Right. The siblings. I'd been so wrapped up in recovery and legal bullshit and learning how to let Rook take care of me that I'd almost forgotten the plan. Rook's parents had been hosting Talia, Micah, and Poppy for the past few days while I got my shit together, and today we were all going to the playoff game together.
The second round. Game one against the Alberta Raiders. And apparently I was bringing my entire makeshift family to watch my boyfriend play professional hockey in the VIP section like we were people who did things like that.
The whole thing felt surreal in the best possible way.
“I should probably shower,” I said, already moving to get up. “And maybe put on clothes that don't smell like sex.”
Rook laughed and pulled me back down for another kiss. “Shower's all yours. I'll make coffee.”
By the timewe pulled into the driveway of the Kincaid house an hour later, I was buzzing with nervous energy that had nothing to do with caffeine. I'd talked to my siblings on the phone every day since I'd been discharged, knew they were safe and being looked after, but actually seeing them felt huge in ways I couldn't quite put into words.
The house was exactly as I remembered it from high school. Two-story colonial, white trim, big front porch, flower boxes under the windows that were somehow already thriving despiteit being early spring. I'd been here maybe a dozen times back then, for team dinners and birthday parties and one memorable Thanksgiving where Martin had attempted to deep-fry a turkey and nearly taken out the garage. It had always felt like the kind of house that knew what it was for.
Rook squeezed my hand as we walked up the front steps. “They're gonna lose their shit when they see you.”
“Good shit or bad shit?”
“Definitely good shit.”
He wasn't wrong.
The second the front door opened, Poppy launched herself at me with a scream that probably violated several noise ordinances. I caught her out of pure instinct, stumbling back a step as she wrapped her arms around my neck and squeezed hard enough to make breathing difficult.
“You're here!” she said directly into my ear. “Holy shit, you're here!”
“Language,” I said automatically, but I was grinning so hard my face hurt.
“Soren!” Micah appeared in the doorway next, looking taller than he had a week ago and wearing a hoodie I didn't recognize. He crashed into both of us, and then Talia was there too, and suddenly I was buried under a pile of siblings who were all trying to hug me at once.
I held on and let them, blinking hard against the sting behind my eyes because crying in the Kincaids' front yard felt like maybe too much emotional honesty for ten in the morning.
When they finally pulled back, I got a good look at them. New clothes, all of them. Clean hair, clear eyes, the kind of fed-and-rested glow that came from being taken care of instead of just surviving. Poppy had a new backpack slung over one shoulder, Micah's jeans actually fit him instead of being two inches tooshort, and Talia looked less like she was holding the world together through sheer force of will.
“You guys look good,” I said, and my voice came out rougher than I'd intended.
“Mrs. Kincaid took us shopping,” Poppy announced. “And Mr. Kincaid makes the best pancakes in the entire world. Also they have a dog. Did you know they have a dog?”
“I did not know that.”
“Her name is Maple and she's perfect.”
Martha appeared behind them, wiping her hands on a dish towel. She looked at me for a moment with the particular expression of someone seeing a person they'd known a long time ago and were relieved to find still standing. Then she crossed the porch and pulled me into a hug.
“I remember you,” she said against my shoulder. “Rook's Soren. I always wondered where you went.”
I hugged her back. She smelled like vanilla and the same fabric softener I remembered from the handful of times I'd been here in high school, borrowing Rook's hoodie because I'd left mine on the bus.
“Hi, Martha,” I managed.
She pulled back and held me at arm's length for a moment, doing a quiet scan from head to toe. “You look better than when I saw you last,” she said. “A lot better.”
“Low bar.”
“Still counts.” Satisfied with whatever she'd found, she nodded toward the door. “Come inside. Martin's in the kitchen making cookies even though I told him we already have cookies.”
“I heard that!” came a voice from somewhere deeper in the house.
The house smelled like vanilla and cinnamon, and the inside was exactly as warm and lived-in as it had always been. Family photos lined the walls — I spotted one from what had to beRook's junior year, him in full gear holding a trophy, grinning in a way he almost never let himself grin now. Shoes piled by the door. A dog bed in the corner that Maple was definitely not using because Maple was in the kitchen trying to con Micah out of a cookie.
