Page 7 of The Wrong Brother

I step closer, my heels clicking on the pavement as I approach him. The thrill is mixed with a strange, heady confusion. I’m right in front of him, and he doesn’t know it’s me. The thought is intoxicating, exhilarating even, as I watch him try to place my face. And I have to admit as well, annoying. It dawns on me now, more than ever, that I truly meant nothing to him.

There’s no risk in going with him, so I put my luggage in and get in, and as always, he is the perfect gentleman, helping me all the way through.

“So,” he drawls, leaning back in his seat, his smirk widening. “What’s your name?”

My heart skips a beat, a mix of surprise and nerves bubbling up. For a moment, I wonder if I should tell him who I am, let him figure it out himself, or let him keep guessing. I hold his gaze, savoring the moment before finally saying, “Jenny.”

“Jenny…” he murmurs, letting the name roll off his tongue as if trying it on for size. He squints, a flicker of confusionflashing across his face. “You know, I used to know a Jenny.” His voice is softer now, as if he’s remembering something distant, something half-forgotten.

“Oh?” I ask, keeping my voice light. “And who was she to you?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at me with a sort of quiet intensity that makes my heart beat faster. For a second, it feels like he’s about to say something important, something that might finally make me understand what I meant to him—or if I ever meant anything at all. But instead, he just shrugs, breaking the moment.

“So,” he says, clearing his throat, “where to?”

The question pulls me back to the present. I hesitate, feeling the weight of what I’m about to say.

“Home,” I finally answer, giving him my father’s address.

He nods, turning to start the car, but then stops, his hand hovering over the gear shift. I watch as the familiarity of the address sinks in, his brows drawing together in surprise. “Wait… home?” He looks back at me, realization dawning on his face. “That’s my home.”

I nod, watching as shock turns to recognition, his eyes widening as he finally sees me. There’s a beat of silence, heavy and electric, and then he leans back in his seat, studying me with a mixture of disbelief and wonder.

“Jenny…” he says it again, softer this time, like he’s seeing me for the first time.

I hate him but I can’t help my smile at the shock on his face.

“Jenny? Holy shit! Jenny!”

Brett’s jaw goes slack as he takes in my face, the disbelief flickering over his features like he’s struggling to reconcile the girl he remembers with the woman sitting beside him now. I watch him, waiting, letting him feel the impact of who I am now…no longer the kid he knew but someone with her own life,her own purpose. He shifts, his gaze dipping down to my heels, then back up to my jacket, and finally resting on my eyes.

“Jenny?” he repeats, his voice barely more than a whisper, as if saying it louder might break the spell. He lets out a low laugh, shaking his head in stunned disbelief. “Wow… unbelievable.” For a moment, the years seem to melt away, and all the resentment, the foolishness, the hope I carried for so long…everything just dissolves as he leans over, pulling me into a tight, almost desperate hug. I let myself sink into it, feeling the warmth of his arms, the solid strength of him surrounding me. This is what I had dreamed about in quiet moments, what I thought would make everything I felt back then worth it.

But there’s something new now, something thrilling and bittersweet, knowing he’s seeing me differently. When he finally pulls back, his hands still rest on my shoulders, holding me at arm’s length as he studies me with something close to awe.

“Our Jenny. Look at you,” he murmurs, and there’s an unmistakable admiration in his eyes, a spark that wasn’t there before. “What happened?”

I manage a nonchalant shrug, trying to play it cool despite the rush of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “Paris,” I say, brushing it off like it’s no big deal.

He chuckles, shaking his head as if he still can’t quite believe what he’s seeing. “Didn’t think you’d come back like… this. And no, it’s not just Paris. Time happened to you as well. You’re gorgeous!” His eyes linger on me, warm and unguarded, making my pulse quicken. “So… what have you been up to? Tell me all about your experience. It must have been amazing?”

“It was,” I say, my voice steady as I lean back into the seat, crossing one leg over the other casually. “I actually loved it more than I expected. Got into modeling. Worked with some small agencies, went on a few shoots, met some… interesting people.”I let the word linger, watching him react. “Turns out, I might just be good at it.”

“Modeling, huh?” He raises an eyebrow, a glint of intrigue sparking in his gaze. “I never thought our Jenny would end up… walking runways.”

I laugh softly, leaning in just enough so he catches the subtle fragrance of my perfume. “Well,” I say with a teasing smile, “I’m not your little Jenny anymore, am I?”

His laugh is nervous, his gaze flicking to my lips before shifting back to my eyes. “Guess not. You’re all grown up.” His voice has a rough edge, and I savor the thrill that races through me, the realization that he’s seeing me not as the kid who used to chase after him but as someone new, someone captivating.

Silence settles between us, thick with possibilities and unspoken questions. The car begins to move, the quiet hum of the engine filling the space between us. I glance out the window, watching the familiar streets pass by, trying to ground myself, to keep my heart steady.

Brett breaks the silence first. “So, what was it like… Paris?” He glances sideways, a hint of curiosity, maybe even jealousy, in his eyes.

“Vibrant. Alive,” I reply, my voice soft, almost dreamy. “The city just pulls you in. I spent so many days walking those streets, getting lost and finding myself in ways I never imagined.” I look over at him, a sly smile playing on my lips. “And the boys… they’re different there. More… attentive, in some ways.” I let the words linger, watching the faint flicker of surprise on his face.

“Attentive, huh?” He echoes, trying to sound nonchalant, but I can see the tension in his jaw. “So, you… met a lot of guys?”

I laugh, the sound light and airy, enjoying the way his eyes narrow slightly. “Turns out,” I say, leaning back with a grin, “most guys my age don’t really know what to do with a woman. At least, not in the way I’d like.”

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