Falling for my boyfriend's Navy brother novel Chapter 233

Chapter 233: Boomer

I don’t ask her if she wants to go out.

I tell her.

It’s not because I’m bossy not with her. It’s because I know she needs it. Needs something normal. Something that doesn’t taste like hospital air and adrenaline. So I tell her, gentle but firm. I give her space to change. And when she steps out of my room in that oversized hoodie and leggings, looking like she didn’t sleep last night even though I know she did, something in my chest twists.

It shouldn’t be me.

But for now, it is.

We walk in silence for the most part, just a few blocks over, to a place I’ve been meaning to try. One of those weird little fusion spots with dim lighting and a build–your–own poke bowl bar that stretches half the length of the room. I don’t know if she even likes this stuff, but she perks up at the colors, the options, the stupid little spoons and garnish cups.

Small win.

I let her take the lead at first – rice, tuna, avocado, predictable stuff – and then I start sneaking in comments. Teasing her when she reaches for the spicy mayo too early. Poking fun when she hesitates between cucumber and mango. Offering her a spoon of ghost pepper aioli just to watch her eyes widen and her throat catch.

Her laughter, real and raw and sharp–edged, hits me straight in the ribs.

And when she tries to retaliate by tossing ginger in my bowl, I sidestep and smirk and watch her pretend not to care that I got away with it. God, she’s cute when she’s playful. When she’s not folding in on herself with panic and fear.

It’s not that I like watching her hurt.

But I love watching her heal.

We sit in the corner booth, low lighting above us and two bowls between us, and I can’t stop glancing at her. She doesn’t notice. Or if she does, she doesn’t say anything. She’s focused on her food, her wet hair tucked behind one ear, and she eats like someone who forgot how to be hungry and is just now remembering.

She’s beautiful.

Not just in the soft–lipped, doe–eyed kind of way. She’s beautiful because she’s fighting. Every breath she takes, every bite of salmon she swallows, every faint smile she gives when I call her out for forgetting to try the candied pineapple – it all matters.

It all means she’s still here.

I’ve got

She doesn’t even flinch when I brush sesame off her cheek. Just blinks at me like she’s not sure why her face is warm now, why the air feels different. I ~~pretend I don’t notice. Pretend I’m not the one who wants to reach out again, who wants to trace the lines of her jaw and tell her she’s sa

her. That Asher’s not the only one who’d raze the world to keep her breathing.

But I don’t.

Because I’m not him.

And she’s not mine.

After we’re done, she hesitates near the door. She lingers like she doesn’t want to go home just yet. So I ask, “You want dessert?”

Her eyes lift, cautious. “Like, ice cream?”

I grin. “Only if you build it yourself.”

Chapter 233: Boomer

She snorts

that sound I’m becoming addicted to and nods. “Okay.

So we go. Another little shop, this one quieter, tucked between a florist and a secondhand bookstore. She builds a cone with coconut gelato, caramel drizzle and crumbled graham crackers. I get matcha soft serve and mochi. We sit outside on a bench even if it’s cold, city lights flickering around y, and for moment, it almost feels like we’re two regular people. Like we’re just on some spontaneous night out.

Then she freezes.

Mid–lick, Mid–laugh.

Her body stiffens so suddenly I almost drop my cone.

I follow her gaze instinctively, scanning the street until I spot it patch. No markings. No tell.

But she doesn’t see any of that.

a biker. Alone. Leather jacket. Long limbs. Around our age. Not a Vulture – I’d know. No

She sees him.

Or something close enough.

She starts to shake, a small tremble at first, then all over. Her hand trembles so bad the cone almost tips. Her jaw locks. Her eyes go glassy, haunted, and it hits me like a punch to the chest.

“Penny,” I say softly, shifting closer, “look at me.”

She doesn’t.

So I put my cone down. Gently take hers too. And I touch her wrist, not too tight. Just enough to ground her.

“Hey. You’re safe,” I murmur, voice low. “Look at me, princess.”

Slowly, like every second is a war, she turns her head.

“It’s not him,” I promise. “Not any of them. No logo, no ink. I’ve been watching all night – they don’t come this far uptown.”

Her lips part, breath shaky. She’s still trembling, but she blinks fast, like she’s fighting her way back to the surface. I shift a little, shielding her body from the man’s line of sight.

“I promise you,” I say. “No Vultures tonight. Just some dude with a motorcycle and bad fashion sense.”

She huffs something like a laugh. It’s choked. Fragile.

I stand up and hold out my hand.

“Come on. Let’s go home.”

She takes it.

Her fingers are cold.

Back at the apartment, she heads straight to the shower. I wait until I hear the water start before pulling my phone out of my pocket. Two days. That’s how long it’s been. No updates. No answers.

I call Asher.

Straight to voicemail.

My jaw tightens.

Chapter 233: Boomer

I try Rooster.

Same thing.

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