I grabbed a blanket, draped it over both of them, then sank onto the carpeted floor beside the bed. His hand dangled over the edge, and mine found it automatically, our fingers tangling together.
“Sleep,” I whispered. “I’ll keep watch.”
“Steph…” His voice cracked again, tired and scared and impossibly young.
“I’ve got you, Lee.” I squeezed his hand. “I always will.”
He squeezed back—weak but certain—and eventually, the exhaustion dragged him under. His grip loosened, his breathing slowed, his whole body sagging into the safety he didn’t trust but desperately needed.
But I didn’t sleep.
I stayed awake on that basement floor, holding his hand, listening to Sophia’s soft, broken breaths, and watching over them like I could keep the world away by sheer will.
Because when your best friend’s world shatters, you hold the pieces. You stay. You keep watch. You make promises you’re too young to understand, but mean with everything you have.
I didn’t know then that Owen and Louisa Blackwood would arrive at dawn—Louisa sweeping both kids into the fiercest hug I’d ever seen, Owen handling every adult detail with quiet, commanding strength.
I didn’t know that within forty-eight hours, Liam and Sophia would be in a car on their way to Copper Creek, beginning new lives as Blackwoods in all but blood.
All I knew was that Liam Walker had lost everything except his sister.
And I would do anything—anything—to make sure he didn’t lose himself, too.
Chapter 1
Liam
The Wedding Tree stretched its ancient arms above us, strings of lights turning the whole damn thing into something out of a fairy tale. Wyatt had his arm around Ivy, both of them glowing like they'd swallowed sunshine, and the sight of it made something twist hard in my chest.
My brother had fought for fourteen years to get his woman back. Fourteen years of missing her, wanting her, waiting for her to come home. And now here they stood under the tree that had seen every Blackwood milestone for two generations, celebrating that Ivy was finally, permanently, irrevocablyhome.
"You're next, Lee." Maggie’s beer sloshed dangerously close to the rim when she hip-checked me like she owned the damn place—which, to be fair, she kinda did. "I can feel it in my bones."
I huffed. "Your bones are full of crap."
"Bullshit," Clay cut in, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her clean off her feet while she shrieked. “I’ve got ladieslined up from here to Fort Worth. I’ll be married with three kids before Liam even looks at a woman twice.”
"Put me down, you ass!" Maggie smacked at him, but the sparkle in her eyes gave her away. She thrived on this—being in the middle of us, wrangling us like she was born doing it. Boss of the Blackwoods since the day she could talk.
Clay set her on her boots, and she straightened her top like her dignity had been wounded. It hadn’t. Maggie didn’t stay rattled long. Not ever. She was the one who held the whole damn family together with grit, spreadsheets, and sheer force of will.
"Twenty bucks says it's Hunter," Sophia chimed in, nudging our quietest brother with her shoulder. My little sister. Nurse now. Stronger than she knew. I still saw the girl who used to fall asleep with her head on my arm when nightmares got too big. Proud of her didn’t even begin to cover it. "Still waters run deep. He's probably got a secret girlfriend stashed somewhere."
Hunter just shook his head, that small smile barely there. Man spoke in nods and glances, but he always saw everything. My opposite in a dozen ways, but my brother all the same.
All of them—blood or not. Blackwood by love, by loyalty, by Owen and Louisa opening their door the night Soph and I’s parents were murdered and never letting go. That’s what family meant here. Not DNA. Choice. Promise. Home.
“Fifty says Maggie falls first,” Clay announced, dancing out of reach as she swatted at him again. “Some cowboy’s gonna sweep her off her feet at a rodeo, and she’ll be married by Christmas.”
“In your actual delusional dreams,” Maggie shot back. “I don’t have time for cowboys. I’m too busy keepingyouthree feral toddlers alive and this ranch from burning to the ground.”
She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “I run this circus. Y’all are just the clowns.”
Clay barked a laugh. “See? Denial. Classic pre-fall symptoms.”
“Keep talking,” she warned, “and I’ll put your sorry ass on mucking duty for a month.”
Clay opened his mouth, probably to wind her up even more, but I cut in.
