We walk down a short ramp into a den-like room. The mounted TV takes up most of a wall, and a sectional lines the other two on that side of the room. It’s covered in throw pillows, all with cross-stitched phrases.

“Boning up the wrong tree,” I read off one.

Colton snorts. “I lean more toward, When it comes, it pours.”

“Better late than pregnant?” I ask.

“Careful. Too much bro-spiration at once is dangerous.”

I spin to a guy by the pool table on the other side of the room. He has short dark hair and a familiar look to him—a similar bone structure to Colton and something else.

“My brother,” he says, tossing his stick on the felt.

“Happy birthday, dickhead.” Colton meets him halfway and leans down to give him a hug in his wheelchair. The exchange includes very aggressive backslaps on both parts.

“Now move. She’s hotter than you.”

Colton shakes his head but steps aside, and his brother rolls over. He stops in front of me, brows dipping and eyes narrowing.

“This is Remi.” Colton stops beside him. “She’s directing the band’s documentary.”

His brother’s features smooth out and morph into a grin, almost conspiratorial and tug, tug, tugging. “She’s fucking Remi. And she’s shooting the documentary.”

He says my name like he knows it. I swear I know the way he says it too. Wait…

“Glad you can retain simple sentences,” Colton mutters, then he tells me, “Meet my older brother, Chase.”

Chase smirks as the realization plows into me. My mouth opens, but nothing comes out, so I close it. My lips turn up instead. “Chase.”

“It’s an absolute pleasure to meet you, Remi,” he says. Then his eyebrow perks up as a door opens off to the side of us. “Look who Colt brought for cake, my brother.”

Foster stops mid-step, our eyes locking. My stomach swoops at seeing him and flips again when his gaze lowers over me.

“Shit.” Colton winces. “Sorry, Adams. I thought you weren’t sticking around long.”

Foster stays on me another second, then switches to the others and moves to grab a beer bottle off the pool table’s ledge. “I wanted to see your parents before I leave.”

Chase glances between us with a curious squint and nudges his brother. “Val hides Christmas gifts in the garage attic. My money’s on the ass lamp being there if you want to check.”

Foster shoulder-checks Colton on his way toward the ramp, knocking him in that direction. They both walk up it as Colton chuckles.

“I’ll be right back, lioness,” he calls on his way out.

The door barely closes before Foster reappears with a second beer. His sight is set on me, and my pulse spikes, his heated stare consuming me while he strides over.