Andrew's POV
I knew Nick wasn't done with me.
He's the kind of guy who holds grudges like medals and proudly wear them, even if they cut into his skin.
But I didn't expect him to be waiting outside my shop the next morning, leaning against my truck like he owned it. Arms crossed, jaw tight, and eyes full of murder.
I kill the engine and step out.
"Nick."
"Andrew." His voice is sharp enough to draw blood. "We're going to have a conversation."
"I thought we had one last night," I say, slamming the door. "You yelled. I didn't punch you. End of story."
"Not even close." He pushes off the truck, closing the space between us until we're chest to chest. "You're sleeping with my sister."
"She's a grown woman," I remind him, voice low.
"She's my family," he snaps back. "And you were supposed to be my brother."
That stings.
Worse than I thought it would.
But I don't let it show.
"You think I planned this?" I ask. "You think I woke up one morning and decided, 'Yeah, I'm gonna risk my oldest friendship for a girl'? No. But I'm not walking away from her, Nick."
His fists clench. "You should."
"She's not yours to protect from me."
His voice drops dangerously to a whisper. "From what, then? From heartbreak? From you walking away when it gets hard? From you breaking her heart into pieces?"
I step in closer, my temper flaring. "From loving her so much I'd burn my life down just to keep her? That's what you want to protect her from?"
Nick shoves me hard. My back hits the truck door with a thud.
"You don't get to talk about love like that when you've got Savannah sniffing around again," he spits.
I see red. "Don't you dare bring her into this. Savannah is in the past."
"She sure didn't look like it last night."
"That's because your mom invited her!" I snap. "And I sat there, Nick. I sat there and let your sister handle it because she's strong enough to put Savannah in her place without me lifting a finger. She's not some porcelain doll you get to lock away from the world."
Nick's breathing is ragged now, his eyes flicking over my face like he's trying to find one good reason not to knock me out.
"You really love her?" he asks finally, his voice barely audible.
"Yes, I do." I say without hesitation. "More than I've ever loved anyone."
He shakes his head, like he wants to believe me but can't. "If you hurt her, Andrew… I swear, I'm gonna kill you."
"I won't," I cut in. "And if I do, you can kill me."
****
Penelope's POV
By the time I pull up to Mom's house that afternoon, I'm running on caffeine and pure stubbornness.
I didn't sleep much. After last night, Andrew's words kept replaying in my head. I love you. They felt so heavy and real, like they could crush me or keep me standing forever.
Inside, Mom's sitting at the kitchen counter, peeling apples like we're in some cozy, drama-free universe.
"Afternoon, sweetheart," she says without looking up.
I grab a glass of water. "Where's Nick?"
She hesitates just a fraction too long. "He's gone out."
"Out where?"
"Talking to Andrew."
I freeze, glass halfway to my lips. "Mom!"
"I told him to be civil," she says quickly. "Just talk."
"Mom!" I slam the glass down. "That's not what's going to happen and you know it!"
Her eyes lift to mine, steady and unreadable. "You think I don't see what's happening, Penelope? You think I don't see the way you look at him?"
I feel my face heat. "It's not—"
"It's exactly what it looks like," she says softly. "And I'm not blind to it. But your brother… he's hurt. He feels like he's losing both of you."
"I'm not his to lose," I whisper.
"I know," she says. "But to him, you always will be."
****
By the time I get to Andrew's shop, my stomach is already twisted in knots.
I see them immediately. Nick leaning against Andrew's truck, Andrew standing rigid, his fists balled at his sides.
I don't even think. I just march over.
"What the hell is going on?" I demand.
Both of them turn to me. Nick's face is flushed, Andrew's jaw tight.
"Penny," Andrew says carefully, like I'm a spooked animal.
"Don't 'Penny' me," I snap. "Did you two seriously think I wouldn't find out you were having some testosterone-fueled pissing contest?"
Nick's mouth twists. "We were just talking."
"Right," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because I'm sure talking involves shoving each other into trucks."
Andrew steps toward me. "I was handling it."
I glare at both of them. "No. You were both making it worse. This isn't your decision, Nick. It's mine."
He throws his hands up. "Then you're making a mistake."
"Maybe," I say. "But it's mine to make."
The tension is so thick it's hard to breathe. Nick's eyes dart between us, like he's seeing something we can't unsee.
Finally, he mutters, "You're both insane," and stalks off toward his car.
Andrew exhales. "Well, that went well."
I shove him lightly. "You didn't have to fight him."
He catches my hand before I can pull away. "I wasn't fighting him. I was fighting for you."
The way he says it — low, rough, and certain makes my heart flip in my chest.
And just like that, the air between us shifts.
The anger melts into something heavier. Hotter.
He tugs me closer, his hand sliding to the small of my back. "You've been in my head all damn day," he murmurs.
"You too," I breathe.
We're standing in broad daylight, in the middle of the parking lot, but when he kisses me, it's not gentle. It's raw and unapologetic, like he's staking a claim for the whole world to see.
My fingers curl into his shirt as his tongue slides against mine. His hand cups the back of my neck. And for a second, I forget where we are.
A car door slams nearby, snapping me back to reality. I pull away, breathless.
"Tonight," he whispers. "My place. No interruptions."
I nod, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
That Night
Andrew keeps his word. No interruptions.
The second the door shuts behind me, his hands are on me, his mouth devouring mine. My back hits the wall, and I gasp when his fingers slip under my shirt.
"I missed you," he says against my skin.
"You saw me this afternoon."
"Yeah, but not like this."
Our clothes come off fast. His mouth trails fire down my collarbone, his hands gripping my hips hard enough to bruise. I wrap my legs around him, my nails digging into his shoulders as he carries me to the bedroom.
It's not slow. It's desperate. Like we're trying to burn the memory of the last 24 hours into each other's skin.
When it's over, I'm sprawled across his chest, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my back.
"I meant it, you know," he says quietly.
"Meant what?"
"That I love you."
I look up at him, my throat tight. "I love you too."
He kisses my forehead, holding me like he's afraid I'll vanish.
The next morning, I wake up to the sound of his phone buzzing.
He's still asleep, so I reach over to grab it from the nightstand.
One new text.
From Savannah.
~We need to talk. It's about Penelope.