Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 55

“You boys can clean up,” my mom says, getting up from the couch and stretching. “We’re heading to bed.”

My dad echoes the sentiment with a soft, “Goodnight, you two. And Asher — thanks again for dinner earlier.”

Tyler groans dramatically, sinking deeper into the couch like he might disappear into it.

I glance at him. “Get up.”

He sighs like he’s been personally attacked.

“Come on,” I add. “If we do it together, it’ll be done fast, and you can go chill or hang upside down in your room or whatever the hell you do at night.”

He laughs under his breath and drags himself up, following me into the kitchen with all the grace of a teenager being asked to do manual labor, even though he's not a teen and this will barely take ten minutes.

We start with the dishes — plates, glasses, forks, everything gathered and stacked. I run water while he scrapes leftover food into the garbage. The tap hisses, and the smell of roasted vegetables lingers in the air along with the faintest trace of Penny’s perfume, still hanging from the couch cushions and maybe from my brain.

Tyler talks while we work. It’s a stream-of-consciousness sort of thing — something about a guy on his team who brought the wrong cleats to practice, something about pizza toppings, something about how he’s going to get a better rank in whatever game he’s currently obsessed with.

I let it go for a while. Let the noise fill the room like it’s supposed to.

But then I can’t help it. My patience has limits, and tonight I’m already pushing past all of them.

“Do you know the whole story?” I ask.

He stops stacking bowls. “What story?”

“The robbery.”

He blinks at me. “Oh. Yeah. Kinda.”

I turn to face him. “Kinda?”

He shrugs. “I know what happened. But Mom and Dad said not to talk about it.”

“They said not to talk about it in front of Penny,” I clarify. “This is just us.”

His hesitation lasts all of three seconds before his usual enthusiasm kicks in, like I knew it would. He leans on the counter, drying his hands on a towel, face lighting up with that same grin he gets when he tells a story he’s not supposed to.

Why he’s excited about a story like this, I’ll never understand. But I keep my face still. I want the details.

“It was before I met her,” he starts. “But she told me a lot about it. Her parents told mine, too. And I read about it in the news.”

I narrow my eyes. “You read?”

He scowls. “Shut up. I like to be informed. Sometimes.”

I let that one go and wait.

He shrugs. “Her parents were only gone for one night. Some quick work trip or something. Penny was sixteen — so you know, old enough. It wasn’t a big deal.”

Until it was.

“She went to sleep like normal. But then in the middle of the night, she heard noise. Like stuff moving. Then voices. She was still half-asleep, thought her parents came home early. So she went downstairs.”

I can already feel it tightening in my chest, that slow pull of pressure that always comes before the explosion.

“She came face to face with a guy. Just... right there. Some dude, maybe only a couple years older than her.”

I clench my jaw. “She recognized him?”

Tyler shakes his head. “She said no. It was dark, he had a hoodie or something. And she wanted to run, but before she could react — there was another guy behind her.”

He doesn’t even seem to notice the way my hands have stopped moving. Water’s still running in the sink.

“That one shoved her to the floor. Pulled out a gun. Pointed it right at her. Apparently the guys started arguing about what they should do with her.”

My throat closes for a second.

“She told them she couldn’t see their faces. That she wouldn’t be able to ID them. Told them to just take what they wanted and go.”

Smart.

“They made her lie on her stomach. Hands behind her back. One of them sat on her to keep her down while the other started grabbing stuff — laptops, jewelry, money, whatever they could find. She said she couldn't breathe and couldn't move.”

“And then?” I ask, feeling like I can't breathe or move either.

Tyler keeps going like he’s reciting a campfire story. “Before they left, one of them leaned down, showed her the gun again and told her that if she called the cops, they’d come back and use it. Said they were watching.”

“Jesus,” I mutter.

“Yeah.”

“What did she do?”

“Cried. Stayed there. She said she couldn’t move. Just laid there all night.”

I shut the faucet off.

“And her parents found her in the morning?”

He nods. “Yeah. Called the cops right away. She had bruises on her back, and they found DNA — but no matches. Not at first.”

I turn to face him fully now. “So how’d they catch them?”

“A month later, another house a few blocks away got hit. Same MO. This time, someone got a partial plate and security cam footage. They matched the DNA and bam. Caught ‘em both. Now they’re in prison.”

I exhale slowly. There’s a tight, hot thread of fury running down my spine.

“And that’s why she doesn’t like being alone,” Tyler adds, tossing a dish towel toward the counter.

“She said nothing like that ever happened before, or since. But, no matter how long it's been... she just can’t shake it.”

“It’s not something you shake,” I say.

Tyler shrugs. “I mean... it’s been three years. And she's fine. I tell her all the time that she should stop thinking about it.”

That’s all it takes. One dismissive, careless shrug. One flippant statement from someone who’s never had to sleep with fear folded under their ribs like spare change.

I want to tear him a new one.

I want to grab him by the collar and explain exactly how long three years of trauma can live in a person. How it doesn’t fade — it roots. Deep.

But his phone buzzes, and he picks it up.

“Yo!” he says, grinning at the screen. “Yeah, I’m down. Just gotta log in, I’ll hop on in five.”

He heads toward the stairs, completely unaware.

I stare at the empty space he leaves behind, fighting the urge to run over to Penny's house so she doesn't have to be alone tonight.