Aiden was avoiding me. It took me a while to figure it out. He worked so much, sometimes it seemed like he was avoiding everyone. I’d been home for two days, and we hadn't spent more than twenty minutes alone together since I'd walked through the door.

Don't get me wrong, Aiden was glad I was home. Everyone was. And I was relieved as hell to be here. There'd been times, too many of them, when I'd been certain I'd never see home again. Somehow, I'd imagined things would go differently if I ever got here.

Always the dutiful head of the family, Aiden had met my plane. I'd seen him here and there over the past thirteen years, but I hadn't really noticed him growing older until I'd come home for good.

Fuck, we’d both gotten old. We were the same age, pretty much. We even looked alike. And now we had the same grooves drawn into our faces, the same lines around our eyes.

Once, we’d been inseparable.

Now, Aiden could barely meet my eyes.

He was pissed at me. Still. Or maybe, again. For what, I wasn't sure, and Aiden wasn't talking.

There was a long list of possibilities; I'd run out on all of them after Olivia and Hugh had died. None of them really knew why. I'd been eighteen, lost in grief and guilt and fear and I'd abandoned my family. I had to live with that, but the last six months seemed like enough penance to me.

I didn't know if Aiden was mad that I'd left, or mad that I'd come home. Or pissed that I'd spent the last thirteen years throwing myself into danger when I didn't have to. Shit, if I really wanted to make a list of all the reasons Aiden had to be mad at me, it would take all day.

Unfortunately for him, I was back, and he was going to have to deal with me. So far, he'd proven adept at dodging me, leaving the house early and working late. The night he'd been home for dinner, we had been surrounded by the rest of the family and Aiden had been careful to preserve his distance. So far, I'd let it go. Now, I was done.

Aiden stepped out of the dining room, a folded newspaper in his hand, and stopped short when I blocked his path.

“Gage. You're up early,” he said in a politely distant tone. “Mrs. W is still serving breakfast if you're hungry.”

He moved to walk around me. When I stepped to block him, his eyes narrowed briefly before he raised one eyebrow and gave me the look he used when he wanted to send people scurrying in the other direction.

It didn't work on me.

I was a soldier. And I’d shared a room with him when he still wet the bed. It took a lot more than Aiden's glare to send me running.

“I'll eat in a minute,” I said. “I want to talk to you about the company.”

Aiden checked his watch in a show of impatience and said, “Can we do this later? I have an early meeting.”

“You can spare two minutes,” I said. “I want to come to work. I'm not expecting any favors. We can talk about the skills I have and how we can use them, but I have a stake in Winters Inc., and I'm tired of sitting around, doing nothing.”

An undefinable emotion ghosted over Aiden's familiar features. Regret, or grief, tinged with anger. I’d been right. He was pissed.

Checking his watch again, he said, “Gage, you just got home. You need to take it easy. Relax, settle in. I'm happy to have you at the company, but why don't we table this until after the holidays? The next few weeks are going to be busy between Charlie's wedding, and then Tate's. You've been gone thirteen years. You can wait another few weeks.”

“Aiden,” I tried again, “we need to talk.”

“Later, Gage.”

Aiden skirted around me and was gone, heading past the kitchen to the garage. Temporarily defeated, I entered the dining room to find it empty. It was still early, just after seven. Aunt Amelia and Sophie were probably still asleep. Considering that Sophie had been up half the night, I hoped she was still asleep. I wasn’t ready to face her in daylight.

The door leading from the butler's pantry into the dining room swung open, and Mrs. Williamson's familiar face appeared. “Scrambled eggs with cheese, sausages, and black coffee?” she asked with a wink.

“That would be great, thanks, Mrs. W.”

I sat at the table, smiling to myself. I hadn't expected my homecoming to be easy. I'd spent too much time away for that. But Mrs. W was just as I'd remembered her. She alone seemed to bear no resentment over my absence. She'd welcomed me with a firm hug and a kiss on one cheek, only saying, “I missed you, and I'm so glad you're home.”

We’d both pretended to ignore the shine of tears in her eyes, and mine.

Even Aunt Amelia had given me shit after she enfolded me in a fierce hug. She hadn't been able to stop herself from scolding me for getting captured in the first place. Like that was the plan. At least I'd gotten my team out of harm's way before I'd gone down. But did I get any credit for that? Not from my family.

I knew they'd been scared. After so much death and loss, learning that I was missing must've been awful. I got it. I did. But I was home. I was even in one piece, which was a miracle, all things considered.

Mrs. W came in, setting a steaming cup of black coffee in front of me, along with a woven silver basket covered with an embroidered napkin, the crimson ‘W’ standing out against the snowy linen.

Steam wafted up, smelling of biscuits and butter. I'd missed a lot of things about home, but the food had to be at the top of the list.

Mrs. W squeezed my shoulder and left. From her, that was the equivalent of a long embrace. Mrs. W had firm ideas about her place in the family. Mostly that she wasn't family. The rest of us disagreed, but we’d long since learned not to bother arguing with Mrs. W.

Now that our parents were dead, Helen Williamson was the closest thing we had to a mother, and every one of us loved her like one.

I thought of the bugs taped on the insides of the lampshades in the library and mentally corrected myself. Almost all of us loved her like family. Aunt Amelia, not so much. I’d never really understood why those two didn't get along. Since Mrs. W would rather die than admit she disliked a member of the Winters family, she refused to talk. When I'd asked Amelia, she'd only narrowed her sharp eyes and shook her head saying, “I have my reasons.”

I didn't envy Sophie the job of keeping the peace between those two.

Sophie.

I wasn't sure if I was dreading or anticipating seeing her again. Both. It was both.

Dreading, because I owed her an apology. I still couldn't believe I’d grabbed her in the dark like that. I'd terrified her. It killed me to know I'd scared any woman, but especially this one.

And anticipating… Fuck, once I'd gotten a good look at her, how could I not anticipate seeing Sophie again?

When I'd first walked into the library, all I'd seen was a shadow, moving in the dark in a room that should be empty. In that room. The library carried too many memories. More than memories, nightmares of the last time I'd walked into a scene that didn't belong.

My head wasn’t screwed on right these days. I'd come back in one piece physically, but mentally—let's just say I was doing better than expected, but I wasn't quite back to normal. Not yet. Maybe I never would be.

Bad dreams. Insomnia. Jumping at loud noises. I'd been around long enough to know what post-traumatic stress looked like. I'd seen it in other guys. Even talked to them about it, encouraged them to get some help.

So easy, when it wasn't me.

I laid in bed at night and closed my eyes. All I could see were things I wanted to forget. The fucking flashbacks were the worst. I knew they weren't real. In my mind, I knew I wasn't back there, locked in a cage.

My body disagreed. When they hit, I broke out in a sweat, my heart raced, and every part of me was convinced I was in mortal danger.

I knew what was wrong with me, but I wasn't in control.

If I had been, I never would've grabbed Sophie like that.

At first, my arms had closed around her, and I'd been ready to throw her to the floor, to restrain her as if she'd been the intruder I thought she was.

Then, I'd smelled her.

Such a simple thing, scent. It sneaks into your brain, provoking a response before you can process. My instincts told my body to relax before my brain got in gear. Nothing that smelled like Sophie could be a threat.

I kept trying to figure it out, but I couldn’t break it down. Her scent was a contradiction. Sweet and sultry, like flowers and spice. Innocence. Seductive, sensual innocence.

I’d grabbed her because I thought her an intruder, but I held on because I wanted more.

Her body was soft, rounded and warm against me. It wasn't until I realized how fast her heart was beating, how short her breath was, that I let go.

Fuck, I owed her an apology.

I'd wanted to comfort her, but I was aware enough to realize that as the person who'd scared the crap out of her, my comfort wouldn't be welcome.

And, if she realized I was half hard after holding that soft body against me, it would've made everything worse.

I could've stayed in the library with her all night. Just her scent and her low, soothing voice had been enough. But when she turned on the light, the sight of her was a punch to the gut.

Sophie was a tiny thing, at least compared to me. There was no way she was much more than 5’ 3”. In her tightly belted white robe, silvery blonde hair spilling over her shoulders, she'd looked like an angel. Except no angel should have a body like that. The robe hid everything, but I'd held her against me.

The feel of her ass would keep me up at night, not that I'd complain. Remembering her soft curves was a much better reason for insomnia than flashbacks and nightmares.

I wanted to see her again. Hopefully, she wasn't one more person in this house who was pissed at me.

Reminding me that not everyone was mad, Mrs. W returned with a plate filled with cheese eggs and sausage. If I kept eating like this, I'd have to get back into the gym. I planned to do that anyway. Physically, I was ready. I wasn't made for idleness.

Aiden was nuts if he thought I was just going to sit around for the next three weeks. I'd find a way to get what I wanted, one way or another.

I ate my breakfast, savoring every bite, and headed down to the lower level of Winters House. Smaller than the main level of the house, the lower level had only three rooms, but all of them were huge.

I passed the cavernous space Mrs. W used for kitchen storage. I didn't even think about opening that door. No one went in that room without Mrs. W's express permission. I have no idea what she kept in there, but I suspected it was some combination of extra food and the many linens and place settings she used in the dining room.

Whatever. I didn't want to know. A little further down the hall was the gym. It probably wasn't getting much use these days.

I swung open the door to see that Aiden had upgraded since I'd last been home, adding a brand-new rowing machine and a new treadmill. The free weights and Nautilus looked the same. Someone had set up an area with yoga mats, probably Charlie when she still lived here.

Grateful for the distraction, and something productive to do with my day, I headed for the treadmill. I'd get in some miles while I planned the rest of my workout. Six months of captivity, followed by weeks in the military hospital, had left me ridiculously out of shape. I was headed to a desk job at Winters Inc., but that didn't mean I was going soft.

I ran for an hour before I hit the free weights. By the time I was done, my muscles were wrung out, fatigue pulling at me. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d slept well, and the night before was no exception. After walking Sophie to her bed, I’d gone to my own.

I’d fallen asleep right away, for once, but woken an hour later, my heart thudding in my chest, covered in a cold sweat, my hands shaking from a nightmare I couldn’t remember.

Fucking flashbacks.

I had a theory that if I exhausted my body, my mind would shut down and let me sleep. Putting it to the test, I jogged up two flights of stairs to my bedroom suite, took a quick shower, and climbed into bed. Closing my eyes, I willed myself to fall asleep.

I might have slept. Mostly, I drifted in a light doze, the sounds of the house creeping through the heavy wooden door of my suite. A vacuum running. Female voices. A scream that shot adrenaline through my veins before I remembered the construction paper insects in the lampshades in the library.

I almost gave up on sleep after that, but I hadn’t gotten more than a few hours a night for months. If I couldn’t get past this, I’d never get my shit together.

I closed my eyes again, breathing in deep, slow inhalations. Gradually, my nervous system went off high alert and my muscles relaxed. I rolled over and doubled up my pillow, trying to get comfortable.

My surroundings were unfamiliar, the house I’d grown up in strange. Alien. As a teenager, I’d shared these rooms with Aiden, his parents in the suite that was now his. Sometime after they’d died and I’d left home, Aiden had moved into their rooms. I didn’t care about that. Aiden was the oldest, just as his father had been. Those rooms were his by right. I didn’t want them.

It probably seemed logical to redecorate our old room after he moved out. I was gone, and we weren’t kids anymore. Our double beds had disappeared, along with the identical dressers covered with trophies and cork boards pinned with concert tickets and snapshots taken with friends.

Everything of our shared childhood had been stripped from the room and packed away.

Now, the suite was elegantly decorated with a bedroom set in dark wood, one I might have chosen for myself if I hadn’t preferred that everything stay the same. The sitting room where we’d hung out and studied had a new flat screen TV and a comfortable couch.

As teenagers, we’d begged for a TV in our room more times than I can remember. Now that I had one, bigger than anything I’d dreamed of at seventeen, I just wanted it gone. That TV was one more reminder of how much things had changed.

How everyone but me had moved on. I’d left home to escape my memories, but they haunted me all the same.

It felt like I lay in that bed for hours, half asleep, lingering just on the edge of dreams. I finally got up and stretched out on the couch to watch a movie. I must have slept for a while because I woke to find the sun setting.

Instead of refreshed, I was slow. Groggy. The house was empty when I left my suite. At the sound of my feet on the stairs, Mrs. W came out of the kitchen to tell me that Aiden had a dinner meeting and Aunt Amelia was at her bridge club with Sophie.

I ate alone. I could tell Mrs. W felt badly about it, and I didn’t know how to tell her I was relieved.

I loved my family. Maybe it didn’t seem like it after I’d left home and rarely come back, but I did. It’s just that there are a lot of them.

After six months in a cell, I wasn’t ready for crowds. In the airport on my way home, the press of people had left me feeling as if my skin wanted to crawl off my bones.

I wanted to be with my family, that’s why I came home, but the collected mass of my relatives and their significant others was a crowd, loud and rambunctious. I craved them and wanted to flee at the same time.

After a solitary dinner, I went back to my suite and sat at the desk to make a list. I needed to get in gear, to get my life back. At eighteen I’d walked away from my future, from the life I’d planned for myself, and if Aiden’s attitude was any indication, no one was going to hand it back to me.

That was fair. But if Aiden thought I was going to sit back and let him push me out of my own company, he’d learn he was mistaken. I could give him time. I owed him that. But I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for him to get over himself.

I needed the basics. A new phone. A laptop. A wardrobe that consisted of more than athletic shorts and cargo pants. I wasn’t flying to London for my suits like Aiden - the thought of sitting through a crowded flight twisted my gut in a knot - and I wasn’t asking Aiden for access to the company plane. Not yet.

I’d talk to Vance. My little brother wasn’t so little anymore, and he had good taste. He also wore clothes aside from suits, had little patience for shopping, and was speaking to me. All things I couldn’t say about Aiden. I made a note to call him in the morning.

The phone and laptop were easy enough. A quick trip to a big box electronics store and I’d be in business. I added a tablet to my list. Mine had broken shortly before the mission that had derailed my career and my life, and I hadn’t had a chance to replace it.

Setting down my pen, I stood from the desk and stretched. Once I had the laptop, I could get to work. I had a lot of catching up to do on Winters Inc., and I could start with everything available in the public record.

I shoved my hands in my pockets and paced the sitting room of my suite. I needed something to do. Even after my nap, I should be tired. I had months of broken sleep to make up for.

I was tired. There was a part of me that was so deeply exhausted, I doubted I’d ever sleep enough to fill the well.

Still, after months of insomnia, I knew I wasn’t close to tired enough to sleep. Another workout wasn’t the answer. I thought about a movie but rejected that idea. Maybe later. What I really wanted was a book.

The library was deserted, a single lamp lit in the corner of the room. I went straight to the built-in shelves on the right side of the fireplace, to the bottom where Uncle Hugh always kept his mysteries. Aunt Olivia made him hide them below eye level, the brightly colored spines clashing with the more formal leather-bound volumes that made up the bulk of the collection.

I’d read most of Hugh’s books when I’d been a teenager. I’d always gotten along well with my uncle Hugh, even before my own father had been killed. Our shared love of mysteries was just one of the things that bound us together. It burned that his death was still unsolved, not unlike the central plot to one of the books we’d loved. He deserved better.

I forced my thoughts off that path. If I started thinking about what Hugh and Olivia deserved, it would be a short jump to remembering what I should have done. How I might have saved them if I hadn’t been an immature, selfish asshole the night they’d died. If I was going to dwell on the past, I might as well pick up the decanter of whiskey in the corner and drain it dry.

I owed my family better than that. I’d run from my problems once. I’d run and stayed away. Thirteen years was long enough. I was home, and I was sticking. Alcohol was just another way of running. I was done with running.

Gritting my teeth against the desire to pour just one glass, I grabbed a book at random and settled into the couch. A click of the remote on the end table and the fireplace came to life, bathing the room in a soft, warm glow.

I’d read the book before, in high school, but I didn’t mind. Stretched out on the library couch, with one of Uncle Hugh’s favorite books in my hands, I felt at home for the first time in years.

At home, but not relaxed. A shuffle of bare feet in the hall reached my ears, and every muscle in my body drew tight, prepared to act, only moments before a shadow fell in the doorway to the library.