Page 63 of The Wrong Brother

Once inside my room, I close the door and lean against it, exhaling a shaky breath. The familiar space, though comforting, feels foreign now. Everything is as I left it…simple, cozy, untouched by the time I’ve been away. But I can’t shake the sense of being out of place, like I don’t belong here anymore.

I drop my bags by the door and sink into the bed, exhaustion weighing me down like lead. My body aches from the long flight, but it’s nothing compared to the dull, persistent pain in my chest. I press a hand to it, as if I can will it away, but the ache only deepens.

I got what I wanted, didn’t I? I’m back. I’m free.

So why does it feel like I’ve lost something? Like there’s a wound in my heart that won’t stop bleeding.

The knock on the door jolts me, and I hastily sit up, brushing my hair back as I call out for them to come in. Mrs. Finnigan enters first, followed by a few of the other staff, their faces lighting up at the sight of me. They pepper me with questions about Rome, about the job, about everything. Their warmth is infectious, and for a moment, I let myself sink into it, grateful for the distraction.

“I brought back a few things for you all,” I say, managing a small smile as I pull out the souvenirs I’d packed. Tiny trinkets…keychains, miniatures of the Leaning Tower of Pisa, delicate scarves. They accept them with delighted exclamations, their gratitude genuine and heartfelt.

After a while, they leave me alone, and the room falls silent once more. I let out a breath, sinking back against the pillows as I glance at my phone. The urge to call Zack is immediate and overwhelming, the thought of hearing his voice a temptation I can barely resist. The thought of feeling his hands on me, kissing him, and having his cock inside me is even more haunting.

My thumb hovers over his name in my contacts, but I can’t bring myself to press it. I can no longer press it. We’re back to the way we were, and nothing can ever change that. It was what I wanted, and I know this is the choice I made so I could get back and still have a chance…somewhat…with Brett.

And so, I do just that. In a way, I feel now more than ever that I have to because, for the first time, I know viscerally what I have given up for this.

I scroll down and find Brett’s name. The sight of it stirs something familiar, something safe. Before I can second-guess myself, I press ‘call’.

The line rings twice before he picks up, his voice bright and warm, like a ray of sunlight cutting through a cloudy sky. “Jenny! This is a surprise.”

A small, tentative smile creeps onto my face. “Surprise? Didn’t you remember I was coming back today?”

There’s a brief pause, followed by a soft, sheepish laugh. “I’ll admit it slipped my mind for a second, but hey, I was bound to remember eventually.”

“Eventually?” I tease, my voice light but edged with just enough accusation to make him backpedal.

“Cut me some slack, Jenny,” he says, his tone dipping into something softer, almost conspiratorial. “I’ve been swamped lately. But I’m glad you called…I missed hearing your voice.”

The admission catches me off guard, and for a fleeting moment, I forget everything else. “You missed me?”

“Of course,” he says, a playful edge to his tone now. “You’ve been gone for what feels like forever. Tell me, how was Rome? Did my brother drag you to all those boring meetings?”

The mention of Zack sends a shiver down my spine, but I push it aside, focusing on the easy charm in Brett’s voice. “No, no, not at all,” I reply, leaning back against the headboard. “I went there for work. I told you, right? I got a contract with Tod’s.”

“Tods? Is that like… a brand? I’ve never heard of them.”

“Oh,” I reply, my enthusiasm deflating slightly. “It’s a pretty big brand. Yeah.”

“Oh, well, that’s great to hear. I hope you had a great experience. Rome is picturesque.”

“It is, and it was,” I say, my tone light, though my words feel oddly detached. “The experience was… pretty good.”

“Nice, nice,” he replies, his voice warm but distant, as though filling space more than engaging.

An awkward silence follows before he peaks again. “So.. give me details? How much fun did you have? Did you get swept off your feet by some Italian prince? Should I be worried?”

The question is laced with a teasing flirtation, and I can’t help but laugh. “No princes. Just a lot of pasta and wine.”

“Good,” he says, his voice dropping just slightly, enough to make my breath hitch. “I’d hate to think someone else was stealing your attention.”

My heart flutters despite myself, and for a moment, the ache in my chest dulls. “What about you? Have you been behaving while I was away, or is New York full of broken hearts now?”

“Broken hearts? Never,” he says, feigning innocence. “But I’ll admit, it’s been a little dull without you around. You’re back just in time to fix that.”

“Am I?” I ask, my voice quieter now, tinged with something I can’t quite name.

“Definitely,” he says, and I can hear the grin in his voice. “When do I get to see you?”

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