“We did all right,” Colt said.

“Yeah,” Ryder agreed. “You did okay.”

His relationship with these men had shifted over the years. They were more like brothers now.

But they’d been something more than that to him for a long while. He had known what it was to be an older brother, and that did come with feelings of a certain amount of responsibility. But it was different when it was you the school had to call when grades were down, or they’d gotten into a fight. It was different when you were the final word, when you were the one who had to lay down the law over underage drinking. When you were still underage yourself.

It was all just different.

And he didn’t need them trying to throw down guilt trips about Sammy and what he could be to her and what he couldn’t.

He was aware of his shortcomings.

He was well aware.

But he was offering her something. Not nothing.

And maybe it wasn’t everything, because he didn’t possess the ability to give a whole lot more than what he already offered. But he offered what he had. That was going to have to be enough.

“Come on, let’s stop talking about our feelings,” Ryder said. “Football.”

The guys went out onto the field and a rough game ensued. It was tradition for them to throw the ball around, but Ryder always got overly competitive. Which his almost-brother-in-law seemed to love.

There was only a mild amount of bloodshed.

“Dammit, Ryder,” Colt complained, wiping his palm over a bleeding scuff on his face.

“We don’t do touch football. I’d think a big, bad bull rider could handle that,” Ryder goaded him.

“Bulls have more honor,” Colt muttered, walking to the cooler and getting a beer, which he promptly pressed to the side of his face.

They dispersed after that, making their way over to different food stations. Sammy and Iris had made amazing side dishes. Macaroni and cheese, baked beans, homemade rolls. Pies, cake. Rose—true to her own nature—had provided chips and beer, along with some soda. Ryder had a soft spot for off-brand soda, since that was what they’d had often when he was in charge, and they were living off a shoestring. Nothing wrong with bottom-shelf cereal and grape soda; not in his opinion.

Logan fired up the grill, putting on steaks and hamburgers for the group, and Colt picked up his guitar and started to strum a halfway decent country tune. He would never be one to perform anywhere but in the backyard, but he had a decent voice and passable skill, and he did fine enough for entertainment at family gatherings.

In the middle of all this familiarity, there was still something that stood out.

Bright and different even though she was the same.

Sammy was laughing, the dogs swirling around her, overly excited blurs of fur. Looking at her made his chest hurt. The sun shone down on her like she was an angel of some kind.