Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 42

I scroll aimlessly through my phone, the light of the screen washing my face pale in the dark room.

Notifications, texts, dumb headlines.

Nothing important.

Nothing real.

I glance sideways.

And stop.

Penny is curled up on the far end of the couch, knees tucked tight to her chest, her face relaxed in sleep.

The blanket I threw over her is half-falling off, her bare legs stretched out next to me, smooth and pale in the dim light from the TV.

She lasted maybe two minutes after starting the movie.

Typical.

And somehow — somehow —

she’s even more beautiful like this.

Soft, unguarded.

Fragile in a way she never shows when she’s awake, laughing and joking and rolling her eyes at the world.

I drag a hand down my face, forcing myself to look away.

Her bare legs brush lightly against my thigh every time she shifts, and it’s goddamn torture.

I'd rather be back overseas, adrenaline spiking and bullets flying, than sitting here trying to be a goddamn monk while she's curled up next to me wearing nothing but my clothes.

My hand twitches, hovering for a second —

some deep, reckless part of me wanting to reach out and brush a strand of hair from her forehead,

trace the soft curve of her cheek.

I shove it down.

Hard.

Another crack of thunder shakes the house.

And Penny bolts upright with a gasp — wild, disoriented.

She scrambles backward, hands clawing at the couch, looking for something solid to grab onto.

The lights are off — I’d killed them earlier to make it easier to watch the TV — and in the sudden pitch black, she panics harder.

I lean forward fast, reaching for her.

"Hey," I say sharply. "Penny. It’s me."

But she doesn’t hear me.

Or doesn’t register it.

She lets out a small, broken scream, flailing blindly, pushing at my chest like I'm just another shadow trying to hurt her.

"Fuck," I mutter, catching her wrists to keep her from hurting herself.

Her whole body is trembling —

not just shivering from cold, but shaking in that deep, bone-deep way that has nothing to do with the weather and everything to do with fear.

Real fear.

What the hell happened to her?

Who hurt her bad enough to leave this kind of scar?

My phone buzzes against the couch cushion —

Dad texting.

**Everything okay down there?**

I thumb back a quick reply with one hand, still holding Penny steady with the other.

**Yeah. Penny got scared by the thunder. Handling it.**

Because what else can I say?

How do you explain the way her panic is choking the air out of the room?

How do you explain the way it cuts you in half to see it?

I shift, pulling her gently toward me.

She's still fighting, small fists pushing weakly at my chest, tears wetting her cheeks.

I drag her carefully onto my lap, settling her with her back against my chest, her legs curled sideways across my thighs.

And then — slowly — I start breathing.

Deep, slow breaths.

In.

Out.

Deliberate.

Grounding.

After a few minutes, I feel her start to mirror it without realizing —

her ribcage expanding against mine, her gasps slowing.

She stops struggling.

Just slumps against me, spent and shivering.

I hold her tighter, one arm around her waist, the other braced against the back of the couch.

She feels so small like this.

So impossibly soft.

Every part of me — every rough, broken, hardened part — screams to protect her. And this other side of me, the one that's not good for her, the one I'm trying to keep away, wants to destroy her.

I dip my head closer to hers, lowering my voice to a rumble.

"You okay?"

She nods, the motion small and jerky.

I don’t push for more.

I shift, lifting her carefully, and settle her back down on the couch next to me.

She wipes at her face with the sleeve of my shirt, looking embarrassed.

I don't say anything.

I don't look away either.

"What was that?" I ask quietly.

She pulls the blanket up higher around herself.

"Sometimes I get... nightmares," she says finally, voice so soft I almost miss it. "I don’t know why. They just... happen."

I nod once, taking it in.

Not asking for more.

Not tonight.

Maybe not ever — unless she wants to tell me.

I pat my thigh lightly.

"Come here. Go back to sleep."

She hesitates.

I can see the war in her eyes — trust, fear, stubborn independence.

But finally, she scoots over.

She curls up carefully, laying her head on my thigh, one arm tucked under her.

My hands freeze for a second.

Then I grab the blanket and drape it over her, tucking it gently around her shoulders.

She shifts, sighs, relaxes.

I hover — debating, battling — before I give in and let my hand skim lightly over her hair.

Soft.

Way softer than it should be.

Like touching spun silk.

I wait — tense — to see if she flinches.

She doesn’t.

So I keep going —

threading my fingers slowly through the damp strands, letting the feeling anchor me to this moment, this impossible girl.

Outside, the storm rages on.

But inside, in this tiny circle of warmth and breath and steady heartbeats —

She sleeps.