Chapter One
Tatum
My hand hovers in front of the door longer than it should. It’s just a door. Dark wood, slightly scuffed near the handle, like it’s been opened and closed a thousand times without care. There’s nothing special about it. Nothing intimidating.
Yet my heart is pounding like I’m about to step off a cliff. Four years.
Four years since everything fell apart. Since Tyler died. Since Lachlan disappeared from my life without a single word. Without a goodbye. Without even looking at me when I begged to see him. I swallow hard, curling my fingers into a fist to keep them still.
He doesn’t know I’m here. I didn’t tell him. He would have found a way to stop me. He always does.
His lawyer hadn’t wanted to give me the address at first. I practically had to beg. But I needed this. Needed to see him with my own eyes. Needed to know he was real and not just some ghost I’d built in my head over the years.
Because if I don’t do this now, I never will.
I knock. The sound carries too far in a building this quiet.
Wilder House is five floors of plain brick—a coin laundry off the lobby, a wall of small mailboxes, and a manager’s office with the door propped open.
The man inside had glanced up when I came in, taken in the determined look on my face, and gone back to his paperwork without asking me a single thing.
I got the sense that’s how it works here.
Everybody’s carrying something. Nobody asks.
My breath catches as I step back slightly, my palms damp against the sides of my jeans. For a second, nothing happens.
Then I hear movement inside. Heavy footsteps. My pulse spikes. The door opens.
And there he is.
For a moment, everything inside me just…stops.
Lachlan Green.
He fills the doorway like he was made for it, bigger than I remember, broader in a way that feels almost overwhelming. His shoulders stretch the thin fabric of his black T-shirt, muscles defined and solid beneath it.
Ink curls over his skin in intricate patterns that disappear beneath his sleeves and reappear along his forearms, dark and deliberate. His hair is still black, still thick, still messy like he doesn’t care enough to tame it. But it’s longer now, falling just far enough to brush his forehead.
His jaw is rough with scruff, as if he’s stopped bothering with things that don’t matter. Then his eyes, blue. Sharp. Cold. Cutting straight through me like ice. For a second, there’s something else there too. Surprise. Real, unfiltered surprise.
“Tatum?”
My name sounds strange coming from him. Rougher than I remember.
Heat floods my chest, my throat tightening as I take a small step forward. “Hi.”
The moment stretches. The surprise disappears as quickly as it came, replaced by something hard. Anger. His expression shuts down, his body going rigid as his gaze darkens.
“How did you find me?” The question comes out flat. Controlled. Dangerous.
“I—”
He doesn’t let me answer. “Who told you where I am?” he demands, voice tightening. “Was it my lawyer?”
I open my mouth again, but he’s already shaking his head, stepping back like he’s putting distance between us without actually moving away.
“Doesn’t matter,” he mutters. “You shouldn’t be here.”
The words hit harder than they should. Something in my chest splits open, but I force myself to stand my ground.
“I wanted to see you,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady but failing to keep my hands from trembling. “I—”
“No.” His voice sharply cuts through mine. “You need to leave.”
For a second, I just stare at him.
Leave?
After everything? After four years of silence, of being shut out, of trying and failing to reach him over and over again?
Something inside me shifts. “No,” I say quietly.
His eyes narrow. “What?”
I step forward without letting myself think about it, pushing past him into the apartment. He doesn’t expect it. I can tell by the way his body tenses, by the slight delay before he reacts. But by then I’m already inside, turning to face him as the door swings shut behind me.
The space is simple. Clean. Sparse in a way that feels intentional. It feels like he doesn’t allow himself more than he needs. But I barely register it. Because I’m too aware of him. Too aware of the way he looks now that I’m closer.
God. He’s…different. Not just older. Harder. There’s a weight to him that wasn’t there before. It’s carved into his features, into the set of his shoulders, into the way he holds himself like he’s constantly bracing for something.
Yet he feels the same. Still Lachlan. The one I used to follow around like a shadow, who ruffled my hair, called me kid, and never once looked at me twice.
Everyone always assumed he was a second brother to me.
I let them think it. It was easier than the truth, which is that I never managed it, not for a single day.
Tyler was my brother. Lachlan was something I didn’t have a word for at fifteen—the person whose approval I organized my entire week around, who could settle a room just by walking into it, who I wanted to notice me so badly it made me stupid.
Except I’m not fifteen anymore.
Whatever that was, it’s nothing next to this. Something low in my body pulls tight, hard enough that I press my thighs together without meaning to. My stomach flips. Heat rises to my cheeks as my gaze drifts. His arms, the tattoos, the way his shirt stretches across his chest…
“Tatum.”
His voice snaps me out of it. I blink, my face burning as I look up at him.
“Get out.” The words are quieter this time. But somehow harsher.
Some traitorous part of me responds to it. Not to the words. To the way he says them—low, flat, already decided, like the matter was settled before I got here and I’m just slowly catching up. Warmth curls low in my belly, immediate and mortifying.
I don’t move.
“No,” I repeat, stronger now.
His jaw clenches, irritation flashing across his face. “I’m not doing this with you. You shouldn’t be here.”
“And you shouldn’t have shut me out for four years,” I shoot back.
The words hang between us, heavy. His expression darkens instantly. But I don’t stop. I can’t.
“I tried to see you,” I continue, my voice shaking now. “At the hospital. In prison. I wrote letters. I called. You wouldn’t see me. You wouldn’t talk to me. You just…” My voice gives out for a second. “You just cut me off like I didn’t exist.”
Silence. Thick and heavy.
“I lost my brother,” I say, softer now, the words pulling something deep from my chest. “And then I lost you too.”
He flinches, and I press on.
“I was alone. Completely alone. And you were the only family I had left.” The admission sits between us, raw and exposed. “I always looked up to you. Always. You and Tyler were everything to me. And I…” My voice falters before I push through it. “I was alone. I still am.”
His entire body stills.
“I know you,” I say quickly, before he can shut me down again. “I know how you drive. I know how careful you are. You would never have put Tyler at risk. Never. What happened wasn’t your fault.” The words come out firmer now. Because I believe them. “I don’t care what anyone else says. I never did.”
He doesn’t respond. Doesn’t move. He isn’t even breathing, as far as I can tell. But I don’t wait for him to gather his thoughts.
“I’m not going anywhere,” I finish, lifting my chin even as everything in me shakes. “You can tell me to leave as many times as you want. I’m still going to come back. So get used to seeing me.”
His eyes lock onto mine, something unreadable flashing through them. I turn and walk out before he can answer—before he can say anything that might break whatever fragile strength I’ve managed to hold onto.
I don’t look back. But this time, I’m not staying gone.