At the sound of my voice, Ford’s head snapped up, and his face broke into a grin that made something in my chest ease for the first time in weeks.
“No way.” He was already in motion, meeting me halfway across the lot and pulling me in for a back-thumping hug. “You actually came.”
“You think I was gonna miss this? After Sawyer went and married Willa without so much as a warning to the rest of us?”
“Extenuating circumstances,” Sawyer protested, following suit with another bro hug. “You didn’t tell anybody you were home.”
“Wasn’t sure I was.”
Ford’s grin softened into something quieter, steadier. “Well, you’re here now. That’s what matters.” He clapped me on the shoulder, a wordless welcome that hit harder than I’d admit. “Come on, before Bree figures out what I have planned.”
Having seen the outline of his plan this morning, I laughed. “She’s gonna kill you.”
“Worth it.”
The door swung open as we reached it, the rush of sound and warmth hitting like a wave—glasses clinking, chairs scraping, the low buzz of cheerful conversation rolling under Monty’s voice as he did mic checks for karaoke. The scent of beer, a hint of fryer oil, and something citrusy from Bree’s new summer shandy wrapped around me like a memory that didn’t quite fit anymore.
The crowd was a mix of locals, tourists, and summer workers. Many faces I knew. Many I didn’t. The Wayward Sons’ old table by the stage was occupied by strangers now, but the Gray Beards still had their corner, and Willa was near the jukebox, waving a drink as she argued with Duck about the banned song list.
Then I saw them.
Caroline’s dark hair caught the light as she leaned across a table, laughing at something her husband, Hoyt, said. Beside her, Gabi gestured mid-story, animated and bright.
My throat tightened. After everything we’d gone through growing up, I’d never tire of seeing my sisters like this—loud, safe, and happy. I moved in their direction, but I hadn’t made it three steps before Gabi’s eyes landed on me.
“Rios!” Her voice cracked through the noise like a firework. Heads turned as she launched herself across the room, and I found myself bracing as I always did when attention turned to me on Hatterwick.
“Hey, pequeña,” I managed before she collided with me, hugging hard enough to knock the wind out of my lungs.
Caroline wasn’t far behind, eyes wide, already demanding, “When did you get here?”
“On the most recent ferry.”
“You could’ve called!”
“Would’ve ruined the surprise.”
She smacked my arm but hugged me again anyway. I let the squeeze settle something frayed inside me, then eased toward the bar with Sawyer at my shoulder, tracking exits out of habit, trying to look like a man who wasn’t constantly scanning for looks of derision and judgment. Mostly I saw folks who’d decided my visiting my sisters wasn’t interesting enough to pay attention to—a position I was more than fine with.
Bree came around from behind the taps and wrapped me up in a quick, solid hug underscored by the scents of citrus and clean malt. “Good to see you, Rios.”
“Great to see you, too.” I pulled back, letting my gaze flick between her and Ford, taking in the way they stood close enough to brush shoulders, the easy intimacy that had been absent for so many years. “Glad you two finally got your heads out of your asses.”
Ford shot me a cheerful middle finger over his pint, which made my mouth twitch despite everything I wasn’t saying—all the things I’d learned to keep locked down tight when I was around decent people living decent lives.
Bree shook her head, amused and exasperated in equal measure, the sound of the room swelling and softening around us like the tide against the docks outside. “We’ve heard that often enough we’re considering putting it on a t-shirt and selling it at the bar.”
“It would be a bestseller.” The words felt easy rolling off my tongue; the relief behind them did not.
She tipped her chin toward the impressive row of tap handles, pride edging her smile in a way that made her whole face light up. “You want to try the new beer? Dark Moon Rising just won a gold medal at Brewgaloo.”
I took in the neat rows of sample glasses lined up on the polished counter, the way her hands stayed steady and sure even with the bar hopping around us and voices rising over the music. A normal moment between old friends. A good one, the kind I’d learned not to take for granted.
“Sure, I’ll have a sample.”
“Don’t be silly.” She waved off my offer before I could even reach for my wallet. “As a proper welcome home, you get an entire pint on me.”
I let the warmth of that sit in my chest while she poured. The pint landed under my hand with a soft slide of glass on wood.
