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He rolls his eyes and respawns, shifting his position on the floor to rest against my bed. We've got Call of Duty on mute, and my remote is within reach in case one of our parents comes in to check on us. Technically, we aren't supposed to be playing this game, so I have something else loaded up on another input.

Both of our dads are in the living room watching basketball, half-yelling at the screen like they're coaching from the couch. Huck’s mom is helping with dinner in the kitchen while mine nurses the triplets. She just gave birth a month ago. I can't believe I have three little brothers after sixteen years of being an only child.

“So,” Huck says pointedly, eyes on the game as he aims for where I'm camped out on top of a building. “Zachary, Elijah, and Gabe? I'm sensing a theme here.”

I snort at my brother's names, sniping his character with a single headshot. “Mom likes Bible names. Guess what she would have named them if they were girls?”

“Don't tell me.”

“Mary, Beth, and Esther,” I blurt anyway, laughing at the way he wrinkles his nose. Honestly, he shouldn't be surprised. My parents' names are Joel and Sarah, for fuck's sake.

He opens his mouth to respond, only to be cut off by the sound of the doorbell chiming through the house.

“Logan!” Dad shouts gruffly. “Door!”

I groan and toss my controller aside, wondering why he can't get it himself. “Pause the game, man.”

“I’m not gonna cheat,” Huck says, already smirking.

He’s absolutely going to cheat.

Scowling in his direction, I jog down the hall and wipe my sweaty hands on my pajamas before pulling open the front door.

Blinding light hits my irises. The midday sun shines so bright that I shield my eyes and blink several times to clear the spots dancing in my vision. When I can finally see again, I lower my hand… and gape at the man standing on the porch in a black tank top and ripped jeans.

He turns to glance over his shoulder, sending dark brown waves falling to one side of his face. The other half of his head is shaved. His throat flexes with a swallow, and I swallow, too, watching the motion before scanning the veins that pop on his muscled arms.

Straightening my spine, I avert my gaze to prevent myself from thinking about what other veiny appendages he might have. “Can I help you?”

The man smiles and gives me an up nod. “Hey, kid.”

I freeze, nearly choking on my own spit. “Devon?”

His pierced bottom lip twitches. “Been long enough that you forgot me, huh?”

I mean, I'd say. Last time I saw him was during my great aunt June's funeral—five years ago. I'd been eleven, and he'd been just a scrawny teenager in a too-big suit, sitting awkwardly beside me at the kid's table. We hadn't talked much, but I remember him making me laugh.

He's taller than I remember, broader. Definitely no longer gangly, like I am, and his toned biceps look like he totally works out⁠—

Jesus. Am I really checking out my uncle right now? What the fuck is happening?

“What are you… Are you visiting?” I ask, my traitorous voice cracking halfway through the question.

He lifts a duffel bag in his hand. “Not just visiting. Staying for a bit.”

My stomach flips, and I hate that I immediately think about how close the guest room is to mine. “Why?”

“Your mom asked me to. Am I allowed in, or is the dress code dork only?”

“Huh?” I frown down at my Star Wars pajamas, the bottom hems pooling around my feet. “It’s laundry day.”

It’s totally not.

Devon just snickers and pushes past me into the house. “Sure it is.” His eyes scan the family portraits that hang over the entryway. “Place hasn’t changed a bit.”

Except to me, it feels like it has in just the span of seconds. Everything feels smaller with him in it: the ceilings, the hallway, the space between us.

His duffel thuds against the tile as he drops it by the stairs. “Your dad around anywhere?”