“Here we go,” Derek muttered, and Ryan laughed.
This was it. This was exactly what it was like online—the easy rhythm of conversation, the good-natured arguing, the way everyone talked over each other without anyone actually getting upset. The only difference was that now he could see their faces, could reach over and steal a jalapeno popper off Jake’s plate, could feel Angus’s warm weight as the dog draped himself across Ryan’s feet.
They played for hours. The sun set outside the windows, painting the room in shades of gold and orange before fading to twilight. Someone turned on more lights. Someone else ordered more pizza. At some point, his mom dropped by again with chocolate chip cookies, still warm from the oven, the sweet smell cutting through the grease and cheese—and everyone thanked her with full mouths and distracted waves, eyes glued to the screens.
“Your stepmom’s cool,” Mason said during a loading screen.
Ryan didn’t bother correcting him. Stepmom, mom, whatever—the labels didn’t matter as much as they used to. “Yeah. She is.”
The game demanded their attention again, and Ryan leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard. His team was down by two objectives, but they’d been in worse spots before. He called out positions, coordinated their push, and felt the rush as everything clicked into place.
“Nice call,” Maria said when they won the match.
“That flank was disgusting,” Derek added, shaking his head.
Angus, sensing the celebration, scrambled up from his spot and began making the rounds, tail wagging as he shoved his nose into everyone’s hands. Tyler tried to sneak him a pizza crust, and Ryan let it slide—Angus deserved a treat for being such a good boy all night.
“Okay, one more match,” Jake said, cracking his knuckles. “And this time I’m not playing support.”
“You always say that,” Mason groaned.
“And you always need me to save your ass, so maybe next time don’t overextend.”
The argument dissolved into laughter, and Ryan leaned back in his chair. This was what normal felt like. Not proving he was the smartest kid in the room, not trying to earn his place through test scores and academic achievements. Just hanging out. Just being sixteen.
His phone buzzed with a text from Will.
How’s it going up there? Tara says you’re having fun.
Yeah, it’s good.
He hesitated, then added.
Thanks for adding the shelves.
The response came almost immediately.
Anytime, kid.
“Ryan, you queueing up or what?” Maria was already loading into the next match. Derek had commandeered the jalapeno poppers and was methodically working through the tray. Jake was trying to explain some new build he’d seen online while Mason and Tyler argued about who got the last slice of pepperoni.
Tomorrow he’d help Will with the inn repairs—there were some doors that had been sticking in the humidity that needed sanding down. But that was tomorrow.
Ryan set his phone aside, pulled his chair closer to the desk, and picked up his headset.
“All right, who’s ready to lose?”
CHAPTER 14
CHRISTINA
The cake was three tiers of buttercream with fresh blueberries and strawberries, and it was the most beautiful thing Christina had ever wanted to cry over.
She pressed her fingernails into her palm beneath the table, forcing a smile as Tara set the cake in the center of the display. The cottage living room was so pretty—streamers in soft lavender and mint, mason jars stuffed with wildflowers on every surface, a banner that read “Welcome Baby Violet” strung across the windows. Through those windows, dark clouds gathered over the mountains, the air thick and electric with the promise of an afternoon storm.
“You okay, honey?” Tara touched her shoulder, voice low beneath the chatter of the dozen women filling the room.
“I’m fine.” Christina widened her smile until it hurt. “It’s perfect. All of it.”
