“Y’know,” Daisy said after a moment, not looking up from her cards, “you’re quieter than usual.”
He met her gaze across the table. “Just tired.”
She nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. “Lot on your mind?”
A pause. “Yep.”
She stacked aDraw Fouron his pile. “Wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
Another beat passed, and then she smiled— genuinely, not like it used to be when she was deflecting or guarding herself. “Okay.”
And that was the deal, wasn’t it? That was how they kept the peace.Don’t ask. Don’t tell. Move forward.
It wasn’t perfect.
But it was something.
After a second game and a few beers neither of them really wanted, Daisy kicked her feet up on the chair next to his and said, “You seemed happy earlier. I haven’t seen that in a long time.”
He didn’t say anything right away.
Because how do you explain to your sister that the thing she tried so hard to tear apart might actually be the only thing that ever felt like home?
Instead, he shrugged. “It’s been a good weekend.”
She studied him. “You seeing someone?”
His heart thumped once. Then twice.
“No,” he said carefully. “Not really.”
Not yet. But maybe… Maybe soon.
Later, after several games and way too much trash talk they gave up playing. The coffee table was littered with cards, empty beer bottles, and the remnants of a half-eaten bag of Nerds Clusters. The TV played softly in the background— some random Food Network competition neither of them had paid much attention to— and the ceiling fan spun lazily above them, stirring the thick Southern air.
Daisy flopped sideways on the loveseat, feet tucked under her, a flushed grin spreading across her face. “You cheated,” she slurred, pointing at him with exaggerated drama. “Nobody wins Uno and gin rummy unless they’re a certified asshole.”
Dylan chuckled, stretching his legs out in front of him. “Maybe you just suck.”
She gasped, feigning offense, then snorted. “You’re lucky I love you.”
He leaned forward, gathering up the scattered cards. “And you’re lucky I didn’t let your kids gang-tackle you in the pool today.”
“They did gang-tackle me,” she said, eyes half-closed, her speech slower now. “That’s why I have a bruise shaped like Lillie’s elbow on my thigh. Worth it, though.”
Dylan smiled, soft and real. These nights didn’t happen often. Not anymore. And even with the haze of beer and sibling banter, he felt that weight in his chest— the quiet kind. The kind that came with growing up and apart and only sometimes finding your way back.
Daisy blinked slowly, then rubbed her face. “I’m drunk.”
“Yup.”
She laughed. “I’m gonna go crawl into bed with my very hot, very sober wife now.”
“Good plan,” he said, grabbing two bottles from the table and standing. “I’ll clean up down here. Crash on the couch.”
Her eyes opened fully. “You’re not driving back to your hotel?”
