The familiar smell of cedar assailed his nose as he shoved open the door to the cabin. The air was warm and stale, but his furniture wasn’t dusty. The cleanliness surprised him. But then he spied a can of Pledge and some leather cleaner on the kitchen counter and knew that the Cases, once again, had been looking out for him. They did a much better job being neighborly than he did. With Rosie reminding him of the importance of trust, Tate recognized that some changes needed to be made when it came to the people next door. He’d been holding himself back from the Cases for too long.
He opened all the windows and washed his face before tromping the well-trodden path through thick forest to the Cases’ sprawling home. The portable lanterns were still there, at his side and theirs, meant to be used as they moved between houses in the dark. He knocked on their back door. Within moments, Jennifer answered. She blinked a couple of times, likely processing the face she hadn’t seen in so long, before shrieking and throwing her arms around him. “Oh, honey! I’m so happy to see you!”
“Me too, Jenn. Thanks for taking care of my cabin.”
“Oh, it’s no problem. Come in, come in.” She yanked him into her warm kitchen that smelled like butter and onions.
Their place was spacious, very plaid, and on the shabbier side of shabby chic. The kids had been raised there by the former corporate couple who had wanted something different for their children than city life.
“Maze!” She yelled. “Get down here! Matt’s back!”
And there it was. Eight years ago, OrbitAll had been struggling. Tate had been struggling. His second year of being in charge had been the hardest. When he’d showed up here, he had wanted to be anyone besides Tatum Geier. When he met the Case kids, Maddox, Malone, and Maisie, his brother’s name had just slipped out. The name fit. And then he’d been stuck. At what point do you say, “Just kidding. My name’s not Matt.”
For eight years, Tate had evaded questions about his job and life. The only personal detail they had was his cell number. He knew the time had come to confess. He just needed the right moment.
He noted the strangely empty living room as he moved toward the staircase. Maisie came bounding down, mocha legs on display, curly black hair down to her waist, and looking more adult than Tate had ever seen her. His heart squeezed with a feeling he couldn’t identify. Affection? Pride?
“Matt!” She leapt off the bottom stair into his arms to give him the same warm welcome as her mother.
“Wow, Maze. You’re all grown up.”
Letting him go, she gave him a funny look. “I’m twenty-two. I’ve been grown up for a while. And it hasn’t been that long since we’ve seen you.” She looked him up and down, some emotion flickering there. “You’re just in time for dinner.”
Tate followed her into the kitchen. “Is it bad manners that I hoped that was the case?”
Jennifer smiled at him. “Not at all. I know how you feel about my cooking, honey.”
“The boys at school?” Maddox and Malone were twenty-three and twenty-four, both studying at University of Washington.
“Yup. They’ll be home this weekend.”
Also what Tate had been hoping.
“Where’s Donovan?” Tate couldn’t recall a single time outside of meals that he’d seen Donovan’s leather chair empty.
Both women stilled. He felt the air change. They exchanged a pained look that shot panic through his system. Jennifer answered, her voice tight and strange. “He’s gone, Matt. Heart attack in his chair three months ago.”
Tate’s broken heart cracked further. His body was numb. Cold. Why the fuck did bad things happen to great people? In a daze, he moved to embrace Jennifer.
She cried in his arms. He let his own grief, anger, and the fucking unfairness of it all rip through him. He was shaking but dry-eyed when Jennifer let him go. “I’m so sorry,” he said.
Miraculously, a smile lifted her tear-streaked cheeks. “I know, honey.”
A glance over his shoulder showed him that Maisie was just as stricken. He had nothing left to give, though. “I don’t think I can stay for dinner. Not tonight. I’m sorry. I’m here for a week or so. Let me know what you need.”
Jennifer patted his chest. “I understand. Grief hits us all differently. Some need to be together, some alone. I’ll make you a plate.”
Tate carried the warm, foil-covered plate back across the path. The cheerful sun felt offensive against the darkness pressing against him. First George, now Donovan? Both were good, loving men with people who counted on them. At home, he ate without tasting, then drank and drank and drank. The loss of George felt more acute with Donovan’s chasing it. He didn’t want to feel this grief anymore. At some point he decided to change into pajamas and go to bed but only made it so far as to unbutton his shirt.
He had just lifted what he realized was an empty bottle to his glass when his back door opened and Maisie slipped inside, clad in a nightgown. He set the empty glass and bottle on the table next to his leather chair, the one he’d purchased because Donovan liked his own so much.
One of the Case kids visiting him was not unusual. He rarely even locked his doors when he stayed there. Tate ran a hand over his face. “Maze, I’m so sorry about your dad. I’m sorry I haven’t checked in. I’m just…so sorry.”
She tucked herself in the matching chair across from his and folded her arms around her knees. Her feet were bare. “It’s funny. The pain has started to dull a bit, but out of nowhere something will sharpen it again.”
Tate winced. “Tonight it was me.”
She nodded, her eyes bright across the dim room. She rose and closed the space between them, leaning on his jean-clad knees. The warm pressure of her hands and proximity of her mouth shocked him.
“I want you to fix it,” she whispered.
She moved her arms over her head and deposited her nightgown on the plank wood floor.
“Fuck.” The dragged-out response was all Tate could summon to the utterly unpredicted sight of Maisie’s mostly naked body as she stood in front of him. Her torso was long, her skin unblemished, her dark brown nipples taut.
His cock swelled to painful proportions as his eyes drank her in. But holy shit, this was Maisie, the knobby-kneed girl he’d known since she was fourteen. She wasn’t a girl anymore. Clearly.
Even through the haze of his best bourbon, Rosie’s sweet face stormed into his mind. He’d started something with her, hadn’t he? Or had he? Either way, he should send Maze home. But then she started a torturous, teasing trail of kisses along his chest.
It had been so long, too long, since Tate had felt wanted like this. Since he’d felt warm skin on his. He buried his hands in Maisie’s curls as his mind warred with his body. She’s not Rosie. You don’t want her, not really. Or maybe he did. How could he be sure when her peaked nipples were pressed into his stomach?
Fuck it. Tomorrow was for regret.
He leaned forward and brought his hands down on Maisie’s lace-clad ass harder than he meant to. She gasped at the harsh contact, or maybe the startling sound. “Matt,” she breathed.
Double fuck.
Tate tipped his head back in a groan and moved his hands away from Maisie’s body. His aching cock protested, but he knew what he had to do. He brought his head up so he could look in her eyes. “My name isn’t Matt. It’s Tate. Matt is my brother.”