Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 201

Asher doesn’t say a word as we leave the building.

He takes my hand — more like *grabs* it — and strides ahead with so much purpose that I nearly stumble trying to keep up. His fingers are locked around mine in a grip so tight it makes my knuckles ache, but I don’t say anything.

I don’t want him to let go either.

My legs burn as I jog to match his long, fast steps. He doesn’t look back. Just holds me with one hand and burns forward like the hallway might cave in behind us.

But my mind’s still back there.

With *Mac*.

The way he looked at me. Like I was something he could take if Boomer hadn’t stepped between us. Like he had already decided I didn’t matter enough to stop.

My stomach twists.

I hug my free arm around myself as we move.

Boomer… he was good. Kind. A little awkward, but sweet and loyal and solid. He stepped in the way. Held my hand. Kept his body between me and danger without asking for anything.

I felt safe with him.

A little like I’d known him longer than just an hour.

And I saw it — the moment Asher rounded that corner. The tick in his jaw when he saw Boomer’s fingers in mine, the way his gaze hardened, but not toward Boomer. No. It was Mac who lit the fire in him.

Still, I wonder how much it bugged him. Seeing another guy be the one to protect me. Even if only for a minute.

We step into the cool air outside. Asher doesn’t slow down.

The car is across the lot, parked just beneath one of the dim, flickering floodlights. His boots crunch against gravel. My heels click behind him. He still hasn’t looked at me.

Then we reach the car.

He opens the driver’s side door — my hand still clutched tightly in his.

I start to move around to the passenger side.

“No,” he says sharply. Quietly. “Don’t.”

I pause.

And then, without letting go of me, he drops into the driver’s seat and tugs me with him.

Straight onto his lap.

The door shuts with a solid *thunk*.

I blink, breath catching. “What are you—”

“Shh.”

His arms come around me fast. Tight.

One slips around my lower back, the other across my shoulders, folding me into him until I’m curled in his chest like he’s afraid I’ll vanish. His body is warm, hard beneath me, and shaking — just a little — like he’s holding something back.

“I just need you for a little bit,” he says against my temple, voice barely above a breath. “Just… let me hold you.”

I don’t move.

I don’t *want* to.

I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cheek to the side of his face, letting my fingers bury themselves in the back of his shirt. His chest expands slowly beneath mine, but the breaths are forced, like they’re trying not to tremble.

He holds me like I’m the only thing holding *him* up.

His face presses into the crook of my neck, and I feel his breath there — hot, damp, careful. He stays like that. Not speaking. Not shifting. His grip just tightens once, like a wave cresting, and I hold tighter too.

And if I didn’t know him better — if I hadn’t know that Asher Hayes takes hits and bleeds and never flinches — I would’ve sworn…

He was crying.

Or *almost*.

I run my fingers slowly through his hair, just once, gentle and slow. He doesn’t react. Just breathes deeper. Heavy.

Five minutes pass. Maybe more.

Then, without lifting his head from my neck, he shifts one hand, presses the ignition.

The engine hums to life.

Still, he doesn’t move.

His voice is barely audible when it comes again.

“Will you stay with me tonight?”

I go still.

I wasn’t expecting that. Not right now. Not with him like this. I thought he might want to be alone — or at least, not with *me*. Not while he’s carrying whatever this is behind his eyes.

But he’s asking.

For *me*.

And I realize in that moment, he doesn’t want to be touched by anyone — except me.

“Of course,” I whisper. “Yes. I’ll stay.”

He exhales. I feel it in my chest.

I reach for my phone and dial home. My mom picks up fast.

“Hi mom. Um, Asher needs me tonight,” I say. “I’ll tell you everything tomorrow. But I don't think he should be alone.”

There’s a pause.

Then, softly: “Okay, sweetie. Be safe. We love you.”

“I love you too.”

I hang up.

He finally leans back, shifting me gently off his lap and into the passenger seat. He buckles my seatbelt himself, fingers brushing my waist as he clicks it in place.

Then he sits back behind the wheel.

Silent. Steady.

And pulls us away from the base — into the quiet dark.