Page 123 of Saddle Storm

The frame of the house went up faster than I expected. Then again, Dallas did build his castle of a home in less than a season, so I’m not surprised he and Wilder made magic happen with a house half the size in half the time.

I step out of my car, my sneakers hitting dirt that’ll eventually be a driveway, and follow the sound of a saw. Dallas and Wilder already at it, shirts off, arguing over something for the sake of entertainment.

I’ve only been gone a week, but it’s been a crazy one. We made it to the Stanley Cup final, my third with the Denver Kings. But our first loss. I’d never say it out loud, but I’m not as bummed as the rest of the guys. I kicked off the season not knowing if I’d play again, much less make it to the championship game. But mostly—I’m home now. And I couldn’t wait to get back to my family.

“Look who decided to show up,” Wilder calls without looking up.

And I sure as hell don’t mean these clowns.

“Careful,” I shoot back. “I might actually help today.”

That earns me a laugh from both. Not the kind they used to throw my way. No edge to it.

It’s . . . normal. Brotherly. Was it always this way?

I move closer, grabbing a stack of cut glass tiles I know are going along the back wall of the kitchen.

“Easy with those,” Dallas calls. “I know Jenny warned you about pushing that shoulder during construction.”

I lift the stack with a low grunt. “That was before the season ended.” I set them down carefully next to the others on the covered marble counter. My shoulder doesn’t complain. But I’m all too conscious of it betraying me at any moment.

“Wanna go back next season?” Wilder mutters, sawing neatly through another tile, which Dallas lifts carefully and sets on a new stack.

“Good to see you too.”

Dallas smirks, dusting his hands off on his T-shirt and walking over to me. “We’re messin’ with you. Come here.” He gives me a quick dusty hug, squeezing my shoulder. “Was one hell of a last round you played. We’re proud of you.”

“Yeah, well, they can’t all be winners.”

Dallas shakes his head. “Take the damn compliment, man, and let’s get to work.” He moves to a set of plans we’d been finalizing the last few weeks. “Had to make a few changes upstairs—let me know what you think about giving Max’s room a bit more space and shrinking the bathroom. The plumbing’s been tricky on that side.”

I barely have a chance to glance at them. The sound of tires over gravel pulls my gaze out the window frame. Storm and Max jump out of a golf cart. I haven’t seen them yet. Texted her when I landed that I was headed straight here to help the guys.

My smile is wide but I don’t race out to them immediately. My eyes go to Wilder.

“Yes, she still thinks the house is for me and Rose.” The two got engaged over the holidays but neither plan to leave the main house. The place is a bit . . . dated and there may be expansion plans ahead, but Wilder loves his home on the same spot Dad built it decades ago, with the perfect view of the land and the river.

Storm and I have been living comfortably in the guest cottage, but it was never meant to be long term. And come fall, we’ll be settled here.

Travel’s been . . . an adjustment. But we made it work. Storm and Max have been at every home game. And on two occasions, my girl’s managed to surprise me by showing up at arenas during travel games. By herself, of course, giving us the alone time we desperately need.

We thought it might be tough on Max at first, a bit confusing never knowing when I’ll be around. But I forget we’re dealing with a Denver Kings fan. The kid has a better grasp on my schedule than I do. Knows when I’m playing, who we’re playing, when I’m off, when I’m coming home.

Knows I come back. And that matters more than anything.

As for Jasper, it took a lot of convincing from Noah to let the backpay of child support go if I want to guarantee his distance. Noah doesn’t often hand out praises, but he was impressed with the iron-clad clause Storm’s parents added. And it was best we all abide by it.

We don’t need his money. Max and Storm will be more than well taken care of, loved and protected. In fact, I planned for the money to go to charity. But Noah and Storm were right—it was my anger that wanted to make him pay. And it wouldn’t have helped anyone.

I don’t think about him much, and after next week, no one will. Because I’m officially adopting Max.

And judging by the way he’s racing over to me now, he’s excited for it too.

“Hey, buddy.” I embrace him and grip his shoulders like they’ve grown overnight. “You been swingin’ the bat without me?” I enrolled him in Little League and the kid’s already got his eye on pitcher position. We’ve been practicing for weeks.

I hear Dallas behind me. “Might’a taken him out with Ellie a few times this week. Should see this girl throw. Might sign her up too.”

Storm slips into my arms with a quiet welcome home kiss and a bright smile. Her eyes drop to my shoes. “You plannin’ on actually helping today,” she asks, “or just standing around looking pretty?”