Fort Brothers

0011 — Isa

My lips tingled.

My heart raced.

I dragged the back of my wrist across my mouth, hard. Like I could wipe him off. Like I could pretend my skin wasn’t still buzzing where he’d been.

The door clicked opened.

I turned my face away immediately, dropping my gaze to the floor. My cheeks burned. I couldn’t look at him — not when my body was still trembling from what we’d done.

My fingers curled into my skirt, bunching the fabric until my knuckles ached. Breathe, Isa. Just breathe.

Stupid advice. Air dragged his scent straight into my lungs — warm skin, something clean and expensive under it, and the sharp bite of night air clinging to him.

My gaze snagged on the alcohol bottle. A few feet away. Not far enough. The taste of it still lived on my tongue. But underneath it, stronger, was him. Edmund. Dark. Bitter. Intoxicating.

It wouldn’t leave. No matter how many times I swallowed.

Without sparing him another glance, I turned on my heel and walked away, my legs unsteady beneath me.

Unsteady was generous. I was a mess.

The fact that the man who had just kissed me might actually be my brother sent violent shockwaves through my entire system. It rattled me so deeply I could barely breathe.

On the bus ride home, my phone started ringing insistently in my purse. Then the messages flooded in.

All from Scott Moreland. My stomach twisted. I shoved the phone back into my bag without even looking at the screen.

It wouldn’t stop. A few minutes later it started vibrating against my thigh, buzzing over and over like it was determined to torment me. I yanked it out again, turned the damn thing off, and stuffed it deep into my purse.

By the time I finally got home, my nerves were shot. I turned the corner sharply and hurried up the staircase. I could feel Dad’s stare burning holes into my back from the living room, but I didn’t turn around. I didn’t dare. I just kept moving, gripping the railing like it was the only thing keeping me upright.

My lips were still tingling. Still tasted like scotch. Like him. My mind was total chaos — fear, guilt, that disgusting possibility that he could be my brother, and this stupid lingering heat between my legs that wouldn’t go away.

I just needed to get to my room. Lock the door. Hide under the covers and pretend none of this was real.

"At least if you're gonna show up to work, do it in proper shoes. Dress scrubs and sandals? C'mon Isa. Don't you own anything with a closed toe?"

I stopped dead on the stairs. My hand tightened on the banister.

"Kesley—" Dad started, his voice carrying that familiar mix of exhaustion and irritation.

He sounded tired. Not her. Never her.

I hadn't planned on ruining their nice little dinner, but the second she opened her mouth, looking for a fight the way she always did, any chance of that disappeared.

Slowly, I let my hand slide away and turned to face them.

Heat flooded my cheeks. I could feel it spreading across my face, the kind that came right before an argument got ugly.

"Kesley, why does what I’m wearing even matter to you right now?”

“It matters, Isa.”

She lifted her napkin and delicately dabbed at the corners of her mouth. Like she was delivering etiquette lessons instead of picking a fight.

“Everything matters,” she continued. “How you dress. How you present yourself. That hairstyle. The image you put out into the world.”

Her gaze swept over me, slow and openly critical.

“We didn't put you up there for you to do whatever the hell you feel like doing. People are watching you. Whether you like it or not, what you wear reflects on all of us.”

She set the napkin down beside her plate with maddening calm. “So yes, Isa. It matters.”

I gritted my teeth.

“Isa.” Dad called, stopping me before the next words could leave my mouth.

I looked at him.

His expression had softened, but the weariness was still there.

“You must be tired,” he said. “Go upstairs. Take a shower and get some rest. You've had a long day.”

"Scott Moreland had a meeting with your father today."

Kesley didn't even bother looking at me at first. She calmly continued with her dinner, taking her time, letting the words settle.

She set down her fork and lifted her eyes to mine. “so have you considered your decision about remarrying him?"

“I’m not remarrying him.”

"Then you'd better be prepared to deal with the consequences.”

“What consequences exactly? He didn't want me anymore. He's the one who filed for divorce. He served me the papers, and I signed them. End of story.”

I threw my hands up.

“It's over, Kesley. Tell him I said it's over.”

Her chair scraped sharply against the floor as she shot to her feet. “Now you listen to me. You have been nothing but a problem since the day you walked back into this house. And now you're dragging your mess into my life. Into this family. Into our finances. All because you refuse to listen. That marriage cost this family more than you realize. You don't get to throw everything away because you're angry.”

I stared at her—the woman who somehow managed to make my divorce sound like a personal attack against her.

My pulse hammered in my ears.

What exactly had she expected me to do?

Frame the divorce papers, hang them above my bed like some achievement I'd unlocked?

I couldn’t do this anymore. I Couldn’t keep swallowing every insult. Every criticism. Every demand dressed up as concern.

“I'm leaving.”

The words escaped before I could second-guess them.

Dad froze. “What?”

I swallowed. “I'm moving out.”

His chair scraped against the floor as he stood so quickly it nearly tipped backward. “Isa, what do you mean you're moving out?”

The look on his face—confusion, fear, pain—it almost broke me. My throat tightened .But I couldn't stay here anymore.