Filed to story: Penny and Navy Brother Asher
Not even a hint of annoyance.
I rush across the parking lot and yank open the door, tossing my bag onto the floor at my feet.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry,” I say in a rush. “Practice was a disaster. Madame had a meltdown. Half the studio was crying. I thought someone might actually faint at one point.”
Tyler laughs quietly, shifting the car into gear. “Sounds intense.”
“It was brutal,” I groan, buckling my seatbelt. “And then she kept me back to tell me-get this-that I was good. And that I have to fix my turnout. But otherwise, I might actually survive auditions.”
“See?” he says, reaching over to squeeze my knee. “I told you you’re amazing.”
I roll my eyes but smile, warmth blooming in my chest.
We pull out of the lot and onto the main road, heading toward his house.
I reach into my bag, pull out a pair of jeans, and start wriggling into them as best I can without removing my seatbelt.
It’s awkward and probably dangerous, but I can’t show up to dinner in tights and a leotard.
Tyler glances over and laughs. “Need a hand?”
“Not unless you want me to accidentally kick you in the face.”
“Tempting,” he says, and I laugh.
I manage to shimmy the jeans on, yanking them over my leotard, and pull on a soft, oversized cardigan from the bottom of my bag.
Not exactly haute couture, but it’ll have to do.
I flip down the passenger mirror and swipe on a quick coat of mascara, trying to make myself look slightly less like someone who’s been screamed at for two hours straight.
“You’re beautiful,” Tyler says, eyes still on the road.
I smile, a little shy. “Flattery won’t make us less late.”
He chuckles. “Worth a shot.”
The drive doesn’t take long.
Fifteen minutes, maybe.
But it feels faster than that.
Maybe because I’m bouncing my knee the whole way there, nerves buzzing under my skin.
We’re almost thirty minutes late.
Tyler doesn’t seem worried, but I can’t shake the tight feeling in my chest.
I hate being late.
Especially to something that feels… bigger than usual.
We pull into his driveway, the house looking warm and golden in the evening light, porch lights already flicked on.
Tyler hops out first, jogging around to open my door like a dorky gentleman.
I laugh and let him.
Inside, the house smells like garlic and fresh bread and something roasting.
The second we step in, his mom swoops in for a hug.
Mrs. Hayes is all soft curves and bright eyes, her blonde hair twisted up into a messy bun, apron tied around her waist like she’s about to launch into a cooking show.
“We missed you, sweet girl,” she says into my hair, squeezing me tightly.
When she pulls back, Mr. Hayes is there too, wrapping me into a one-armed hug that smells like aftershave and warm sweaters.
“Long time no see, kiddo,” he says, ruffling my bun with a grin.
“Hey, it’s still intact!” I protest, laughing.
“I’ll do better next time,” he teases.
The warmth of their welcome melts some of the anxiety out of me.
This.
This is what I missed.
This is what I’ve been needing.
Home, even if it’s not technically mine.
I open my mouth to thank them when-
Someone clears their throat behind me.
I stiffen instinctively, pivoting slowly.
And that’s when I see him.
The doorway of the living room is crowded with warm light and the low murmur of voices.
And there he is.
At first, my brain tries to file him under guy.
Just another guy hanging around, probably one of Tyler’s friends, or a neighbor, or-
No.
Not a guy.
A man.
Leaning against the doorframe like he owns the space and resents it at the same time, arms crossed tight over his chest, the muscles in his forearms flexing against the sleeves of a black Henley pulled snug over his frame.
He’s massive.
Not just tall-tall.
Tall enough that I have to crane my neck slightly to meet his eyes.
If Tyler’s six feet, this guy has to be six-three, maybe taller, and built like every linebacker coach’s fantasy. Wide shoulders, thick arms, a chest so solid it looks like the shirt might just give up and split at the seams if he breathes too hard.
And his hair-dark. Almost black. Wavy, messy in a way that looks unintentional but somehow still perfect, brushing just past his jawline.
He’s staring at me.
Not smiling.
Not curious.
Not welcoming.
Studying me with a harsh, cool expression that makes my stomach twist a little without permission.
No friendliness in his eyes.
No warmth.
Just… calculation.
Tyler’s voice cracks the air between us.
“Wait-what?! Bro!”
He surges forward and throws an arm around the man’s shoulders in a loose hug.
The man barely reacts. Just shifts slightly under the weight, tolerating it more than returning it.
I blink at them.
Bro?
“Bro?” I echo, my voice a little higher than I mean it to be.
Tyler grins, clueless and happy as ever. “Yeah! That’s my older brother.”
I stare at him, then at the man still standing there, solid and unsmiling.
This is Tyler’s brother?
I knew he had a brother in the Navy. He mentioned it once or twice, always vaguely, the way you talk about someone who might as well live on a different planet.
But I never pictured this.