Chapter 16: The Big Brother’s Duty

At dawn...

The first ray of sunlight softly pierces through the curtains, and I wake up, feeling even more drained than the day before. The night was restless, plagued by too many thoughts and images swirling in my head. After a few moments spent staring at the ceiling, I decide to leave the bedroom, knowing that staying here will only fuel the frustration that’s eating me alive.

I sit up slowly, casting one last glance at Emma, still peacefully asleep, her face relaxed, her hair scattered across the pillow. A mix of frustration and regret bubbles inside me. I tell myself I need to keep these feelings buried, but the weight of last night still lingers heavily. Taking a deep breath, I quietly slip out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind me.

When I make my way down to the kitchen, I already spot Grandma bustling about, preparing breakfast. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bread fills the air, offering a wave of immediate comfort. The kitchen is bathed in soft morning light, and the peacefulness of the house seems to whisper that I’m in the right place to try to calm my restless mind.

Grandma turns around as she notices me, her warm smile lighting up her face.

Grandma: “Oh, Brice, up already! You’re an early bird today. Did you sleep well?” Me: “Well, let’s just say it was ... a rough night,” I reply with a tired smile, hoping she won’t probe further. She chuckles softly, that knowing, kind laugh of hers, like she can read me better than I’d ever admit.

Grandma: “Ah, young people—always so restless, aren’t you? Take your time this morning, Brice. You know you can truly relax here.” I nod, grateful for her tenderness. It’s rare to find someone who listens without asking too much, someone who seems to understand you better than you do yourself. Her quiet presence soothes me. Still, no matter how hard I try to focus on the simplicity of this moment, my mind keeps wandering back to the long, sleepless night I’ve just endured. But the warmth of the coffee in my hands, the soft light streaming through the window, and the calm, steady rhythm of Grandma’s voice begin to pull me back to the present.

Our conversation stays light, comforting. She talks about the garden flowers, little things meant to distract me, and I let her. She lays a few slices of fresh bread on the table, and I settle in, finding a kind of tranquility in the small, predictable gestures of this morning routine. This quiet breakfast reminds me how much the simplest moments can bring solace, how much they can soften the chaos in your mind.

Yet, even as I sip the coffee, enjoying its warmth, a part of me feels distant—still caught up in the relentless thoughts that haunted me through the night.

After that pleasant moment with my grandmother, I head back to the bedroom to change and get ready for the day. But as I push the door open, I freeze for a second.

Emma is there, standing, fresh out of the bathroom, already wearing a two-piece swimsuit. Her back is to me, and it takes me less than a heartbeat to recognize it: that swimsuit—the same one she’d shared in a photo. She turns around and flashes me an innocent smile, seemingly unaware of the effect she’s having on me.

A rush of heat courses through me, my thoughts spiral, and I fight to keep my composure. That swimsuit, clinging to her body in all the right places, immediately reignites the images from last night.

Emma: “You’re already awake?” she asks with a soft laugh, then adds, “I’m going for a swim before everyone else gets up. It’s the best time—so quiet and refreshing in the morning.” I force myself to keep my tone casual, struggling to suppress the tension rising in me and keep my eyes where they’re supposed to be.

Me: “You’re right, it sounds nice.” She adjusts one of her swimsuit straps, a seemingly innocent gesture, but it grabs my full attention instantly. Fuck. She’s right there in front of me, so effortlessly beautiful, like it’s nothing. My mind starts to wander.

I want to tear that swimsuit off her, push her down, feel her skin under my hands, and close the unbearable gap between our bodies. The sight of her standing there, so real, makes everything even more intense, impossible to ignore. I feel like I’m losing my grip.

She runs her fingers through her hair, standing a little straighter, and gives me a carefree, almost teasing smile.

Emma: “Well, I’ll leave you to it. I’m claiming the pool before anyone else shows up!” I nod, feigning a nonchalance I don’t have. Every nerve in my body is on edge, reacting to her presence, her swimsuit, her complete obliviousness to what she’s doing to me. She turns toward the door, and my gaze immediately drops, locking onto her ass, perfectly framed by that swimsuit, clinging to every curve like it was made for her.

I watch her walk away, her pace almost deliberately slow, each step accentuating that mesmerizing sway. The fabric of her bikini stretches ever so slightly, highlighting the flawless curve of her hips and the subtle dip of her lower back. Fuck, that ass ... it’s driving me insane.

How the hell am I supposed to survive an entire weekend like this?

The morning drifts by with a familiar slowness, wrapped in the soothing rhythm of the family home. After Emma left for the pool, I decide to head back down to the kitchen, hoping that a few moments of calm will help push away the relentless thoughts that have been tormenting me since last night. Grandma is still there, now preparing snacks for the day. She greets me with her usual warm smile.

Grandma: “Ah, Brice! I hope you’re ready for a day at the beach. With weather like this, we’ll make the most of it!” I return her smile, trying to brush aside the restless night and the unsettling morning I’ve just endured.

Me: “Yeah, it’ll be nice.” As the morning progresses, the preparations for the beach start coming together. My parents come downstairs carrying bags, towels, and sunscreen, while Grandma makes sure nothing is forgotten. She fills a cooler with cold drinks, fresh fruit, and sandwiches, handing them to us with her nurturing smile.

Emma reappears after her swim, her hair still damp and glistening under the light, her face relaxed. I quickly look away, pretending to busy myself with my bag, but every time she walks past me, my thoughts start to unravel.

Around me, everyone is focused on getting ready, chatting about the best beaches nearby and reminiscing about past summers. Grandma speaks animatedly about the long days she spent here with us as kids—building sandcastles, sharing laughs, those carefree moments of childhood.

Mom: “And you, sweetheart, are you all set?” she asks Emma with a smile.

Emma: “Yes, I’ve got everything I need!” she replies cheerfully, nodding.

The house grows livelier, with everyone slipping on sandals, grabbing hats, and adjusting sunglasses. The cooler is packed, filled with everything we’ll need for the day. Grandma reminds us one last time that she’s already loaded the umbrellas into the trunk.

When we pile into the car, I find myself sitting next to Emma, who’s chatting with my parents about her classes and the plans she’s working on. Outside, the scenery glides by—the road to the beach stretches ahead under a clear sky, sunlight filtering through the dense trees and casting shifting patterns onto the asphalt.

The conversation flows easily between everyone, light and carefree. But inside, I can’t shake the constant pull, that restless tension gnawing at me.

As the ocean comes into view on the horizon, I take a deep breath, hoping the salty air and the lively buzz of the beach will grant me a moment of peace.

The afternoon heat settles over the beach, the air heavy with the scent of salt and warm sand. We find a quiet spot where everyone spreads out their towels, easing into the calm of the moment. Emma stretches out on her towel, a relaxed smile playing on her lips, while my parents soon wander off for a walk along the shore.

And me? I’m lying here, just a few feet from her, trying to mask the relentless turmoil that rises inside me every time my eyes stray toward her. Emma is lying on her stomach, her eyes closed, her swimsuit hugging every curve of her body, and I can feel my pulse quicken.

Fuck, she’s so close, so real, and here I am, desperately trying to think about anything else.

After a few minutes, I realize there’s no way I can stay here without losing my composure. I suddenly sit up.

Me: “I’m going for a swim.” She opens her eyes, giving me a curious look, but simply nods before closing them again, serene and seemingly unbothered. Without another word, I head toward the water, hoping the ocean’s coolness will drown out the chaotic thoughts swirling in my head.

I dive into the waves, swimming further out, focusing on the rhythm of my breathing and the shock of cold water against my skin. Each stroke feels like it’s pulling me away from the tension gripping me, and bit by bit, I feel my mind begin to settle. I try to think about anything else, to lose myself in the vastness of the ocean, but every time I surface, my gaze instinctively drifts back to the shore. And every time I spot Emma, lying there on the sand, that same turmoil surges right back to the surface.

After a while, I decide to swim back. As I approach the shore, something catches my eye—a movement near our towels. Narrowing my eyes to get a better look, I spot a man standing next to Emma. He must have approached while I was in the water, and Emma’s expression—hesitant and uneasy—immediately sets me on edge. My parents are still out walking, leaving Emma alone with this guy, who is standing far too close for my liking.

The closer I get, the heavier the atmosphere feels. The man, casual in appearance, is carrying himself in a way that rubs me the wrong way. His posture feels intrusive, almost domineering, and although Emma is responding politely, her body language is screaming discomfort—her gaze darting away, her hands gripping her towel tightly.

Something in me snaps to attention, an instinctive, protective surge flooding my system. Adrenaline kicks in, and all I can think about is ending whatever this situation is.