Change Rein (Willow Bay Stables #1)(5)

“You got old,” I tease, jabbing him in the stomach. Somehow, it manages to hurt me more than him, so I shake my wrist.

The playful lines in his face disappear. “How are you holding up?”

Shrugging, I let my eyes fall to the ground. “Fine.”

“Fine, eh?” he argues. “I saw the—”

“The magazine article. It’s bad. I know.”

“The guy’s a prick, London,” he growls, slinging an arm over my shoulders. “I bet you no one even read it.”

I arch an eyebrow at him as a smirk forms on my lips.

“Okay, well, maybe everyone probably read it.”

I wince outwardly at the idea that our small town has not only seen my failure displayed on their televisions, but also read the slaughtering of my career.

“Hardly changes the fact his face deserves to make its acquaintance with your scary big brother’s fists.”

“I think it defeats the purpose if you have to call yourself scary in order to get the point across.” I laugh, walking in step with him towards the house.

“Rude,” he protests, giving me a noogie. “You shouldn’t rain on people’s parades, London.”

“London!” a female voice shrieks.

Looking up, I see my little sister come barreling down the steps of the front porch, her hair whipping in the breeze.

It’s obvious we’re sisters. We both have Momma’s white-blond hair and blue eyes and Daddy’s dark eyelashes, but where I am more slender, Aurora is a twenty-two-year-old, curvy bombshell, and her heart is nearly an exact copy of our mother’s. While I guard mine and choose to protect its breaks by being hard, Aurora is so soft. She gives and doesn’t hold her love back from anyone.

She’s about to launch herself at me, when Owen catches her midair.

“Whoa, killer. Bridge is broken, remember?” he reminds her.

Swatting at his arms, she gripes, “I know, you goose. I wasn’t going to plow her to the ground.”

“Looked like it.” I laugh at the way she beams, even when she’s trying to come across angry.

After finally breaking free from our brother, she folds her arms around me. “I missed you,” she chokes out in little sobs into the crook of my neck.

“Hey,” I say, running my hand over her hair. “I’m sorry.” For what? I’m not exactly sure. For everything, probably. For not having been here as often as I should have.

“You guys are going to be the death of Dad with all of this crying!” Owen proclaims from somewhere beside us before his boot steps sound on the porch and the screen door closes.

Pulling away from me, Aurora palms my cheeks. “I’m sorry.”

I try to look away from her, but I can’t. I know what she’s sorry for. I know what everyone’s sorry for. But the look that comes with it is always the worst—pity. Instead of answering her, I nod.

Taking that as a cue, she wipes her cheeks off and nods toward the driveway. “Daddy went to get some wine for you. He’ll be back soon. You still drink wine, right?”

“Right.”

Daddy never keeps any in the house. I think that’s because it reminds him of Momma, and since Aurora doesn’t drink and Owen doesn’t live there, there’s no need to have it on hand.

“I cleaned up the apartment for you, and I put some snacks in the fridge, but I didn’t bother with too much food, as I figured you’d come eat with us most nights anyway,” she babbles, dragging me into the house.

I acknowledge her with little nods, but my senses are completely overwhelmed the moment my boots cross the threshold of our house. It looks the same as always, knitted couch pillows still adorn the various furniture and given Aurora’s love of baking, which she got from our mother, the smell of baking cherries still reaches your nose as you walk in the door. After toeing off my boots in the entryway, I follow her into the kitchen.

“Get your filthy man-hands away from my pie,” my sister snarls, picking up a serving knife and waving it in Owen’s direction, “or you’ll become the next episode of Criminal Minds, you hear me?”

Sibling banter has always been unique with the three of us. Hovering somewhere between loving and then hoping people don’t overhear us because they’d likely want to lock us up. Nonetheless, hearing it makes my heart swell.

“Has anyone here even gotten wine from that liquor store in the last decade?” my father huffs, setting his twelve-pack and a bottle of wine down on the counter. “It’s absurd. Bloody Google Maps in that joint if you ask me,” he announces before dramatically growling off the countries that have their own wine sections at the local Liquor Barn. He’s nearly finished most of Europe when he finally sees me standing in the kitchen.

“Hey, Daddy,” I whisper, feeling somewhat out of place in the home I grew up in.

“London Bridge,” he says before swallowing against the lump in his throat. “You’re home.”

“Yeah,” I let out lamely, shifting on my feet.

Opening his arms, he grins, showing off the wrinkles of a life well lived. “Well, give the old fart a hug, would ya?”

There are men—salt-of-the-Earth, work-hard, love-hard, honest men who’d give you the shirt off their back when you really needed it—and my dad is the very finest of that bunch. While, to us kids, he’s a loving yet burly teddy bear who protects us from the monsters under our beds, to the outside world, Larry Daniels looks like a grizzly bear—the kind you absolutely do not mess with. Not that I’m suggesting messing with any bears is a particularly wise life choice, but for argument’s sake, you get my drift.