside them.

“She’s with me.”

Boomer exhales like he was holding his last breath.

Mac straightens. Tries to play it cool, but I can see the blood drain from his face.

“Hayes,” he says with a tight nod. “Didn’t know she was…”

“You knew she was with *someone*,” Asher says calmly. “You just didn’t care.”

No one moves.

“You want to try that again?” Asher asks, still leaning, still relaxed — but every word is ice.

Mac opens his mouth, then closes it.

The second guy mutters something like *shit* and takes a step back.

Boomer doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move.

Asher finally pushes off the doorframe and steps into the room — slow, deliberate, like a lion walking into a cage he already owns. He doesn’t touch me. Doesn’t look away from them.

Mac clears his throat. “We were just leaving.”

“Yeah,” Asher says. “You are.”

And they do.

Without another word, they vanish down the hall like shadows chased by a stronger storm.

Asher doesn’t move for a second.

Then his eyes finally flick to mine — and I see it.

The worry.

The rage he swallowed to stay calm.

And the relief that he made it in time.