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“Nate.”

“I came to see you.”

My throat tightens for a second. Because despite everything—the money, the contract, the vomiting, the secrets stacked on top of secrets—he is my brother, and he’s sitting outside my door like he belongs there, which he does.

I walk toward him fast enough that he starts to stand, and then I’m hugging him before either of us has time to make it normal.

He freezes for half a second, probably because I’m not always a surprise-hug person, then wraps his arms around me. “Okay,” he says, voice muffled near my shoulder. “Either you missed me or someone died.”

“Shut up.”

“Missed me. Got it.”

I hold on for one more second than I meant to. He doesn’t comment on that, which is how I know he noticed.

When I let go, he looks at my face more closely. “You okay?”

“Yes.”

His eyebrows lift. “Convincing.”

“I’m tired.”

“You always say that.”

“I’m always tired.”

“That’s also true.”

I unlock the door before he can study me any longer. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?”

“Because it was a surprise.”

“That’s not an answer. That’s just the concept repeated.”

“I thought you liked surprises.”

“I have never once given that impression.”

He follows me inside, grinning. “You like controlled surprises.”

“There’s no such thing.”

“Sure there is. Like when you know someone is bringing food, but you don’t know what kind.”

I pause with my keys still in my hand.

Nate looks around the apartment, already making himself at home. He drops his backpack near the sofa and heads for the kitchen like he owns half the place, which, emotionally, he probably does. “You have snacks?” he asks.

“No.”

“You never have snacks.”

“I have medical school and a bank account with asthma.”

He opens a cabinet anyway. “You have crackers.”

“Those are emergency crackers.”