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All I could think was that maybe he knew someone who worked with her through New Horizons. Maybe he also had a loved one who’d gone through a traumatic injury or health change. That would give us something in common.

But why did he look so pale, so…scared to talk to me?

It didn’t make any sense.

I walked up to the front door, chest tight, suddenly sure that I was carrying a bomb into my house.

Pogo greeted me at the door, nudging my hand to encourage some pets. I patted him distractedly. “Hey, buddy. Did you get your dinner?”

I spoke the words on autopilot.

Dakota rolled out of the hallway. “I took care of our boy. You better grab that shower. I’m starving, and if you’re not back in five minutes, I’m eating without you.”

I attempted a smile. “Uh, something came for you.”

“What is it?”

“A letter, I guess.” I lifted it. “I’m not sure what it’s about.”

“Huh. Okay.” She took it and set it on the entryway table. “Go shower. I’ll read it after dinner. Was this the only mail we got?”

“Oh, um.” I forgot to even check the mailbox. “I’m not sure. I got sidetracked.”

She glanced at me, brow furrowed. “Did you blow out a few brain cells while running? I told you that shit isn’t healthy.”

I laughed. “Shut up. You’re just jealous I’ve got working legs.”

“Nah, if I had working legs, I wouldn’t waste my time torturing them with exercise,” she joked. “Now, go clean up. I’m hungry!”

“Fine, I’m going!”

I soaped and rinsed quickly, not wanting to keep Dakota waiting. I was also more than a little curious about the letter. I’d almost demanded she open it right then, but part of me also wanted to suggest throwing it away and never looking inside.

It had rattled me that Joyride was delivering a mystery letter to my sister. More than that, though, his face—pale, stressed, maybe a little scared—made me certain that nothing good could come of it.

After I dried and dressed, I entered the kitchen. Dakota had gotten impatient and served the carnitas onto two plates, along with taco shells, pico de gallo, sour cream, and salsa.

She parked her chair at the island. When it was just the two of us, we often ate there. I took the stool on the other side. “Sorry for making you wait.”

“Eh, it’s okay. I think it’s great you’re getting out of the house, even if it is just to torture your body.”

I snorted. “I’m twenty-seven. Gotta start working for it if I want to keep this hot bod.”

She wrinkled her nose. “What does that say about me? I’m stuck in the chair.”

“And you’ve got killer biceps,” I teased. “I bet you could beat me in an arm-wrestling match.”

Her lips twitched. “Probably.”

My sister had opted for a sport chair that she wheeled herself, rather than a motorized one. Between wheeling and transferring herself from her chair into the car, into bed, and into the shower stall, she exercised a hell of a lot more than I did. My work as a PT kept me active, but it was a long way from the soccer I’d played all throughout high school and college.

The carnitas were smoky and savory. I kept the spice to a minimum for Dakota’s sake, but added a big helping of salsa to mine.

After we ate, I fetched the letter for her. Dakota paused in loading the dishwasher to take it from me. When I cooked, she did the dishes and vice versa. Watching her do chores made a guy feel like a lazy ass, but I reminded myself that she wanted to contribute to the household just as much as I did.

“Just so you know, this was hand-delivered,” I said. “It didn’t come in the regular mail, so I don’t know… It might be something weird.”

“Huh.” She closed the dishwasher door and tore open the envelope. “It’s probably just something that got delivered to the wrong place…”