Page 45 of Marrying His Brother

I laugh. “I love how attached they are to you.”

I shift closer, propping my head on my hand, wanting to keep the conversation going. “So, did you always want dogs?”

“Not always,” Andrew says. “I mean, I liked them well enough growing up, but I never thought about having one until I was in the military. We had these K-9 units, and the way those dogs worked, the bond they had with their handlers was incredible.”

I listen, fascinated.

“Bear was my first, and he’s been with me through a lot. Bruno came along later. Figured Bear could use a friend.”

I smile, reaching out to trace patterns on the sheet between us. “It sounds like they’ve been good for you.”

“They have,” he agrees, then adds quietly, “More than they’ll ever know.”

His words make me curious, and I can’t help but press a little further. “Why did you join the military?”

Andrew falls silent, his gaze drifting past me, as if he’s looking at something far away.

For a moment, I think he’s not going to answer, and I almost regret asking. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to,” I say, hoping to give him an out.

But he shakes his head, his expression thoughtful. “No, it’s okay. I guess I was at a crossroads,” he begins, his voice low. “I needed to do something that was mine. Working for my father felt like I was just going through the motions. He made all the decisions, and I was just expected to fall in line. It wasn’t enough for me.”

I nod, understanding more than he probably realizes. “So, joining the military was a way to break free?”

“Yeah,” he says, a small, almost wistful smile tugging at his lips. “It was my chance to step out of his shadow, to prove I could make my own choices, handle my own battles—literally and figuratively.”

“And now?” I ask gently. “Do you think he’s still the same?”

Andrew sighs, his eyes meeting mine, and there’s a flicker of some vulnerability in his gaze. “No, he’s different now. He’s older, and I think he’s starting to realize he’s not going to be around forever. He’s letting go, bit by bit, but it’s hard for him. He’s been in control for so long.”

I squeeze his hand. “I’m glad you’re getting the chance to prove yourself.”

“Yeah, me too,” he says. “I don’t want to be at odds with him anymore. I want to build something—something that’s ours, not just his or mine.”

He’s easy to talk to, and I find myself drawn to his quiet strength, the way he opens up bit by bit. When I finally drift off to sleep, I’m feeling more connected to him than ever, like we’re slowly chipping away at the walls we’ve both built.

I wake up in the middle of the night to the sound of ragged breathing, the bed shifting beside me. My heart stutters, and I turn to see Andrew sitting bolt upright, his chest heaving, his eyes wide but unfocused, like he’s seeing something far away.

“Andrew?” I whisper, my voice soft, trying not to startle him.

He doesn’t respond, his gaze fixed on some invisible point in the room, his whole body tense, coiled like a spring.

I reach out, gently touching his arm. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe.”

It takes a moment, but he blinks, his eyes slowly coming back into focus. He looks down at me, and for a second, there’s a flicker of confusion, like he’s not sure where he is.

Then he exhales, his shoulders slumping back onto the bed. “Sorry,” he mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“It’s okay,” I say, scooting closer and wrapping my arms around him.

He’s warm, but he’s trembling, like whatever he was dreaming about still has a hold on him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No,” he says quickly, almost too quickly. “It’s fine. Just a bad dream.”

His muscles are still taut and his heart is pounding beneath my cheek. It’s not fine, but I don’t push him.

Instead, I just hold him, running my hand up and down his back, trying to soothe him the way I’d comfort a scared child. Slowly, he starts to relax, his breathing evening out.

As his breathing steadies, I start to drift off again, but my mind is whirring, piecing together things I’ve noticed about Andrew.

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