Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 51

There’s a soft knock at the door, followed by the sound of her voice —

that effortless, slightly breathy “hey” that makes something in my chest respond before I can shut it down.

Tyler’s halfway across the house before I even shift in my seat, practically tripping over his own feet to get to her. I hear her laugh — low and bright, that same honeyed sound from earlier — and the thud of him pulling her into his arms.

The kiss comes next. I don’t see it, but I know it.

The kind of sound you learn to recognize when you’ve spent a little too long listening instead of looking.

It shouldn’t feel like a punch.

But it does.

I stand.

And then I see her.

And for a full second, my brain refuses to function.

So this is *the* dress.

The one Tyler said our mom loves.

The one Penny’s wearing now like it’s stitched out of something gentler than reality.

Something made for sunlit fields and stolen glances and a life I’ll never have.

It’s pale blue with a tiny floral pattern, delicate in a way that makes her look untouchable. The sleeves puff slightly at her shoulders, the neckline squared and sweet, drawing attention to the soft slope of her collarbones. And the slit—Jesus. It’s subtle, tasteful, but it still cuts up her thigh just enough to make me forget how to breathe for half a beat.

She looks like a dream.

And worse — she looks like *his*.

Tyler’s standing next to her, grinning from ear to ear like he just won the lottery and has no idea what to do with the prize money.

He’s eating her up with his eyes, and she’s soaking in the attention like sunlight.

But all I can think is how easy it is to forget how otherworldly she is when she’s wearing hoodies and oversized joggers — mine — sleeves pulled down over her hands like she’s hiding.

She’s not hiding now.

Her blonde curls are half-up, half-down, falling in loose waves over her shoulders and down her back. The overhead light catches the shine in them, turning gold into something molten.

I should look away.

I don’t.

Then I see it.

The cut on her cheek.

It’s faint — already starting to scab over — but it blooms red against her skin like a reminder. A warning. And even though I saw it yesterday, even earlier today, something about it now — under this soft glow, with her laughing and radiant and fragile — feels *wrong*.

Like the world let something touch her it wasn’t supposed to.

And then I see her arm.

The bruise isn’t shaped like a handprint anymore, but I remember it.

I remember the way she looked that day after her audition —

I remember the guy, the way he held her arm too tight.

The way she didn’t say anything about it even though her body was shouting the truth.

Tyler doesn’t notice.

Of course he doesn’t.

But I do.

And I will.

And later, when no one’s watching, I’m going to find out who that guy is.

Where he works.

What he drives.

I tried after coming back home on the night it happened and it didn't amount to anything. But when I do... I’m going to decide what kind of lesson he needs.

“Penny,” my mom’s voice breaks the moment, warm and sweet as always. She and my dad step into the room, both smiling like she’s their daughter coming home from college.

My mom hugs her tight. “Oh, honey. You look beautiful.”

“Gorgeous,” my dad adds, giving her a soft squeeze. “Glad you’re here. You brighten up the place.”

She flushes pink, and I see it — the shift in her shoulders, the quiet pride she tries not to show. She doesn’t always know how to take compliments. That part of her is still new to me, but I’ve started collecting those little pieces like they matter. Because they do.

My mom waves a hand. “Go relax with the boys while we finish up dinner.”

Tyler practically beams and throws an arm over her shoulder, leading her to the couch.

I stay standing. Watching.

She sits, carefully arranging the skirt of her dress, smoothing it over her thighs.

Tyler pulls out his phone. “Okay, okay — so I saw this post today that made me think of you,” he says, grinning.

She narrows her eyes playfully. “Should I be worried?”

“Absolutely,” he says. “Okay — would you rather have hiccups every time you speak to someone attractive or uncontrollable sneezing every time you hear the word ‘lasagna’?”

She gasps. “This is… this is diabolical.”

I raise an eyebrow from my spot by the wall. “Hiccups.”

Tyler laughs. “Wow. No hesitation.”

“It’s efficient,” I mutter.

“Okay okay,” Penny cuts in, sitting straighter, “First of all, hiccups are annoying, but sneezing during dinner would ruin my life. Do you know how many lasagna-based meals I’m around in a year? Like, at least ten. Minimum. And imagine sneezing during Garfield.”

“Garfield?” Tyler chokes.

“He loves lasagna!” she defends, full serious.

And now she’s spiraling, talking about how sneezing could be misinterpreted as allergies or rudeness or demonic possession, while hiccups — while embarrassing — might actually make her seem more endearing, like a quirky rom-com character. She throws in an impression of herself trying to flirt while hiccuping and somehow manages to make it adorable and ridiculous at the same time.

Tyler is dying.

He’s doubled over laughing, shoulders shaking.

And me?

I try.

I really do.

But it slips out anyway —

a smirk.

A breath of laughter.

A betrayal of how much I enjoy watching her turn the stupidest scenario into a thesis presentation.

She sees us both laughing and scowls. “I’m being serious.”

“That’s the problem,” I say quietly.

She glares at me but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.

It wins eventually, soft and full, lighting her whole face.

God help me.

This girl.

This fucking girl.

She’s going to be the end of me.

Before I can say anything else, my mom calls from the kitchen.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Tyler stands and stretches. “Let’s eat. I’m starving.”

Penny rises beside him, brushing invisible dust from her skirt. The slit shifts with her movement, giving me another glimpse of skin and I have to look away or I’ll stare too long.

She turns toward the table, Tyler already reaching to take her hand.

I follow.

And with every step, all I can think is that I don’t know what kind of cruel joke the universe is playing —

putting a girl like her in a world like mine.