Page 68 of The Wrong Brother

Yet as he pulls away and steps back with a grin, something inside me wilts.

“Wow,” he comments, seemingly stunned. “You… that was wonderful, Jenny. I can’t believe I’ve waited so long to do that.”

I absolutely do not share in this sentiment, but I respond in kind.

“Yeah,” I reply. “It was good, thank you.”

“I’ll see you soon?” he asks, and I nod because what else am I supposed to do?

Beaming once again, he turns around to leave, and I watch him walk to his car, the taillights a fading glow as he drives away, and all I feel is a suffocating wave of disappointment. My heart had barely fluttered.

The realization is a stab to my chest.

The memory of Zack’s kiss lingers in my mind, sharp and vivid. It wasn’t sweet or measured. It had been raw, consuming, and so unapologetically him that it had made me feel like I waslosing my grip on reality. And now, standing here in the quiet, I miss him so much it physically aches.

I don’t go to my room. The thought of sitting alone with these swirling emotions is unbearable, so I turn toward the kitchen instead.

It doesn’t take me long to find what I am looking for…one of the opened bottles of wine in the corner. I pick it up, but didn’t want to have it here alone in the dark so I head out of the kitchen.

The soft glow of the moonlight spills through the conservatory windows as I step inside. The cool air feels like a balm against the flush in my cheeks, a reminder that I’m no longer in Brett’s car, no longer under the weight of a kiss that felt hollow despite its perfection. My hand tightens around the neck of the wine bottle.

Soon I set it down on the coffee table and stare, the label blurred through the haze of emotions swirling in my chest. My fingers brush over the glass, hesitating before reaching for the corkscrew. The silence presses down on me, amplifying my thoughts and concerns.

Why do I feel like this? Why does it feel like I’m breaking apart?

I sink into one of the chairs, the bottle untouched, and rest my elbows on my knees, my head in my hands.

Kissing me under the stars. It should have been perfect. Instead, it felt like I was standing outside myself, watching a moment that didn’t belong to me. My lips had moved against his, but my mind… my heart… had been elsewhere.

With him. With Zack.

I press my palms harder against my face, as if I can push the thoughts away. But they linger, growing heavier with each passing second. The sound of the conservatory doors creakingopen pulls me from my spiraling thoughts. My head snaps up, and I freeze as a low voice cuts through the quiet.

“You’ve still not learned your lesson about alcohol, I see.”

The words send a shiver down my spine. Slowly, I turn, my breath catching when I see him. Zack stands in the shadows near the French doors, his hands casually tucked into his pockets, the light from the windows casting his face in sharp relief. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something in his eyes…something that makes my heart race.

The sight of him is a punch to the gut. I’ve missed him so much it physically hurts, and now, with him here, the ache only intensifies.

“It makes you tipsy,” he continues, his voice low and rough, “and you can barely control yourself afterward.”

I stare at him, the words sinking in slowly. My lips part to respond, but nothing comes out. The air between us feels charged, thick with everything unsaid. My hand moves instinctively to the back of the chair for support, and I cling to it, feeling as though the ground might give way beneath me.

The silence stretches, taut and unbearable. Finally, I manage to speak, my voice unsteady. “I… I don’t want to control myself.”

His eyes narrow slightly, his head tilting just enough to make me feel like he’s seeing through me, into me. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s about to say something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes a step closer, and I’m rooted to the spot, unable to move.

“Why is that?” he asks, his tone deceptively calm. But there’s an edge to it, something sharp and dangerous that makes my pulse thunder in my ears.

I swallow hard, my grip on the chair tightening. “Because,” I whisper, the word barely audible. I don’t finish the sentence because I don’t know how. How do I tell him that I feel like I’m unraveling, that every thought I have leads back to him? Thateven sitting across from Brett tonight, all I could think about was him?

He takes another step closer, the distance between us shrinking. “Jenny,” he says softly, his voice rough and achingly familiar. My name on his lips is a tether, pulling me toward him even as my mind screams at me to stop.

“I…” My voice cracks, and I shake my head, unable to look at him. “I don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

He’s silent for a long moment, and when he speaks, his voice is low and steady. “How was your date?”

The question hits me like a slap, and I flinch, my head snapping up to meet his gaze. The intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear, and I drop my gaze, focusing on the floor instead. “It was fine,” I lie, my voice barely above a whisper.

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