Breaking Bro Code

Chapter 5

The silence in the penthouse was broken by the sharp, rhythmic vibration of Roman’s phone on the kitchen island. He glanced at the screen, and for the first time since I’d arrived, his entire posture shifted. His shoulders tightened, and the predatory ease he’d held just moments ago vanished, replaced by a rigid, strained focus.

He looked at me, then at the phone, his jaw working as he tapped the screen to answer.

"Yeah," he said, his voice dropping into that professional, guarded tone he used with the league. A pause followed, and then, "I’m good, Nolan. Just… dealing with some stuff."

I froze. *Nolan.* My brother.

The sound of his name felt like a physical blow to my stomach. I stepped back, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs as I listened to the one-sided conversation.

"Yeah, I saw the highlights from last night’s practice," Roman continued, his eyes locked onto mine with an unreadable expression. "You looked sharp. Keep that momentum up for the game on Sunday."

I watched him. I saw the way he gripped the edge of the counter, his knuckles turning white. He wasn't just talking to a teammate; he was talking to his brother-in-arms, the man who had been his wingman since they were kids. The "Bro Code" wasn't just a set of rules for them—it was a religion. And I was the secret hiding in the shadows of his kitchen, the girl who was currently shattering every unspoken rule that kept their world turning.

"I’ll see you at the facility later," Roman said finally, ending the call.

He didn't put the phone down immediately. He held it, staring at the black glass as if he were trying to read a future he couldn't stop. When he finally looked up, the playboy mask was back in place—the effortless, cool demeanor that made women swoon and fans cheer. But his eyes? His eyes were still burning with that dark, focused intensity that he reserved only for me.

"He’s asking why I didn't come out last night," Roman said, his voice flat. "He’s suspicious."

"Because you left," I whispered, the guilt rising in my throat like bile. "Because of me."

Roman took a slow, deliberate step toward me. He didn't stop until he was looming over me, his height forcing me to tilt my head back. "I left because I couldn't be anywhere else. Do you have any idea how long I’ve watched him? How long I’ve watched him treat you like a side note, like an accessory he could pick up or put down whenever it suited him?"

I blinked, taken aback by the sudden vitriol in his voice. "He’s my brother, Roman."

"He’s an i***t," Roman snapped, his hand coming up to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. His fingers lingered there, grazing my skin with a ghost of a touch that made me shiver. "He’s been so busy chasing his own legacy that he never once looked at you. Not really."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, intimate murmur that vibrated through my chest. "I’ve been waiting for him to mess up. I’ve been waiting for the day he’d finally realize what he had, so I could step in and show him exactly what he was throwing away. I’ve spent years in that damn prison, keeping my mouth shut, keeping my distance, watching him act like he owned the room—and you."

His words hit me like a physical force. The intensity in his gaze wasn't brotherly. It wasn't 'best friend.' It was something ancient, something hungry, and something terrifyingly possessive. He wasn't just protecting me; he was claiming me.

I looked at him, really looked at him, and realized that the man I’d known for years—the one who cracked jokes at family dinners, the one who navigated the fame of the NFL with a smile—was just a facade. Beneath it was a man who had been starving for me for as long as I’d known him.

"Roman," I breathed, my voice barely a whisper. "You’re scaring me."

He didn't move. He didn't apologize. Instead, he let his hand drop from my hair to my shoulder, his grip firm, grounding. "I should scare you, Allie. Because if Nolan ever finds out you’re here—if he ever finds out what I’ve been thinking about doing to you since the second you walked through that door—he won't just be mad. He’ll want to kill me."

He leaned in until his lips were a heartbeat away from mine. I could feel the heat radiating from him, the sheer, dangerous weight of his obsession. "And the worst part?" he whispered, his breath hot against my lips. "The worst part is, I wouldn't even blame him."

He stared at me, daring me to move, daring me to push him away. But I couldn't. I was trapped in his gaze, anchored by the intensity of his confession, and for the first time, I realized the Bro Code wasn't just a barrier between us—it was the fuel for the fire that was about to burn everything down.