My Bully's Brother

Chapter 4. Familiar Faces.

The steam from my shower hung in the air like a protective shield, delaying my inevitable return to reality. I'd just taken the longest shower since we moved to Moonstown, hoping the hot water might wash away the tension of the day. Wrapped in a fluffy towel, I reached for my phone on the counter, noticing a voicemail notification.

My mother's voice cut through my thoughts before I could check the message. "Brianne! Are you done in there? Come down, we need to talk!"

I sighed, stuffing the phone into my robe pocket. Another interruption. Another conversation I wasn't ready for.

Downstairs, Mom was pacing near the dining table. Her sharp brown eyes softened when they met mine, but there was something brewing beneath her calm exterior. I knew that look. Something was coming.

"I need you to come with me tonight," she said, her tone gentle but firm.

"Where?" I asked, already bracing myself.

"The welcoming party at my office. It's important."

I groaned, slumping into a chair. "Mom… do I have to? You know I hate these things."

She leaned against the table, her expression turning serious but polite. "It's just a small gathering. You don't even have to talk to anyone if you don't want to. But it's a chance for us to meet people. We're new here, Brianne. It wouldn't hurt to step out of your comfort zone."

My comfort zone. The one safe space I'd been clinging to since everything fell apart. "Stepping out of my comfort zone is overrated," I muttered.

"Brianne." Her voice carried that familiar weight of finality. The one that meant discussion was over. "I'm not asking. I'm telling you. Be ready by six."

I nodded, knowing resistance was futile. This was one our mother-daughter negotiations, where she won, she always did win though.

By evening, I found myself standing awkwardly in the corner of a lavish office lounge, clutching a glass of sparkling water like a lifeline. The space buzzed with laughter and conversation, soft jazz blending with the hum of voices. Mom had been whisked away almost immediately, introduced to a line of colleagues who seemed eager to impress her.

I sipped my drink, feeling like an outsider. The room was full of people dressed in expensive suits, their conversations a distant, unintelligible noise. Feeling suffocated, I slipped out onto the balcony, desperate for some peace and quiet.

The cold hit me like a sharp slap, but the fresh air was a welcome relief. I leaned on the railing, staring at the city lights dancing on Lake Aurora's surface. The moment felt suspended, peaceful.

"You shouldn't be out here. It's cold."

The voice startled me. Sharp. Unyielding. I turned to find Ryder Cole standing a few feet away, hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets. His green eyes, striking against the dim light, carried a mix of irritation and something else I couldn't quite read.

"I'm fine," I replied, hugging my cardigan tighter. The last thing I wanted was small talk with this particular face that has been following me around from Biology class and who seemed perpetually annoyed.

He tilted his head, as if debating whether to say more. "Whatever."

Just like that, he turned and walked back inside, leaving my heart racing with an emotion I couldn't name. Confusion? Frustration? Something else?

Inside, Mom was being introduced to Martins Cole, the owner of the law firm. He was an imposing figure, confidence radiating from every movement. His sharp green eyes and perfectly tailored suit screamed control and precision.

"Michelle Wilson, our newest hire," her boss said, gesturing to her with a proud smile.

"Welcome to the team, Michelle," Martins said warmly, extending his hand. "I've heard great things about you already."

Mom, ever the professional, maintained her composure. "Thank you, Mr. Cole. It's an honor to be here."

As they exchanged pleasantries, I walked in, still rubbing my arms from the cold. Mom's attention snapped to me immediately.

"Brianne, come here," she called, her voice softening.

Before I could move, Ryder entered the room, tension rolling off him in waves.

"Ryder," Martins said, his warm expression shifting, becoming more formal. "Come here."

Ryder paused, his jaw tightening. Moving closer seemed to physically pain him. Slowly, he approached, hands still buried in his pockets.

"Ryder, this is Michelle Wilson, one of our brightest hires. And this is her daughter…?" Martins looked to Mom.

"Brianne," she supplied, her voice tight with an emotion I couldn't quite read.

Ryder's eyes flicked to me, something unreadable passing over his face. "We've met," he said simply, his tone giving nothing away.

The tension between Ryder and his father was electric. I could feel something brewing, something unspoken hanging in the air.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about—" Martins started.

"Not here," Ryder interrupted, his tone sharp as a knife. "Later."

The night ended with hugs, kisses and good-byes. I was finally grateful to be in my bed.

That night, lying in bed, the evening's events played on repeat in my mind. I finally listened to the voicemail from my dad.

"Hey, Brianne. It's me. I know you probably don't want to hear from me, but I just wanted to say I miss you. I miss us. Things are a little complicated, but I want you to know I'm here… whenever you're ready. No pressure. I love you, sweetheart."

Tears pricked my eyes as I set the phone down. "A little complicated," I scoffed.

The voice I'd grown up hearing now felt like a distant memory. I stared at the ceiling, wondering if anything would ever make sense again.