Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 184

Falling for my boyfriend’s Navy brother

Chapter 184: Penny

The next two weeks are going to swallow me whole.

I already know it, feel it deep in my muscles, the kind of tired that curls into your bones before anything’s even darted at this kind of extener welcome it. I missed it. It means I’m moving again. It means I’m dancing. That life is ticking forward and I get to be a part of it

My rehearsal schedule is a mess of early call times, sore arches, and Madame Loretto’s very sharp, very unique brand of ertesiege

She doesn’t say she’s glad to have me back.

She screams it in the form of relentless corrections and claps that sting my ego more than they should. She tells me my posture is sloppy. That m shoulders are too tense. That Luc is lifting me like I’m made of concrete and it’s my fault. But I can see it in her eyes, between the chaos of it all–she’s glad I’m back. Luc too. Even if neither of them say it.

The lift isn’t where it was before, but it’s getting there. Every day, I go higher, more stable. I don’t flinch now when he picks me up. And when I land. I land

solid.

It’s not just my body healing. It’s my trust.

My balance.

And when I leave the studio each day, sweat–drenched and sore and maybe a little unhinged from lack of sleep, I meet Asher–and it’s like I’m stepping into another kind of rehearsal. One where the choreography hasn’t been written yet, but we’re learning the steps together.

Furniture shopping with him has become its own kind of quiet therapy.

We go after fehearsals sometimes. When the light outside is pale and slanted and it reflects off the snow like glass. We slip into warm, over–decorated showrooms that smell like cinnamon pine and polished wood, and I trail behind him like a child in a candy shop, marveling at how serious he looks at cabinets.

“I’m just saying,” I tell him one night, arms crossed as I lean on a leather couch, “if the kitchen doesn’t have a cute backsplash, how am I supposed to twirl around barefoot in your shirt and make pancakes like a girl in a music video?”

He doesn’t even blink. “You’re going to twirl barefoot?”

“Yes.”

“Near a hot stove?”

“…That’s not the point.”

He looks at me, deadpan. “You’re a danger to yourself.”

“A vibe,” I correct him.

His lips twitch into the smallest smile before he turns back to inspecting some stainless–steel monstrosity. And then, just as I think the moment’s passed, he murmurs, “You can twirl in the living room. I’ll bring you pancakes there.”

It’s stupid how that one sentence melts me into a puddle right there on a rug that costs more than my entire wardrobe.

Asher doesn’t laugh easily. But when he does–it’s like thunder cracking the air open. Deep and unexpected. He laughs when I dramatically flop onto each mattress like I’m auditioning for a toothpaste commercial. He laughs when I hide behind floor lamps and pretend to be a statue. He laughs when I sneak flamingo figurines into the “final maybe” pile.

He’s warm when he laughs. Like light sneaking through cracks in the wall.

And even though he’s making all the final calls–this is his place, not ours–he always asks what I think. Like I matter. Like my opinion isn’t extra weight, but something he needs to feel steady.

1/3

Chapter 184: Penny

He picked a small but beautiful one bedroom with huge windenes and a tiny batening that looks out at the frozen lake. When he signed the papers, he accidentally said we’ll take it and the way his ears turned pink made me fall just a litle harder.

I haven’t told my parents that yet. About the we. About how a part of me wants to spend more time there than I probably should. tr’s closer to ang chidió, and they know that. But I don’t know how to tell them I feel safer there. More me there. Like if I sleep next in Acher, nothing in the world can track me not regret, not memories, not even Tyler.

Speaking of which…

Christmas is in two weeks, and my mom has been stress planning since Thanksgiving. She finally confirmed that the Hayes are coming over for dinner a few days before the 25th.

Tyler declined.

Part of me is relieved. The other part feels like I should feel more than that. Anger. Sadness. Closure. But honestly? I’m too tired to give it energy anymore.

Asher and his parents are coming though.

And that feels right.

He’ll sit beside me at our table, and my mom will probably interrogate him in her sweet way, and my dad will try not to smile too much whenever he talks to him. We haven’t put a label on anything yet. But I don’t need one to know what’s real.

Rooster and Anna texted yesterday asking if we’d go out with them for an early Christmas dinner. I didn’t even ask Asher–I just texted back yes. Because 1 know him now. And I know how much those two mean to him.

And then there’s Christmas Eve.

I’d asked him what he was doing, half–expecting him to say nothing. But he just tilted his head, smirked, and said, “I’ve got something planned for you.”

Butterflies.

Absolute chaos butterflies.

He won’t tell me what it is. But he’s been sneakily checking the weather, and this morning I caught him mumbling something about “boots that aren’t ugly but still waterproof.” So… whatever it is, I hope it doesn’t involve snowball fights. Because I will lose.

And just when I thought my schedule was full, Madame told me I’ve been selected to perform in the New Year charity ballet performance for the children’s hospital.

It’s only one piece, but it’s a solo. A lyrical–style ballet number choreographed to a winter lullaby that’s meant to be soft and comforting and hopeful.

When she told me, she didn’t even say congratulations. She just said, “Don’t cry. It’s not for you. It’s for them.”

But I did cry. A little,

Because it means something. That after everything, she still believes in me. That maybe the worst is behind me now. That I get to bring something beautiful into a place full of children who’ve seen way more pain than I ever have.

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