The temptation of my brother-in-law-Chapter 69 - sixty nine

Chapter Sixty-Nine

Alicia’s POV

I looked outside the car window, watching the city lights blur past. But I wasn’t really seeing them. My mind had gone somewhere else. Somewhere I’d tried very hard to never go back to.

High school.

Jennifer and her friends. The way they’d whisper when I walked past. Loud enough for me to hear but quiet enough to maintain plausible deniability if I ever confronted them.

"Did you see what she’s wearing? Probably from Goodwill."

"I heard she works at that diner on Fifth Street. Serving people like us."

"Why is she even at this school? Oh right. Charity case."

The laughter that always followed. That cruel, casual laughter that said I was a joke to them. Entertainment.

Cassie had been my only friend. The only person who didn’t care that I had secondhand clothes and worked two jobs just to help my mom with rent. She’d sit with me at lunch when everyone else pretended I didn’t exist. Made me laugh when I wanted to cry. Reminded me I was worth something even when the world told me I wasn’t.

Then there was Jason. My crush. The boy with the kind smile who actually talked to me like I was a person. Who helped me with calculus and made my heart race every time he was near.

I’d thought maybe he liked me too. The way he looked at me sometimes. The way he’d find excuses to talk to me.

Then Jennifer happened.

She’d found out somehow. Maybe saw the way I looked at him. Maybe just wanted to destroy something good because she could.

She’d told him lies. That I was obsessed with him. That I’d been following him. That I’d told everyone we were dating when we’d never even held hands. Made me sound desperate and pathetic and crazy.

The look on his face when he confronted me. The disgust. The pity. Like I was something dirty that had attached itself to him.

He’d stopped talking to me after that. Started avoiding me in the halls. And Jennifer had smiled that poisonous smile every time she saw me, knowing exactly what she’d done.

I wanted to come home and tell my mom. Wanted to cry on her shoulder and have her tell me it would be okay. That high school didn’t last forever. That I was better than all of them.

But I couldn’t. Because when I got home, I’d find my father beating her. His fists connecting with her face, her stomach, anywhere he could reach. Her trying to protect herself while also trying not to make noise that would wake Sophie.

And I had to protect Sophie from the scene. Had to grab my little sister and take her to our room. Put headphones over her ears and turn the music up loud. Pretend everything was fine while our mother suffered in the next room.

Tell her stories. Make up fairy tales about princesses who lived happily ever after. Anything to drown out the sounds of violence.

My mother. Who’d worked so hard. Who’d sacrificed everything for us. Who’d died from childbirth complications because we couldn’t afford proper medical care.

I remembered my father’s words in the hospital. Cold. Hateful. Blaming her even as she lay dying.

"The child was for another man anyway. That’s why she died. God’s punishment."

It wasn’t true. None of it was true. But he’d said it. Believed it. Used it to justify his hatred.

And I’d had to stand there and take it. Had to comfort Sophie while our mother died. Had to be strong when I wanted to fall apart.

Always having to be strong. Always having to hold it together. Never allowed to break.

The weight of all those memories crashed over me at once. Years of pain I’d kept locked away. Years of pretending I was fine when I was drowning.

I felt the first tear slide down my cheek. Then another. Then I couldn’t stop them.

My shoulders started shaking. My breathing became ragged. Everything I’d been holding inside was forcing its way out and I couldn’t control it anymore.

The car stopped suddenly. I heard Malachi say something to Maurice. Heard the driver get out.

Then Malachi’s voice, closer now. "What’s wrong?"

I couldn’t answer. Couldn’t form words. The sobs were building in my chest, choking me.

"Alicia. Talk to me."

I couldn’t hold it together anymore. Couldn’t be strong. Couldn’t pretend.

I reached for him blindly. My arms went around his waist, my face pressed against his chest. Holding on like he was the only thing keeping me from drowning in all this pain.

His body tensed for a second, then he wrapped his arms around me. Pulled me closer. One hand on my back, the other cradling my head.

"You’re okay," he murmured. "You’re going to be okay."

But I wasn’t okay. I was breaking. All the cracks I’d been hiding were splitting wide open and I couldn’t stop it.

I sobbed into his chest. Years of loneliness and fear and grief pouring out. All the times I’d been hurt and had to smile through it. All the times I’d been scared and had to be brave. All the losses I’d never properly mourned.

My mother’s face flashed through my mind. The way she’d looked at me in the hospital. Trying to smile even as she was dying. Trying to tell me it would be okay.

But it wasn’t okay. Nothing was okay.

I was still that poor girl who couldn’t afford proper shoes. Still that scared girl watching her father beat her mother. Still that girl whose mother died because we were too poor for decent healthcare. Still that girl everyone looked down on and nothing I do will ever change that.

My fingers gripped his shirt tighter. The tears wouldn’t stop. I was probably ruining his expensive clothes with my makeup and snot and tears but I couldn’t care. Couldn’t do anything but hold on and cry.

I could feel his warmth through the fabric. Could feel his heart beating steady against my ear. Could feel his hand moving slowly up and down my back in a soothing rhythm.

He didn’t tell me to stop crying. Didn’t tell me to pull myself together. Didn’t make me feel weak for breaking down.

He just held me. Let me fall apart. Like he knew I needed this. Needed to finally let go of everything I’d been carrying alone for so long.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked quietly.

Home. That cold mansion full of people who looked down on me. Travis who hated me. A life that wasn’t mine.

"No," I said, the word coming out broken.

"Okay. Then we won’t go home." His arms tightened around me. "We can stay like this as long as you need. Until you’re ready. I’m not going anywhere."

Something about those words made me cry harder. I’m not going anywhere. Like he meant it. Like he’d stay even when I was messy and broken and falling apart.

No one had ever stayed before. Everyone left. Everyone died or walked away or decided I wasn’t worth the trouble.

But Malachi was here. Holding me. Not running.

I buried my face deeper into his chest and let myself cry. Really cry. The kind of crying that came from deep in your soul. That purged something toxic you’d been carrying too long.

Time became meaningless. Could have been minutes or hours. I didn’t know. Didn’t care.

All that mattered was his arms around me. His steady breathing. His presence that said I didn’t have to be strong right now. Didn’t have to hold it together.

I could just be broken. And that was okay.

Slowly, the sobs quieted. My breathing evened out. The storm inside me started to settle.

But I didn’t pull away. Didn’t want to face the world yet. Didn’t want to put my armor back on.

I just stayed there, listening to his heartbeat. Letting it anchor me.

"Can we just stay here a little longer?" I asked.

"As long as you want."

I put my head back on his chest. Closed my eyes. Let myself have this moment of peace before reality came crashing back in.

Eventually, exhaustion pulled me under. I fell asleep in his arms, safer than I’d felt in years.

The next morning, sunlight filtered through the car windows, pulling me from sleep. I was still against Malachi’s chest, his arms still around me.

For a moment, I let myself stay there. Let myself pretend this was real. That this safety could last.

Then reality crashed in. What had I done? I’d completely broken down in front of him. Showed him all my weaknesses. All my pain.

"I’m sorry," I said, pulling back. "For troubling you. For breaking down like that. I don’t usually—"

"Don’t apologize."

"But I—"

"I said don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for."

I looked at him. His hair was messed up from sleep. His shirt was wrinkled and probably stained with my tears. But he looked at me like none of that mattered.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He just nodded and called Maurice back.

The drive home was quiet. But different. Like something between us had shifted. Some wall had crumbled that couldn’t be rebuilt.

When we pulled up to the mansion, I saw Travis’s car. My stomach sank. He was home.

We walked in together. Found him in the living room, already drunk even though it was barely seven in the morning. A bottle in his hand, his eyes bloodshot and mean.

He looked up when we entered. His expression darkened immediately.

"Well, well," he slurred. "Look who finally decided to come home." His eyes focused on me with hatred. "Where the hell did you spend the night?"

I wanted to walk past him. Wanted to just ignore him and go to my room. Pretend he didn’t exist.

But as I moved to walk by, he stood up and pushed me.

Hard.

I stumbled backward, losing my balance. Would have hit the floor if Malachi hadn’t caught me. His arms wrapped around me, steadying me.

"You whore," Travis spat. "Staying out all night. Probably spreading your legs for anyone who’ll have you."

Malachi’s entire body went rigid. I felt the change in him immediately. Felt the violence coiling in his muscles.

"Malachi, don’t—" I started.

But he was already moving. He released me and lunged at Travis. His fist connected with Travis’s jaw with a sickening crack.

Travis stumbled back, shocked. Then he charged forward, swinging wildly.

"Malachi, stop!" I tried to grab his arm. "Please!"

He didn’t listen. Just kept hitting Travis. All the rage and protectiveness that had been building unleashed on his brother.

"You don’t get to touch her," Malachi growled. "You don’t get to talk to her like that."

Travis laughed bitterly even as blood dripped from his mouth. "She’s my wife. I’ll talk to her however I want."

Malachi hit him again. Harder.

"Stop it! Both of you!" I was crying now, trying to pull them apart.

But they were too far gone. Too consumed by whatever years of hatred existed between them.

Suddenly Layla was there. "What is going on here?!"

She grabbed Malachi’s arm. He paused, breathing hard.

Pa Wood appeared behind her, his face grave. "Enough. Both of you."

They separated slowly. Travis wiping blood from his mouth. Malachi’s knuckles bleeding.

"I’m disappointed in both of you," Pa Wood said. "Fighting like common thugs in my house."

Travis laughed. A bitter, broken sound. "Disappointed? You want to know what’s disappointing? Your precious Malachi is sleeping with my wife."