My Boyfriend’s Brother

CHAPTER FIVE: A KNOCK AT MIDNIGHT

"Come here," she said softly.

I froze for a second. Unsure. And then I stepped forward.

Suddenly, I was surrounded by them - by Stacey, Mr. Jackson, Mrs. Jackson and even Emily's tiny arms wrapping around both of us now.

The warmth was overwhelming, almost too much. I hadn't realized how cold I'd been feeling until right then.

Mrs Jackson held me tightly. "You're family too," she whispered into my hair, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You didn't deserve this either."

I blinked hard, trying to swallow down the lump in my throat.

Drake stood nearby, stiff, awkward, like he wasn't sure if he should be included or left out. But they didn't call for him.

And he didn't move.

He just stared at the floor, holding his apple, suddenly very quiet.

That's when I realized - they weren't angry just for themselves. They were angry for me too.

Because he told Drake - and only Drake - and trusted him to let it play out.

Those angry thoughts were evaporating as I melted into the warmth I was feeling. Something I was deprived of since I was a child.

The warmth of an actual family, and even though I was mad at him, it's thanks to Damien.

--- - - - - - - - -

It was exactly 12:04 a.m. when the knock came.

I was curled up on the couch with a blanket over my shoulders, the TV glowing with some old rerun I wasn't watching. My phone had been silent for hours, and so had I.

The Lawson dinner had ended hours ago.

Most of the food had been packed up, and Stacey made some jokes to keep everyone from crumbling. Drake disappeared after a while - of course. And I had come home.

Alone.

Dad wasn't home. He was on call at the hospital for a night shift, which meant the house was just mine and the creaking shadows.

So when I heard the knock at the door, I sat up fast.

My heart dropped into my stomach.

Who the hell would knock this late?

Another knock. Louder this time.

I reached under the couch and pulled out the bat. Yes, the aluminium one from middle school PE - judge me later.

I tiptoed toward the door, my bare feet silent on the tiles. I didn't say anything at first, just peered through the peephole, mentally preparing to whack the life out of whatever creep thought I'd be a good late night target.

But then I saw him.

His ruffled black hair and hazel blue eyes. He didn't have a smile on his face, but nonetheless, he was still as handsome as i had remembered.

Standing there with luggage in his hand, hoodie up, looking like something between a criminal and a rom-com villain.

My hand froze on the doorknob. My heart didn't know whether to jump for joy or crack in two.

What the hell was he doing here?

He had lied - no, worse, he'd let me get crushed tonight. Let his family worry. Let me worry. He told Drake and trusted Drake to deliver the news like we didn't matter. Like I didn't matter.

And now he was here? Like nothing happened?

I yanked the door open - but not all the way.

I kept the bat in my hand.

"Really?" I said, my voice low. "Midnight?"

Damien blinked at me, sheepish. "I... didn't know who else to go to."

My grip tightened around the bat.

"You told Drake your flight was cancelled."

"It was," he said. "But I got another one. I just didn't-" He stopped, looking me over like he was trying to read me.

"You didn't what?" I asked.

"I didn't think you'd want to see me"

I stared at him.

Hard.

And then I stepped aside.

"Get in. Before I decide to use this."

He smirked faintly, stepping into the living room, dragging his luggage behind him like a ghost that'd finally caught up.

The door closed.

The air grew heavier.

And somewhere between the silence and the hurt, I knew this wasn't going to be the happy reunion he was probably hoping for.

---

The door clicked shut behind him, but I didn't move.

Neither did he.

He just stood there - awkwardly - like a stranger who didn't know if he was welcome or not. The room fell into a deep, suffocating silence. Even the TV had gone black, flashing "Are you still watching?" like it sensed the tension too.

I didn't say anything.

I just walked past him and sat back on the couch, tossing the bat to the floor with a tired thud.

He followed.

He always did.

He sat on the arm of the couch at first, like he wasn't sure if he deserved the cushion. His elbows rested on his knees, hands laced together, as if he was bracing himself for an explosion.

But I didn't yell.

Not yet.

I just looked at him - his face, his hoodie, the bags under his eyes.

And then, finally, he spoke.

"I didn't want to make things worse."

I scoffed. "Then you shouldn't have left me to find out from your brother."

He exhaled sharply. "I know. I'm sorry. It was stupid."

"You think?"

The words were coming now, slow at first, then too fast to stop. The tears, too.

"I waited all day, Damien. I dressed up, I did my makeup three times because I wanted to look perfect. I helped your mom cook - I helped your mom burn a chicken. Your dad came home early from work and Emily drew welcome-home cards. Stacey cancelled wedding errands. And I sat there... I sat there the whole time thinking maybe you'd walk in with that stupid grin and hug everyone like you do and then kiss me like I was all that mattered."

I paused, wiping at my face angrily as the tears slid down.

"But you didn't even tell me. You let Drake handle it like-like it didn't even matter if I knew."

His expression twisted with guilt. He moved toward me slowly, cautiously, like he was approaching something fragile that might break if he got too close.

"I was scared," he admitted. "Not of coming back. Not of you. But of walking in and seeing how much I'd missed. Of realizing that maybe... maybe things didn't feel the same."

I looked up at him, eyes blurry with tears. "It's not the same, Damien."

His face fell.

"It's harder now. School's a mess. People whisper things. Breanna's making sure of that. I feel like I'm walking through a battlefield every day with no one on my side. Except-"

I broke off.

Except Drake... had been there. In his annoying, frustrating, completely insufferable way.

But I didn't want to talk about that now.

Damien came closer and sat beside me. I didn't pull away when he reached for my hand.

"I'm sorry," he said again, softer now. "I'm sorry for not telling you. I should've. You deserved that. You deserve better."

I sniffled, trying to stay mad. Trying not to melt into him.

But it was hard when he was so him. And when he looked at me like he really meant it.

"I love you, Elisa. I never stopped."

I let out a weak, tearful laugh. "You're lucky I love you too."

He wrapped his arms around me then, pulling me into his chest, and I finally let myself sink into him, letting out everything I'd been holding in for weeks.

"I missed you so much," I whispered into his shirt.

"I'm here now," he said, kissing the top of my head. "I'm not going anywhere."

-------------------

We went upstairs in silence.

His hand was in mine, fingers laced tightly like he was afraid I'd let go if he loosened up even a little. The hallway light flickered above us, and I made a mental note to change it - I'd been saying that for weeks.

When we got to my room, he paused in the doorway.

"It's still the same," he said softly, stepping inside.

His eyes scanned the space - the fairy lights still drooping lazily above my window, the photos on my corkboard, the stack of sketchbooks in the corner accompanied by tattered clothing materials and the one white mannequin alongside my sewing machine that he had gotten got me

"You haven't changed anything."

"No," I murmured. "I didn't want to."

He smiled faintly and sat on the edge of my bed. "It still smells like you."

I raised a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Lavender. Vanilla. That tiny bit of paint or marker or whatever you always end up getting on your fingers.

I walked over and stood between his legs, his hands instinctively settling on my waist. We stayed like that for a moment - the air between us thick with everything we hadn't said, everything we didn't need to say.

And then, gently, he tugged me forward until I was straddling his lap. Our foreheads touched.

"I missed you so bad," he said again, his voice lower now.

I leaned in.

"So show me."