The Brother’s Rules
1504 Words
Sophia’s Pov
If there was one thing I wanted more than anything else, it wasn’t love, money, or even success.
It was freedom.
At twenty-six, I had a stable job at one of the city’s fastest-growing marketing agencies. I paid my own bills. I had my own apartment downtown. I was more than capable of taking care of myself. Yet somehow, my older brother still treated me like I was a fragile little girl who’d fall apart the moment he stopped watching over me.
Sometimes I wondered if Mason even realized he was doing it.
Other times I knew he did, and simply couldn’t help himself.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen counter while I poured my coffee.
Mason.
Of course. It wasn’t even seven in the morning.
I sighed before answering.
“Good morning.”
“Did you eat breakfast?”
I smiled despite myself. There was something almost comforting in how predictable he was.
“No. Good morning to you too.”
“You have that presentation today, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“So eat something before you leave.”
“I was literally making coffee.”
“Sophia.”
“I know, I know. And don’t worry, I have my umbrella too.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know you are.”
A brief silence. Then, “I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes.”
I frowned. “What? I have a car.”
“Traffic’s going to be terrible. It’ll save time.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “It takes me fifteen minutes to get to the office.”
“I’ll still come.”
“Don’t you have practice?”
“Later.”
“I can drive myself.”
“I know.”
“So why are we having this conversation?”
“Because I worry.”
I closed my eyes, feeling the familiar tug of frustration and love that always came tangled together where he was concerned. “There it is. That’s always your answer.”
“It happens to be the truth.”
“I know you worry. But you don’t have to solve every problem before it even exists.”
He went quiet. Finally, “I’ll see you in thirty.”
The call ended before I could argue anymore.
I stared at my phone for a long moment, shaking my head. “Unbelievable.”
That was Mason Blake. Captain of the city’s professional hockey team. The man thousands of fans admired. The man sports reporters called fearless. The man who terrified opposing players every season.
To the rest of the world, he was confident, charismatic, impossible to intimidate.
To me, he was simply my overprotective older brother.
Sometimes I wished everyone else could meet that version of him. Maybe then they’d understand why I occasionally wanted to scream, and why, underneath it, I never quite could.
I carried my coffee into the living room, where a framed photograph sat on the bookshelf, colors faded with age. Mom stood in the middle with her arms around both of us. Dad smiled behind us. Mason, barely eighteen, looked awkward in a suit one size too big. I was only twelve.
That had been the last family picture we ever took.
A month later, everything changed. The accident took both our parents in a single night. One phone call turned my brother from a teenager into my guardian. He worked two jobs while finishing school, missing parties, vacations, nearly every normal experience people his age should have had, because he was too busy making sure I had food on the table and a roof over my head.
I never forgot that. I never would.
But gratitude didn’t erase frustration. Loving someone didn’t mean agreeing with everything they did. And sometimes the people who loved you the most were the ones who held on the tightest, even when their grip left bruises they never meant to leave.
A loud knock interrupted my thoughts. I glanced at the clock. Twenty-five minutes.
“He actually came early.”
I opened the door to find Mason standing there, two paper bags balanced in one arm.
“I brought breakfast.”
“You already called me.”
“So I brought food too.”
I laughed, some of my irritation melting despite myself. “You realize normal people text before showing up.”
“I’m not normal.”
“No argument there.”
He stepped inside like he owned the place, pulling containers of fresh fruit, yogurt, scrambled eggs, and toast from the bags.
I stared at the spread. “There are enough calories here to feed a hockey team.”
He shrugged. “You need energy. You get nervous, and you forget to eat.”
“I had one meeting where I skipped lunch.”
“You’ve done it more than once. You remember everything, don’t you?”
“When it comes to you.”
I looked away, something tightening in my chest.
That was the problem. He remembered everything. Every fever. Every bad dream. Every scraped knee. Every heartbreak. Every tiny disappointment. He carried all of it like it had happened yesterday, like setting any of it down might mean losing me the way he’d lost them.
“Sit,” he ordered.
“I can serve myself. Then stop treating me like I’m twelve.”
His hands paused over the counter. The kitchen went very quiet.
“I’m just trying to help.”
“I know. Helping and controlling aren’t the same thing.”
His jaw tightened. “I don’t control you.”
“You absolutely do. You invited yourself to drive me to work, then walked into my apartment without asking.”
“You gave me a key.”
“So you could use it in emergencies.”
“This counts.”
I stared at him, and for a second neither of us moved. “No, it doesn’t.”
Silence stretched between us. Finally, Mason sighed, and something in his shoulders sagged, like the weight he carried had shifted just slightly.
“You know why I’m like this. I promised Mom and Dad I’d always protect you. I failed them once.”
My heart sank. “You didn’t fail anyone. That wasn’t your fault.”
“I was supposed to keep this family together.”
“You were eighteen. You raised me.”
“I tried.”
“You didn’t try, Mason.” I stepped closer, until we stood only a foot apart. “You succeeded.”
His eyes dropped to the floor, and for a moment he looked less like the fearless captain the whole city knew, and more like the eighteen-year-old boy in that photograph.
“You gave up everything for me.”
“I’d do it again. And that’s why I worry.”
I smiled, sadness pulling at the edges of it. “But I’m not the little girl you carried home from school anymore.”
“I know.”
“I don’t think you do. I don’t need you checking on me every hour, or solving every problem before I even know it exists.”
I folded my arms. “You keep saying you know. Then why don’t you stop?”
He looked at me for a long moment, and when he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“Because if something happened to you…” His voice caught. “…I wouldn’t survive it.”
Every ounce of irritation I’d been holding disappeared at once, replaced by something achingly tender.
That was Mason. His protectiveness had never come from control. It came from fear. Real fear. Fear born from losing everyone he loved once already, and never quite trusting the world not to take the rest.
I walked over and wrapped my arms around him. He hugged me back immediately, tightly, like he needed the reminder that I was still there.
“I love you,” I whispered.
“I love you too.”
“But you have to let me live my own life.”
He rested his chin lightly against my hair. “I’m trying.”
I pulled back just enough to smile up at him. “Try harder.”
A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I’ll think about it. For the record, I’m still driving you.”
I groaned dramatically. “You learned absolutely nothing from this conversation.”
“I learned you’re stubborn.”
“I wonder where I got that from.”
He laughed, and the sound eased something in me, the same way it always had, since we were kids.
“Finish breakfast.”
An hour later, I stood outside the office building after insisting on driving myself, despite Mason’s continued protests. He’d eventually surrendered, though not before reminding me three separate times to call him after work.
I waved as he finally pulled away from the curb, that small, familiar ache of love and exasperation settling in my chest as I watched him go.
- Writer
