Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother Chapter 93

Asher stands between my legs, his hips brushing the inside of my knees, and even with me sitting on the hood of his car, I still don’t reach his eyes. My forehead is level with his chest, right against the clean stretch of his white t-shirt, and the warmth radiating off him makes it hard to breathe.

I keep telling myself not to cry.

Don’t cry. Don’t cry.

It’s been days of this—this push and pull inside me, this quiet ache I’ve tried to ignore. I’ve told myself over and over that whatever I’m feeling isn’t real. It’s just comfort. It’s just gratitude. It’s nothing.

I thought I was doing well, thought I was pulling back. But the second Rooster said Asher was in love with someone, I felt like I might throw up right there at the table.

That’s when I knew.

And now? Now I just feel pathetic.

His hands are holding my hips—not tight enough to bruise, but tight enough to make me feel it. Tight enough that my bones remember where his fingers were. I don’t know if he realizes how much that small gesture wrecks me. Makes me hope for things I have no business hoping for.

He’s just trying to be nice. He always is.

I’m the problem.

Maybe I’m broken. I’ve only had two boyfriends in my entire life—Tyler, and before him a boy in freshman year who dumped me because I wouldn’t sleep with him. Maybe I never learned the difference between kindness and something else. Maybe my flirt-o-meter is broken, and I’ve been reading everything wrong.

Maybe all of this—all these feelings clawing at my ribs and curling hot in my belly—are just me, misinterpreting. And maybe Tyler isn’t flirting when he laughs too hard with other girls. Maybe I’m just hypersensitive and ridiculous and—

“Penny.”

His voice cuts through the spiral. It’s low and quiet, but direct. The kind of voice that doesn't let you look away.

He shifts closer, his hands sliding slightly so I’m pulled to the very edge of the hood. Our legs are practically tangled now, my knees brushing the sides of his thighs. I have to tilt my head back to see his face.

“I need you to say it,” he murmurs. “That you’re okay.”

I try to speak. Swallow. My throat burns.

“I’m okay,” I say. It doesn’t sound like me. My voice is small. Fragile.

His gaze stays on me for a moment longer, unreadable. I force a weak smile.

“And… thank you,” I add. “For the dinner. For everything. Again.”

He studies me for a beat, then just nods. His hands fall away from my hips.

The absence feels like a punch.

When we walk inside, Tyler’s voice greets us immediately.

“Heeeyy, how was it?”

I force a smile as I toe off my shoes.

“Good,” I say.

“Yeah,” Asher echoes.

Tyler walks over and wraps an arm around my waist. “How was rehearsal?”

“Good,” I say again. My vocabulary has apparently been reduced to a single word. I sound like a robot.

He leans in and kisses me. I let him.

My stomach twists. Guilt laces through me like poison, but I don’t pull away. I can’t. Not now. Not when I already feel like I’ve betrayed him ten times over just by having the thoughts I’ve had.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed,” I say, barely above a whisper.

“You tired?” Tyler asks, brushing some hair out of my face.

I nod. “Long day.”

He presses another kiss to my forehead. “Alright, baby. Sleep tight.”

I head upstairs without looking back.

Behind me, I hear the soft sound of Asher’s boots on the floor as he walks toward the kitchen. Not following me. Not saying anything.

It shouldn’t matter.

Upstairs, I close the bathroom door behind me and lean against it for a second. The house is quiet. Too quiet. I can still feel the weight of Asher’s silence in the car like it’s trailing after me. Clinging to me. Settling into my skin.

I shake it off.

The water is already running when I step into the shower. Hot. Steam curls around me, wrapping my bare skin in mist. I lean against the tile for a second, let the heat sting my shoulders, my spine, my face. I close my eyes.

Asher.

His voice still echoes somewhere deep in my chest. His hand on my back last night. His fingers brushing my spine. His forehead resting on mine like I was something precious. Like I was something he wanted to protect.

No.

I grab the shampoo and scrub at my scalp like I can erase the memory. Like I can wash him out of my hair. Out of my mind. Out of wherever he’s carved himself into my ribcage without asking.

I rinse, then go for the body wash. I lather it hard, dragging it over my arms, my stomach, my legs. I scrub like I’m trying to peel off a layer of skin. Like if I just clean deep enough, I won’t still feel the ghost of his touch.

I’m with Tyler.

He’s here. He’s trying. He messed up, but he apologized. He says he’ll do better, and I believe him. I want to believe him. We’ve been together a year. That’s something. That has to mean something.

So what if I’ve been questioning us lately?

So what if I’ve caught myself wondering if I’m still the same girl who said yes to him last year?

Asher isn’t mine. He’s never been mine.

He’s in love with someone. Someone he won’t talk about. Someone he won’t bring around the house. Someone who isn’t me.

And in a few weeks, he’ll be gone again. Back to whatever corner of the world the Navy decides to send him to. Back to danger and distance and detachment.

So no more feelings. No more wondering. No more looking at him like he’s something I want and can’t have.

I rinse off and turn off the water.

It’s time to stop feeling anything for Asher Hayes.