The kids distracted his mother. As had the arrival of his cousins. Nothing could keep his mother in check like a large crowd of people bent on keeping her in line. Marc hated to be so uncharitable, but he hadn’t quite forgiven her for the hell she’d put Rafe through, either.

Or him and Travis, for that matter. Marc had been two years older than Rafe. Travis had been almost three years younger. When Rafe had been thirteen, it had gotten so hard for him—their father had focused on fixing Rafe’s genetic flaws during that year—that Rafe had run away.

To Aunt Anne and Uncle Elliot’s.

They had immediately listened to the young boy and made room for him.

Right in Chance’s bedroom.

Chance hadn’t exactly been overly happy with that.

His parents had wanted Rafe back, though Marc had his opinions on why, but Marc and Travis had banded together in defense of their brother.

They’d done what they’d had to do back then. And it had been surprisingly effective. They’d bought Rafe a full year and three months with Uncle Elliot. When Rafe had been forced to come back, he had been a stronger, different brother than the kid who had left.

Aunt Anne and Uncle Elliot had seen to that. They’d helped him heal, gotten him counseling that Uncle Elliot had insisted continue after Rafe had returned home, and helped him learn to protect himself from the hurt his adoptive parents had dealt him.

Marc had made certain his middle brother knew exactly how Marc felt about him. And that he would always have Rafe’s back. As would Travis. That year or so Rafe had lived with his uncle had been the hardest on Travis, but his youngest brother had stuck it through for Rafe’s sake.

His feelings about his brother—or his parents—hadn’t changed in those twenty years.

Marc had his brother’s back.

And Rafe’s actual biological brother was walking through the door. He looked like a slightly darker, skinnier version of Rafe. Marcus’ mother wasn’t going to miss the similarities.

Nor would she when she looked at the thirteen-year-old boy who walked in behind his eldest brother.

Every time Marc saw Simon he was reminded of how Rafe had once looked.

“Ari!” Simon practically yelled. He threw himself toward his sister. Marcus let her go quickly. She laughed and wrapped her arms around her brother. The teen tolerated it far longer than Marc would have expected.

“Why are you guys here?” she asked, as her younger brother stepped aside and the elder brother took his place. Davis Lucas, known mostly as Luc, hugged his younger sister tightly. “Luc?”

“Carpooling. I brought the boy down to basketball practice. Taking him home first thing in the morning.”

“Seriously?”

Marc understood what she meant. Even for Luc, that was a bit excessive. There had to be something more than what Luc was saying at the moment.

“Seriously. Kid wanted to go to basketball camp at FCU. It was a spur-of-the-moment thing. Seems he was actually too young to register. I didn’t know that when we first got down here. But we worked something out. Kid did well. You’d have been proud of him.”

“Of course I would.”

Marc just bet Luc had worked something out. He’d probably written a substantial check to the university to get his brother in. Marc held his hand out to the older man. He genuinely liked Luc—once the initial awkwardness had worn off. Luc leaned over his sister and spoke in a low voice. “We have some family business to discuss. We’ve found more.”

Marc watched already pale skin go almost white. He put a hand on her narrow back before he even realized it. She stepped aside almost instinctively.

Marc had studied her often over the last several months. Whenever she felt threatened, Ariella would pull away physically from everyone. Sometimes including Jillian and Lacy.

As if she feared the contact would turn hurtful in a moment’s time. He’d wondered about that. It was just one of the things he wondered about the woman who had tiptoed through his dreams again the night before.

“After dinner, Luc. I’m not going to ruin it for the Becks. Any more than it probably already will be.”

“What do you mean?”

“Rafe’s mother is right there.” Ariella threw a look over her shoulder at Marc. “I’m sorry, Marc. That was rude of me.”

“No, it wasn’t. Honesty isn’t.” Marc shifted, until the woman was between him and Luc. “My mother is very difficult, Luc. And she and Rafe especially don’t get along. We had no idea she was going to show up tonight.”

“I see.” Luc’s expression darkened as he looked over at where Marc’s mother still sat. “I wonder if your mother would like to answer some questions I’ve had about mine for a very long time.”

Ariella paled almost more than humanly possible.

To Marc’s surprise she bolted out the door.

Every instinct he possessed urged him to follow.

So Marc did exactly that.