Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 61

Downstairs again. Safe. Sort of.

The Hayes' living room smells like cinnamon and fresh laundry, and I cling to that like a life raft because I’m definitely not still short-circuiting from my moment upstairs with Asher.

Nope. Totally fine. Totally normal. Just me, Penelope Vales, blinking like a startled deer while still trying to remember how to use my legs.

His voice still echoes in my ears.

*Penelope*.

God, how does he say my name like it’s both a warning and a secret?

His parents are on the couch, sipping tea and talking quietly, probably enjoying the five-minute peace before their two chaos sons destroy it.

Mrs. Hayes looks up and smiles when she sees me. “How’s the packing going up there?”

I plaster on a smile that feels a little too tight. “Well, Asher’s done packing.”

“And Tyler?” Mr. Hayes prompts, already smirking.

I pause, give them a very solemn nod. “Don’t be surprised if he needs a moving truck. For a week-long stay.”

They both burst out laughing.

Mr. Hayes shakes his head. “Two minutes. That’s all he’s got before I send in reinforcements.”

“I gave up after ten,” I say, flopping down in the armchair across from them. “He was debating between five or seven pairs of jeans. He has an entire duffel just for t-shirts and — wait for it — no socks.”

Mrs. Hayes gasps, laughing so hard her mug wobbles. “That sounds like him.”

As if summoned by the mention of his name, Asher descends the stairs like it’s his house. Which… okay, it is. But still. He’s quiet, calm, completely put together. A single duffel slung over his shoulder, folded clothes in perfect order, not a wrinkle in sight.

He drops his bag by the front door and leans against the wall like some military model in an Navy edition of those sexy calendars.

“Gave up on what?” he asks, voice low.

Oh. Great. Wonderful. This again.

Heat races to my face, and I do what any self-respecting girl would do in this situation: I mentally scream.

Because not even ten minutes ago I was in his room practically vibrating with anxiety, rambling like a maniac, tripping over my own sentences, and panicking that I was somehow forcing him to move in with me for a week and a half.

And then… and then he stepped closer. Just one step, but it felt like a shift in gravity. My skin still hasn’t recovered.

I cough, willing myself back to the present. “Umm. I gave up on helping Tyler pack.”

His mouth twitches — almost a smirk.

I keep talking to fill the silence. “He was agonizing over jeans. Had an entire bag of shirts. Not a single sock. He was even asking me which pillows he should bring and if three pairs of shoes were enough."

Mr. Hayes barks out a laugh. “That sounds about right.”

Mrs. Hayes chuckles, shaking her head. “Ash, please save the boy from his misery and go help him.”

I raise my hands. “Be my guest. I surrendered after ten. May the gods be with you.”

Asher, still leaned against the wall like it's his natural habitat, raises a brow. “You surrendered to *Tyler*?”

I glance at him, my cheeks heating again. “In my defense, I have survival instincts.”

He nods solemnly. “Smart.”

It shouldn’t make me feel proud. But it does.

Asher goes back up the stairs and his parents go back to their tea, while I settle into the couch, trying not to look like I’m watching the hallway for him to come back. Which I am. A little. Not like *waiting* waiting. Just... situational awareness.

Mrs. Hayes looks over. “You think you’ll survive a week and a half with these two under your roof?”

I snort. “I’m not sure ‘survive’ is the right word. But I’m grateful to have company.”

Mr. Hayes smiles at that, warm and soft around the edges. “We’re grateful you’re letting them invade.”

“I wouldn’t call it an invasion,” I say, just as I hear heavy footsteps pounding down the stairs.

“More like a mild siege,” I mutter as the chaos returns.

Tyler and Asher appear at the landing mid-argument.

“I can’t live off just that for a week,” Tyler groans, dragging what looks like three bags. “I need more. This is minimalism already.”

“No, it’s not,” Asher replies flatly. “It’s hoarding.”

“Bro, I need options.”

“You need help.”

Tyler gasps. “Have you heard of style? Expression?”

“Have you heard of washing your clothes?”

Mr. Hayes covers a laugh with a cough. Mrs. Hayes is shaking her head like this is the seventh time today.

By the time they reach the bottom of the stairs, Asher dumps two of Tyler’s bags beside his own, straightens, and looks at his parents.

“Where did you find this one? Yard sale?”

I snort so hard I choke on my own laugh.

Mrs. Hayes bursts out laughing. Mr. Hayes claps a hand to his face. Tyler groans but he’s grinning too.

“Not funny,” he mutters, dropping the last bag.

“It’s a little funny,” I offer, still trying to breathe.

Asher doesn’t crack a smile. He just moves to lean against the wall again like the chaos never happened.

I look at all of them and I feel something settle in my chest.

Like… this might actually work.

Like home might feel a little fuller this week.

And it might not be the worst thing.

Even with *him* in it.

Especially with him in it.