Page 3

Words once again clamored against one another, fighting to be released, but I strangled them down. Behind me, chairs were scraping against the floor, voices murmuring and footsteps approaching. My two worlds were about to collide, and I was powerless to stop it.

“Sam? Everything okay?” Harry appeared at my shoulder, his stormy gaze locked on Jordan like he was an enemy Harry could protect me from.

I wished he could.

Jordan’s eyes moved from me to Harry, curiosity flickering across his face.

“I’m Jordan,” he said, extending his hand to Harry. “Sam’s brother.”

Harry shook it once, brief and firm. “Gordy.”

“He’s one of my roommates,” I managed, finding my voice somewhere in the wreckage of my composure.

Jordan nodded slowly, his gaze sweeping past us to the hallway where the others had gathered. I could feel them behind me—Abby’s quiet concern, Liam’s curiosity, Drew’s protective energy. My found family, meeting my real one for the first time.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. These worlds were supposed to stay separate.

“I didn’t realize you lived with…” Jordan trailed off, clearly recalibrating whatever assumptions he’d made about my life here.

“Hockey players,” I supplied flatly. “I live with hockey players.”

“Right.” A small smile tugged at his mouth—genuine, if a little sad. “Sounds like you. Always did like being surrounded by chaos.”

The teasing in his voice made my chest ache. He said it like he still knew me. As if five years of silence hadn’t turned us into strangers.

“Look, Sam,” he said, shoving his hands in his coat pockets. The gesture made him look younger, more like how I remembered him and less like the polished businessman he’d clearly grown up to be. Had he taken over Dad’s business? Or had he gone off on his own? “I know this is unexpected. I should have called first.”

“Yes, you should have.”

He huffed out a breath that was almost a laugh. “Would you have answered?”

The question hung between us, and we both knew the answer.

No.

I wouldn’t have. I would have let it go to voicemail, and then never bothered to return it.

“We really want you home this year,” Jordan said quietly. “And I figured if I showed up in person, you couldn’t just”—he gave me a knowing look—”escape to Aunt Lauren’s.”

My face flushed. He acted as if they’d tried so hard to get me to come home, when the reality was he sent me one, maybe two, texts a year and about the same number of phone calls. They didn’t check on me for over a year after I moved to San Diego with Aunt Lauren. I hadn’t escaped.

I’d been exiled.

As if reading the thoughts in my mind, his small smile fell. “Sam.” His voice was gentle but firm. “It’s time to come home.”

Home.

Did he really believe that Seattle was home anymore? That it could ever be home again after…

No.

I couldn’t think about it.

Which was why I couldn’t go back.

“Why now?”

Something painful crossed Jordan’s face. “We thought…” He stopped, shaking his head. “We thought eventually you’d be ready to come back on your own. But it’s been five years, Sammy. And I’m tired of waiting.”