My Boyfriend Kept Forgetting Me, So His Brother Started Showing Up

Aurelia's POV

Sidney Lawson forgot to pick me up. Again. That made five times this month. I sprinted all the way to the rink, twenty minutes late, hands still shaking because I hadn't eaten—I had to keep my weight down.

I laced up my skates as fast as I could. My right ankle had a raw, bloody patch where the boot had been rubbing all week, and my calf had been cramping nonstop since yesterday's triple-jump drills.

Coach Bronte Langley watched me step onto the ice without saying a word. Somehow, that was worse than getting yelled at.

"Position."

I pushed hard into my opening combination. When I landed, my left calf seized up, and my blade skidded sideways. I barely caught myself before I went down.

Her whistle cut through the cold air.

"Aurelia. Nationals qualifiers are tomorrow, and you're skating as you've already lost. You want that solo spot? Earn it. Otherwise, I'm giving it to someone with half your talent and twice your work ethic."

"Five minutes. Everyone off the ice. Aurelia stays."

I leaned against the boards, pressing my thumb into my left calf. The muscle was hard as a rock—three straight weeks of training had left me stiff all over. Every time I pointed my toes, the whole calf locked up.

Natalia Ruth glided over. "Sidney distraction again?"

"He was tutoring Azalea Gray. Forgot about me."

"Every time you need him, he's with her."

She was right. But Sidney was all I had. If I let him go, I'd have nothing. So I kept forgiving him, because being with someone who remembered me sometimes was better than being completely alone.

Bronte called us back. The music started. I skated.

This time, everything clicked. My triple jump landed clean, spins were precise, and footwork hit every beat. My calf burned through the whole program, but I kept my face smooth.

When I finished, Bronte gave a small nod.

My throat tightened. Even that tiny bit of recognition—someone noticing me—felt like my whole body was being torn open and put back together. It scared me how badly I needed this.

After practice, Sidney's car was waiting at the curb.

"I know, I'm the worst. Azalea had this assignment, and—"

"Sidney. Just take me home."

In my driveway, he said, "I know I keep messing up. But I'm trying."

He sounded sincere when he said it, even a little worn out, like he was genuinely tired and helpless.

I knew he loved me. He just loved me lazily.

Too lazy to make time. Too lazy to keep promises.

The next morning, my parents were in the kitchen with suitcases in the living room.

"My qualifier's tomorrow."

Dad looked up from his phone. "Tomorrow? I thought it was Thursday."

"They moved it up."

He set his phone down, then picked it up again. "You'll do great, sweetie. Call us after."

One second. That's all it would take—just look at my face. But they didn't. Twenty minutes later, they left.

That afternoon, Azalea and her friends cornered me in the hallway. One of them, Isolde Porter, looked me up and down with a sneer.

"Aurelia, you look like a corpse. No chest, no ass, just bones. Do you even eat? Or does Sidney have to screw a stick every night?"

Isolde reached over, fingers sliding slowly down Sidney's arm, eyes locked on mine.

"Baby, when are you gonna ditch this sad little skeleton and get yourself a real woman?"

Azalea laughed out loud.

Sidney took a step back.

"Come on, Isolde." His tone was flat. No hint he was on my side.

After they left, I looked at him. "She called me a skeleton in front of everyone and put her hands all over you. Azalea laughed. And all you said was 'come on'?"

"I think you're reading too much into it."

"I'm not asking you to fight back. I just want you to choose me out loud. Once."

He kissed my forehead. "I always choose you."

My stomach twisted. If that were true, I wouldn't have to keep asking.

That night, Sidney took me to the Lawson Villa for dinner. Said there was a family surprise.

I always said yes to his house. His mom would hug me, ask how my day was, and actually wait for the answer.

His dad called me 'kid.' It was the closest I got to family. Every time I sat at their table, my chest ached because it felt like home, but it wasn't mine.

The surprise was in the living room. A man turned around. Tall, with a jawline like Apollo's, but zero expression on his face.

Sidney grabbed him. "Elijah! When did you get in?"

When Elijah Lawson hugged him back, his arm muscles strained against his shirt. He was strong.

Sidney's mom, Savannah Faith, leaned close to me. "That's Sidney's brother. Army Special Forces, three years."

Sidney pulled me forward. "This is Aurelia Kingsley. My girlfriend."

I smiled. "Hi, it's so—"

"Dinner's at six-thirty," Elijah cut me off. "It's seven-fifteen."

At the table, Elijah ate in silence. When I mentioned the qualifier, he made a short sound through his nose—almost a laugh, but not kind.

After dinner, Sidney came into the kitchen wearing his coat. "Guys are watching the game at Rufus's. I'll be back later."

He kissed my forehead and left.

Savannah looked at me. "I'm sorry, Aurelia."

She hugged me. "Good luck tomorrow. You're going to be amazing." She was the only one who said it today, and she meant it.

"Does he do this a lot?" Elijah's voice came from the stairs. "Just leave you and take off?"

"Good night," I said. I didn't want to go there.

"You have a qualifier in the morning, and he left you here. Didn't even take you home."

He'd been in this house less than twelve hours and already saw what I'd been hiding for a year.

"Good night," I said again, and walked out.

When I got home, every window was dark. No text from Sidney. No call from my parents.

I lay down on my bed. "I just want someone to show up," I said to the empty room.

"Just once."

No one answered.

Natalia found me in the warm-up area. "Did Sidney drive you?"

"Bus."

Her name got called. She grabbed my hand. "You're going to kill it."

My phone sat next to me. Silent. Nothing.

"Aurelia."

I stepped onto the ice. The rink was huge, the stands empty. Five judges sat behind the boards with clipboards, faces blank.

I set my opening position. The music started. I skated.

I gave it everything. Every morning, I trained until my legs screamed. Every night, I iced my calves alone in an empty kitchen. Every time someone forgot me, I still showed up.

Halfway through, my left calf locked up hard, muscle clenching like a fist behind my shin. I bit down and pushed through.

On the triple jump, my ankle twisted when I landed. I felt the skin inside my skate tear—hot and wet against the leather. I shifted my weight, swallowed the pain, and finished the move clean.

The last note stopped. I held my final pose, arms high, lungs burning, blood pooling in my skate, calf on fire, smile on my face.

One of the judges looked up and smiled at me.

My throat closed because someone was watching me, and she liked what she saw.

I stepped off the ice and sat on the bench, pulling off my right skate. The lining was soaked through with blood. My left calf was still twitching, muscle jumping under the skin.

I smiled, because I'd done this alone, in pain, with no one watching—and I was still standing.

The last bus was gone. No drivers on the app. Sidney's phone went to voicemail twice. I'd just skated the best four minutes of my life, and not a single person in the world knew.

I called the Lawson Villa landline.

Someone picked up. The voice on the other end was low and rough, like he hadn't spoken to anyone in hours.

Just one word, but it came through the phone heavy enough to catch my breath.

Not Sidney.