They locked eyes, and her stomach jumped when his half-grin and a half-nod were directed her way. He’d been her best friend her whole life. He was more gorgeous than any man walking the face of the Earth. And here he was, making her tummy flip.

The football hit the side of his head, and Roman cheered his direct hit. She laughed. Cash laughed before he turned and speared her brother, football in hand. Dad laughed. Everything felt like it should.

The doorbell rang. Somewhere in the background, she heard her mother fussing for a hand towel, wiping her hands on the way to answer the front door. Nicola was mesmerized, watching her family. Being home—

Chk-chck.

And just that fast, the unmistakable sound of a pump-action shotgun dumped an ice bath on her warm-and-fuzzy worldview. She palmed a steak knife from the kitchen island, slid to the wall, and listened.

A floorboard creaked. She knew that floorboard, knew every one that creaked and groaned, thanks to years of sneaking out with Cash and Roman. Nic looked out the window. The men were back to their casual game of drink-and-toss, shooting the shit.

She rounded the corner and knew that knife wouldn’t be worth the silver it was plated with if her hearing was right. And she had no doubt it was. Tucking the steak knife into the back of her shorts, she had only one more corner—

“Jackson?” She was struck completely dumb.

He turned toward her, pivoting her Remington 870 Super Magnum pump action away from her mom. Thank God.

“Nicola, I’ve been looking everywhere for you. You haven’t been home in days.”

Jackson looked delirious and smelled like booze. His eyes were red-rimmed and glassy. He hadn’t shaved in at least a day and his clothes were… tactical.

“Here I am, Jacks. Why don’t you slip the safety back on that baby, and we can go for a walk?”

“Not yet. Is Cash here?” he asked, so calm and casual that the hairs on the back of her neck did the wave.

“I think this is between you and me. Whatever it is—”

“This is your mom?” He sounded desperate and distant.

How to answer this one… “Jackson, listen to me—”

He swung his gaze to her mom, but thankfully kept the shotgun aimed at her. “I’m Jackson Dale. You must be Mrs. Garr—” He took a step from her mom and sliced a glance to Nic. “Wait, I don’t even you know your real last name. How is this possible? How could you do this to me?”

Her mom spoke up. “You can call me Janet.”

Jackson smiled at her, but his eyes didn’t focus. “It’s nice to meet you, Janet. You have such a lovely house.”

“Thank you, Jackson,” she said, her face pale and eyes wide. “I’d love to have you join us for dinner. But I do have a strict no guns in the house rule.”

“Nic and I aren’t staying.”