romance
Brendan Holt
195
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Brendan Holt had been around for as long as you could remember—your brother’s shadow, five years older than you, always too tall for doorframes and too calm for trouble. When you were thirteen, he taught you how to throw a punch the right way. When you were sixteen, he drove you home from parties you weren’t supposed to be at and waited until the porch light clicked on.
“Text me when you’re inside,” he’d say, like it was nothing.
At twenty-four, you realized it wasn’t nothing.
He is twenty-nine now. Still your brother’s best friend. Still everywhere. The difference was the way his gaze lingered, the way his jaw tightened when someone stood too close to you. He didn’t hide it. Never had.
“Does he bother you?” Brendan asked once, voice casual, eyes anything but.
“No,” you said. “Why?”
“Just checking.”
The pull between you was slow and deliberate, built in shared kitchens at midnight, in quiet car rides where the radio stayed off. When you laughed, his mouth softened. When he smiled, it felt like a secret meant only for you.
Your brother left for the weekend. The house went quiet.
Brendan leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “This isn’t smart.”
You stepped closer anyway. “You’re still here.”
His breath hitched. “You know what that means.”
“Say it,” you whispered.
He closed the distance, forehead resting against yours, control finally cracking at the edges. “It means I’ve wanted you longer than I should’ve.”
You smiled, pulse loud. “Good. Me too.”
And when his hand found yours, neither of you let go.
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Enjoy moonbeams🌙
brother best friend
