Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 81

The music inside the house is deafening, the kind that pulses in your bones and leaves your ears ringing for hours. I push the front door open and step out, the cold air hitting me like a wave, blessed and biting at the same time. I inhale, deep and desperate, trying to pull the oxygen straight into my soul. My skin’s clammy, my head’s light, and I feel like my heart is tap dancing in my chest.

I lower myself onto the stairs, one step down, elbows resting on my knees, palms pressed to my temples. Maybe I shouldn’t have come. Or maybe I should’ve left as soon as I felt like I didn’t belong.

The party behind me is a swirling chaos of laughter and shouts and music, but here—it’s quiet enough for me to think. Which, ironically, is the last thing I want to do.

“Hey, pretty girl.”

The voice slurs behind me, low and too close, soaked in alcohol and something meaner.

I glance up. He’s tall. Or maybe I’m just small. Blonde, square jaw, athletic—he looks like someone who’s been told his whole life that he deserves whatever he wants.

“Hi,” I say quietly, trying not to encourage anything, then look away, hoping he’ll take the hint.

He doesn’t.

“You here alone?”

“No.”

He plops down beside me, the wood creaking under the sudden weight. Way too close. His thigh brushes mine, and I immediately shift away.

He shifts with me. Closer still.

“I saw you inside. Thought you looked familiar,” he says. “You’re the dancer girl, right?”

I stiffen. “I—yeah. Ballet.”

“That’s hot,” he says, voice dipped in sleaze. “Like real flexible and stuff?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. “Thanks, I guess.”

“You wanna come back inside with me? My car’s parked down the street,” he leans closer, breath reeking of beer and something sweeter—maybe rum. His hand lands on my knee.

I freeze.

“No, thank you.” I knock his hand off, try to keep my tone calm, firm, unfriendly.

He chuckles. “Playing hard to get?”

“I said no.”

He doesn’t listen. His hand returns, rougher this time, sliding higher on my thigh.

My breath catches. “Stop.”

He laughs again—like this is funny to him. A game.

“C’mon,” he whispers, fingers pressing into the soft skin just above my knee. “Don’t be like that. You’ve got a tight little body, bet you know how to use it.”

I shove his hand off harder. “I said get off!”

His grip on my leg tightens. “Relax. Just be nice.”

I recoil, trying to stand, but his other hand shoots out, clamping around my wrist, holding me in place. My heart jumps into my throat.

“You’re too pretty to be out here all alone, sweetheart.”

“Let go of me,” I hiss, yanking my arm.

But he’s stronger. His grip burns. His smile is gone now, eyes sharpening.

I open my mouth to scream, but I don’t have to.

Because that’s when a voice cuts through the night.

“Yo. Hands off my girlfriend.”

The guy jolts and turns. A girl walks up, fast and fierce. She’s got silver rings on nearly every finger, piercings lining both ears, and camo cargo pants tucked into combat boots. Her eyes are eyeliner sharp and she’s got a swagger like she owns the street.

She strides over, throws an arm around me, and looks at him. “You good, babe?” she asks.

I blink once, clock the lifeline she’s tossing me, and nod. “Yeah. Thanks, baby.”

The guy raises both hands, palms up, backing off. “Damn, my bad. Didn’t know.”

“Yeah, and now you do,” the girl snaps.

He stumbles off down the sidewalk, muttering something about crazy girls. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

“Thank you,” I breathe.

She shrugs and drops onto the step beside me. “Guys like that make me want to kick them in the nuts so hard they see stars.”

That makes me laugh—really laugh, for the first time in a while.

“I’m Jules,” she says, offering a fist for a bump.

“Penny.”

“Cool name. You okay?”

I nod, a little dazed. “I will be. Just… needed air. And apparently a bodyguard.”

“You got one now,” she smirks. “I hang around for a while at these things. Always one creep. At least.”

We talk for a little longer—she’s in town for school, grew up in the city, likes punk music and hates math. I like her instantly.

But then I hear it. The kind of scream that’s not panic, not fear—just chaotic, drunk amusement—flooding from the basement windows.

I stand. “I should check on someone.”

Jules nods. “You know where to find me if another frat boy tries anything.”

I smile, grateful, and dart back into the house, navigating through bodies and down the narrow stairs to the basement.

And what I see makes my stomach turn.

Rebecca. Straddling lap after lap, grinding her hips, tossing her hair like she’s auditioning for a music video. Guys. Girls. Everyone cheering. Hands waving.

And Tyler—my Tyler—is right there, front and center. Grinning like a maniac. Cheering her on like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen. Her hands on his chest, his hands on her thighs.

My heart drops to my stomach.

I just… I freeze.

“Penny!” Tyler’s voice cuts through the music and crowd like a blade, sharp and too loud. He spots me near the stairs and waves a red cup in the air, grinning like he just won a championship. “Come sit with us! It’s your party too!”

He’s surrounded—Rebecca draped on one arm, some guy I vaguely recognize from school slumped against his other side, the floor around them littered with beer cans and empty chip bags. Laughter and smoke swirl in the air like chaos bottled.

I step closer, keeping my voice even. “I want to go.”

He squints at me, blinking slow, like I’m a puzzle he forgot how to solve. “Babe, what? Why?”

“You’re drunk,” I say. “You’ve been drinking way too much.”

He waves a hand, nearly spilling the beer. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” I say firmly. “Tyler, please. I want to leave.”

And that’s when it happens.

He bends at the waist with zero warning and vomits violently onto the carpet. The crowd gasps, the air reeking instantly of beer and acid.

Then—laughter. Applause.

“BOOT AND RALLY!” someone bellows.

The chant catches. “BOOT AND RALLY! BOOT AND RALLY!”

Before I can process, another cup is shoved into his hand. Rebecca’s howling with laughter, smacking his back like he just did something heroic.

“Tyler—” I start, reaching out instinctively.

And that’s when his hand clamps around my wrist. Tight.

Too tight.

My breath catches in my throat.

His grip burns. Like he’s forgotten what my hand feels like. Like he doesn’t realize he’s hurting me. Or maybe he does and doesn’t care.

I look at him—and I don’t recognize what’s staring back.

His eyes are glassy, bloodshot, pupils too wide. But it’s more than that. They’re cold. Distant. Cruel.

“Then go home if you’re not having fun,” he spits.

Like I’m an inconvenience.

Like I’m the one ruining the night.

The grip on my wrist pulses. I try to pull away, and his fingers tighten for a split second before they finally release, leaving an ache behind like a bruise that hasn’t bloomed yet.

It hurts.

Not just my wrist.

All of it.

The way his voice changed. The look in his eyes. The way Rebecca snorts next to him like she’s entertained.

The humiliation, sudden and suffocating, wraps around me like a second skin.

I take a shaky breath and step back.

I bolt upstairs. Back into the noise and the chaos and everything that’s too loud and not enough all at once.

I try to find Mila, to grab her and get out of here. But she’s gone. I check the kitchen. The living room. Nothing. I pull out my phone, heart in my throat.

One text. Twenty-five minutes ago.

**Mila:** *Leaving w the cute guy* 😏 *see u monday ily*

I can’t breathe.

I can’t walk home. Not this late, not in this outfit. Not after what just happened.

I can’t ask Tyler.

And I’m not staying here.

There’s only one person I can call right now. The only one who feels even remotely safe.

With shaking hands, I press his name on my screen.