I should have known missing the family check-in was going to come back to bite me, but I didn’t think Orion would fly out over it. I mean, sure, I usually text back when I miss a call, but I got distracted. And fine, maybe I shouldn’t have ignored the string of messages after, but I was caught up in the moment, wrapped up in the rush of my last-minute date last week, and I just—forgot.

I meant to text him back but we had been drinking. Now that I think about it, I’m not sure if saying ‘we’ is correct. I don’t remember if he finished his glass of wine, but I know I had at least two glasses. Besides, wine makes me sleepy, so when I got home I never ended up texting him back.

Groaning I grip the steering wheel tighter as I weave through the quiet streets, my SUV barely stopping at the signs.

Orion doesn’t do anything impulsive. If he came all the way out here, that means he’s been stewing over this since I missed his call… And accidentally ignored his texts. If he’s at my house now, it’s not just because he’s worried—it’s because he’s pissed.

Blowing out a breath I press harder on the gas.

Less than five minutes later, I take the last turn onto my street to see my house. It sits on the edge of town, tucked away into the shadows of the towering pines and rugged cliffs that surround Shadow Grove. This is so similar to the place I dreamed about in the times I needed peace—small, quaint, picturesque. The sage green siding against the white trim on my cottage makes it look like it belongs on the cover of a lifestyle magazine, especially after I strategically placed the Adirondack chairs along the wrap-around porch near the front door to catch the beautiful sunrise.

But out of all the emotions I can be experiencing right now peace is not one of them. As a matter of fact, it’s the opposite of that.

My heart slams against my ribs when I spot the dark SUV parked in my driveway. Just another confirmation that Orion’s here and this wasn’t some sort of twisted joke.

Shit.

I barely throw the car into park before I jump out and jog up the steps. The front door swings open before I even reach for the handle, and there he is—my little brother—all six foot four of him. He towers over me, his giant frame filling the entire doorway with his arms crossed. Orion’s broad shoulders strain against his perfectly tailored jacket, and even in the shade of the trees, I can see the sharp cut of his jawline—partially hidden beneath the ever-present stubble that makes him look both effortlessly rugged and annoyingly put-together at the same time.