Sunday dinner with her father and brother wasn’t quite everything she had expected it would be. There was no sweet nostalgia about coming home and cooking in the same kitchen she had been cooking in for the few years since she’d returned home.

Maybe it was too soon. She hadn’t moved out and been in her own place for very long and it felt almost like she had never moved out at all as she opened familiar drawers and cupboards. As she refreshed Dad’s and Hale’s drinks. As she brought them crudités and dip where they lounged in the living room watching a game on TV. She turned the mixer on high so that it whipped the potatoes to a nice, airy consistency, frowning at the explosion of shouts carrying from the living room.

It felt as though she had slipped through a wormhole. Like she hadn’t broken free at all. Like she was still in the same rut she was desperately trying to escape.

Except there was North Callaghan in her life now. He was very un-rut-like.

She scowled. He’s not in your life. He’s the opposite of in your life.

She finished preparing the rest of dinner over Dad’s and Hale’s exclamations at the TV. She had always marveled at them when they shouted and addressed the players. Did they think the players on TV could hear them?

When she called them to the table, it didn’t take long for them to start grilling her about work—apparently they had heard about the outburst at the courthouse the other day.

“I don’t understand why you can’t pick a different career, Faithy.” Hale smeared butter onto his bread as he offered this to the conversation.

Her father followed the observation with “Why can’t you just get married? Settle down and have a couple kids?”

“Woah, let’s not go that far.” Hale held up a hand and pulled a face that seemed to indicate how repellent that idea was to him. Probably because it meant that his sister would have sex. Her father might as well have suggested she start hooking.

She resisted snapping at her father. In his world, marriage and kids meant she wouldn’t work anymore. Her dad was very old-school in that capacity. It would never cross his mind she might want to continue working after starting a family.

Also, in his mind, Faith’s mom had loved staying home and being a wife and mother. Dying young and leaving all that behind had not been her choice. It had been her greatest regret. For Faith to protest this seemed like an insult to her mother.

She tore off a hunk of bread and liberally lathered it with butter. She deserved carbs right now. Dad kept talking and she endured it, opting not to tell them about her date with Brendan. It might lift their hopes too much.

And then there was the matter of her neighbor. She didn’t expect to have to avoid the subject of him. Her family knew nothing about him. Her anonymous neighbor would not cross their minds. They would never bring him up. She had Doris’s word that she wouldn’t say anything to Hale about him. But Callaghan had been on her mind so much lately that it felt as though he were another thing she was hiding.

Then her brother went ahead and surprised her. As though he could read her mind, he asked, “Meet your neighbor yet?”

Hale poured a generous amount of gravy over his mashed potatoes. It rolled close to the edge of his plate, threatening to spill over onto her mother’s plaid green place mats. That much gravy would leave her bloated for a week, but not Hale. Her brother was six feet five inches of honed muscle. Her mother had always pointed to their Viking ancestry as the culprit for their great size.

“No,” she said. Too quickly.

“No?” He looked up. “You been in your place over a week now and you haven’t met your neighbor.”

Yeah, that sounded odd. “I’ve been working late.” She shrugged, then felt relief as that led her father into a diatribe about her working too long and not getting out there and meeting her future husband.

Suffice to say she was relieved when the meal ended. Dad and Hale chipped in and helped with the dishes, so cleanup went fast and she ducked out with an excuse about being tired.

She pulled up in her driveway and sat there for a moment, clenching her steering wheel and staring at her humble abode. She needed to get some potted plants or flowers for her front porch.

He gaze drifted to the emptiness that stretched along her neighboring porch. Not a potted plant or flower in sight. North’s bike was gone and she wondered where he could be. She supposed booty calls happened any night of the week . . . even on Sundays. He was probably out banging some girl with a name like Bambi.

That kind of thinking, of course, made her mentally slap herself. She needed to get accustomed to pulling into her driveway without thinking about her sexy neighbor.

Hard to do, especially considering last night. Their texting had taken another level. It went beyond dirty talk to I’m up for it if you are.

Of course, in no way could she entertain the idea of sleeping with her neighbor. That just had Bad Idea written all over it. And that wasn’t even touching on the fact that he was an ex-con. Even if she could see herself having a fling . . . she couldn’t have a fling with a guy like him.

She could almost hear Wendy’s voice in her head. That’s precisely the kind of guy you have a fling with.

She sighed, internally chatting back as though Wendy were in front of her. Fine. Maybe. Okay. But then she was left with the not-so-minor issue of living next door to the guy. If things took a turn for the bad, she couldn’t exactly avoid him.

After stepping inside her house, she locked the door behind her and rolled her neck, stretching out the tense muscles. She knew what she needed. A long bubble bath with a book. Something smutty. No, eighty-six that. A suspense novel. That sounded perfect.

Nodding, she pushed off her door and headed upstairs.

“We’re so glad you joined us for dinner.” Briar looked at him with her heart in her eyes. As though it was such a big fucking deal that he came out to visit them at the old farmhouse.

And he supposed it was. He hadn’t done it in a while. He’d caved when she had texted him directly this morning, sending a picture of the chocolate cake she had made. A man couldn’t very well resist chocolate cake, could he?

Besides. Just because he didn’t have much in common with Knox anymore didn’t mean he didn’t care about his brother. He loved him. He just couldn’t be him—or anything like him. No matter how much Knox wanted that for him.

Still. He felt like a fraud sitting at Briar’s cloth-covered table, a spread before them bountiful enough to rival a Thanksgiving feast. Unbidden, he wondered if she knew Faith Walters. They were two of a kind. Good girls who liked to cook.

He forked another mouthful of mashed potatoes, saving himself from having to reply to Briar. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to say anyway. He nodded, telling himself he just had to act the part of contented and well-adjusted for another hour and then he could go home. It’s what he did day to day. At his job. When he met with people who bought and commissioned his work. When he met with his PO. The only problem was that his brother was more observant than most people.

“How’s work?”

“Good.” He stabbed a bite of green beans. “Busy.”

“Still working on the custom bikes?”

“Yes.”

“Glad that you were able to learn a trade,” Knox said, referring to North’s welding. “At least something good came . . .” Knox’s voice faded at North’s swift look.

He wasn’t about to say anything good came out of his stint in Devil’s Rock. So he’d learned to weld while locked up. Big deal. If they hadn’t fucked up and gotten sentenced to prison, he would have gone to college. He was good at math back then. He might have made something of himself. If his life hadn’t wildly swerved off course.

“If things slow down or work becomes thin at the garage, you know we could use help at Roscoe’s,” Knox reminded him. Roscoe had been their great-grandfather’s name. He’d opened the bar right after prohibition ended. The place went way back. It was an institution in these parts, and the reins had fallen to Knox to run it. Knox was good at it. It was like the place was in Knox’s blood. Even if Knox hadn’t gone to prison and he had finished college, North could see him doing just what he was doing right now. Running Roscoe’s. Married to a nice girl and living at the farmhouse. He grimaced. He guessed for some people shit was able to just roll off them.

Briar closed her fingers around Knox’s forearm. “We hope you’ll come more often for Sunday dinner. It’s been a while since your last visit.”

He glanced around the place he’d grown up in with Uncle Mac and Aunt Sissy. It looked different. More light and airy. The furniture updated. His uncle had moved into town with his sister, Alice. It was closer to the hospital and all his doctor’s appointments. Uncle Mac had had to start dialysis a few months back and he had regular appointments to keep. In addition, he’d insisted the house was too big for him, and Knox and Briar needed their own space as a married couple.

“Especially now,” Knox added, his voice taking on a strange quality.

North was in the process of stirring his mashed potatoes and gravy together. He paused and looked up, his gaze drifting back and forth between his brother and sister-in-law. “Why especially now?”

Knox glanced at his wife, lacing his fingers over hers. He then looked back to North. “We’re having a baby.”

The meatloaf and mashed potatoes in his stomach suddenly turned to lead.

“I’m due in October,” Briar volunteered, looking giddy with excitement, her eyes shining.

“That’s great,” he said numbly. “Congratulations.” Did his voice sound as tinny to them as it did to him? His brother was going to have a baby. He was going to be a dad.

Knox stared at him intently, his eyes piercing. “We want you around, North. Around more. You’re going to be an uncle, and we want you to be the baby’s godfather—”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, do you?” he blurted before he had time to think how harsh that sounded. He usually tried to pretend. He tried to hide the empty shell that he’d become from his brother and sister-in-law because he didn’t want them worried and all over his case. When he first got out of prison, Knox was on him to meet with a counselor. Apparently after meeting Briar, he’d started seeing someone himself. The church they got married in required counseling for their wedding, and he’d continued to go even after the wedding, claiming it was helpful to talk about his problems. Problems. Like years at the Rock with men reduced to animals was a problem. Like a clogged-up sink or busted radiator hose.

“What do you mean?” Knox demanded, looking affronted. “It’s a fine idea. Who else would—”

“I can’t, Knox. I’m not at ease with . . .” People, life, the world. Everything. That pressure was back in his chest again, a hot knife digging deep. “You don’t want me around your kid. I mean, can you see me at his school functions and shit?”

“North, you’re family.” Briar leaned forward, still clinging to her husband’s hand.

He pushed back from the table. “I appreciate the sentiment, but you’re a family.” He motioned to both Knox and Briar and the house in which they sat. “You’ve built a home here. It’s the two of you . . . three of you, now. You’re all the family you need.” He stood and looked down at them sitting close together on the other side of the table. He knew without looking that their hands were laced together underneath the table. “You don’t need me. I know you think you do . . . the idea of including me makes you feel better, but it’s not necessary.”

“North,” Knox tried again.

North held up a hand. “I’ll be around. Thanks for dinner.” Turning, he exited the house, grateful his brother didn’t chase after him.

He walked out into the familiar yard. It was green and well maintained, potted flowers everywhere like when Aunt Sissy had been alive.

The last four years he had been in prison without Knox had been the hardest of his life. Even harder than when he first entered prison. Because Knox had been with him then. He’d never known what it truly felt like to be alone until then. To have to watch his own back. Sometimes he’d succeeded. He reached up a hand and stroked the scar bisecting his face. And other times he’d failed.

His brother had visited every other week, but that hadn’t helped. Seeing his brother out, free, had only made being inside, the suffering, all the worse.

Unfailingly though, Knox always came. He never gave up on him. Even when the COs would call his name out at visitation hours and North stayed in his cell, refusing to come out to see him.

He couldn’t face his brother and let him see what he’d become. He hadn’t wanted to be around his brother then, and he didn’t want to be around him now.