But that was a lifetime ago.
Creed’s parents had split not long after those summers, his father passing soon after. By the time Stone left for the military, their childhood block already felt like another life. His own parents were gone too—his father to cancer, his mother to diabetes—leaving just him and Creed, with cousins scattered and distant.
Stone punched in the gate code, and the Lyft eased to a stop in front of Creed’s house. Not the one they’d grown up in, but close. A wraparound porch, fresh paint, and a place Creed had built into a home for Kellum and the boys.
The door swung open before Stone could knock. Creed filled the frame—tall, broad, the tilt of his jaw so familiar it was like staring into a mirror aged by a different life.
“Well, damn,” Creed said, breaking into a grin. “Look who the wind blew in.”
Stone felt something in his chest loosen as he took the steps upward, and Creed crossed the porch. He was pulled into a rough hug.
No hesitation. Just family.
“You’re still ugly,” Stone muttered into his cousin’s shoulder.
“You’re still broader, but I can take you,” Creed shot back, patting him on the back before letting go.
Voices carried from inside—Kellum calling something about the oven, two boys arguing over who got to pick the next video game.
“Dylan plays video games already?” Stone lifted a brow at his cousin.
“Yeah. Too freaking smart for his age. That kid is going to be a General. I swear.”
Stone laughed. Then the screen door banged open.
“Uncle Stone!” Aaron barreled out, fifteen and lanky, muscles starting to find their shape. He came to a stop. “Holy crap, it’s really you!”
Stone huffed a laugh, ruffling the kid’s hair. “You got taller. Don’t think that means you can take me.”
Aaron puffed up proudly. “I’m almost as tall as Creed now.”
“Not even close,” Creed said, hooking the boy by the collar and tugging him back gently.
“Man, you guys look like twins.” Aaron gaped at them back and forth a few times.
“You’ve seen us together before,” Creed snorted.
“Yeah, but it’s still cool.” Aaron smiled.
Then Dylan appeared, six years old and fearless, clinging to the doorframe before launching himself at Stone like a missile. “Climb you like a tree!” he yelled.
Stone caught him easily, lifting him high with one arm. Dylan giggled, wrapping sticky fingers around Stone’s neck. The kid smelled like peanut butter and sunshine.
For a second—just a second—Stone let himself breathe.
Kellum leaned in the doorway, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Well, look who decided to show up without warning.” His smile was wide, and his eyes softened at Stone. “You staying for dinner, or just breezing through?”
“Dinner,” Stone said before he could stop himself. His voice came out rougher than intended, and Kellum only nodded like he’d expected nothing less.
The boys dragged Stone inside in a whirlwind—showing him fridge drawings, a new soccer ball, and Aaron’s scraped knee. Kellum moved easily in the kitchen, garlic and chicken in the air, and Creed laughed at the chaos.
It all felt almost normal, almost home, and the ache in Stone’s chest told him just how much he’d missed this kind of warmth.
Aaron proudly showed off his drone project, Dylan, and his fortress of stuffed animals, which drew Stone into every corner—comics, cardboard helmets, and plastic swords—until he was growling at teddy bears and catching Dylan mid-strike to a chorus of giggles. Settling into it, Stone realized this was what home looked like, what family sounded like, and for the first time in years, he let himself stay there.
From the doorway, a warm voice cut through the laughter. “Dinner’s up!”
Kellum leaned against the frame, apron slung around slim hips, blond curls damp from steam. Slender, sharp-eyed, he looked every bit the Pegasus techie—bright, brilliant, always three steps ahead—but tonight he was just Creed’s husband, smiling at the chaos.
