Letting My Brother's Best Friend Take My V-Card (Jessie and Luke)

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I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles ached, but I didn't loosen my hold. The tension had taken over my entire body, and no amount of tightening or clenching seemed to release it. My jaw throbbed from how tightly I'd been grinding my teeth. My head spun, replaying the moment over and over again. The sound of her pained gasp, the way her body stumbled back, the blood on her face - all of it burned into my memory.

I hit Laura.

Sure, I didn't mean to. It wasn't intentional. I was in the middle of a fight, and she got caught in the chaos, but none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was the fact that I hurt her. She'd tried to stop the fight, tried to pull me out of my rage, and I repaid her by hurting her. My foot pressed harder on the gas pedal, the engine growling beneath me as if it shared my anger. Anger wasn't the right word, though. I wasn't just angry. I was fucking furious. At myself. At the whole situation. At Tim. But mostly, at myself.

"Fucking idiot," I muttered, slamming the heel of my hand against the steering wheel. The sound of the impact didn't satisfy me. It wasn't enough. Nothing was enough to match the storm brewing inside me. I hit the steering wheel again, harder this time, and then again. Each slam echoed in the confined space of the truck, but it did little to ease the pressure building

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in my chest.

I couldn't believe it. Laura flinched. Not just from the pain, but because she was scared. Of me. That's what gutted me the most. The way she'd pulled back when I tried to check her injury. The way her eyes darted to mine, wide and unsure. It was like she didn't know if she could trust me not to hurt her again. And that... that killed me.

And then she said it. That it wasn't the first time. She didn't need to say more. Her words hung in the air between us like a loaded gun, ready to fire off the painful truth. Something happened to her. Something bad. And it's made her scared to the point where she instinctively recoils, where she expects the worst.

My hands flexed on the wheel, and I let out a guttural growl, hitting the wheel again for good measure. "Fucking hell, Josh." My voice was raw, frustration spilling out with every word. "You' re no better. You just proved her right." The realization hit me like a freight train. I was supposed to be better. I was supposed to be someone she could trust, someone who would never

make her feel unsafe.

The streets blurred past me, the familiar landmarks barely registering in my mind. I could hardly focus. I could hardly think straight. All I could think about was Laura. Her face. Her tears. The ice pack pressed against her nose. The way she'd looked at me, trying to reassure me that she was fine, even though I knew she wasn't.

I could've hurt her worse. What if I had broken her nose? What if she needed stitches? What if... God, I hated myself right now. I hated that I let things get so out of control, hated that my anger BACK TO THE PAST

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took over and blinded me to everything else. Blinded me to her.

My foot eased off the gas as I approached a red light, and I slammed my palm against the wheel one last time before gripping it again, trying to steady my shaking hands.

"I need to fix this," I muttered to myself. My voice was harsh, filled with determination and desperation. But how the hell was I supposed to fix this? How was I supposed to make up for what I'd done? She said it wasn't my fault, but that didn't matter. She flinched because of me. She looked at me with fear in her eyes because of me. That's on me. That's my burden to carry now.

took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me, but it didn't work. The anger, the guilt, the shame - it was all still there, bubbling under the surface, ready to boil over at any second. My mind flashed back to her words. "It's muscle memory, Josh."

Muscle memory. Those two words haunted me. What kind of shit had she been through to make her react like that? What kind of pain had she endured for her body to have a reflex like that?

The light turned green, and I pressed the gas pedal again, my truck lurching forward as I drove through the intersection. I couldn't stop thinking about it. About her. About the look on her face when I reached for her. About the way she'd pulled away from me, like she couldn't trust me not to hurt her again.

"No," I said aloud, shaking my head as if that would erase the memory. "I won't be that guy. I'm not going to be that guy." I

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wouldn't let her think of me that way. I wouldn't let her associate me with the kind of pain she'd clearly been through before. I'd do whatever it took to prove to her that I'm not like that. That I'm better than that. But how? How the hell do you fix something like this? How do you undo the damage you've done?

I pulled into my driveway, killing the engine and sitting in silence for a moment. My hands were still shaking. My chest still felt tight. But I knew one thing for sure: I couldn't let this go. I couldn't let her go. OVERTHINKING