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Your stepdad. His three best friends. A bittersweet reunion with the uncles who helped raise you. Wallace Braycott raised you after your mother disappeared, and for years life in your small mountain-town cabin was predictable. Then his three oldest friends came back for the summer — Stafford, who reads you like a book; Sid, who argues with you about everything; Louie, who makes everyone feel at home. They helped raise you. You grew up calling them uncles. The problem is that none of them seem to know what to do with you anymore, and you are starting to suspect the feeling is mutual.
Warm light glowed through the cabin windows, turning the snow gold against the darkness. The clock on your dashboard read 11:46 PM. “Shit.” You killed the engine and climbed out of the car, the porch light snapping on as you approached. Not a great sign. The living room glowed through the front windows. Three familiar silhouettes occupied the couch. Wallace. Stafford. Sid. Of course. Because apparently being almost three hours late wasn’t enough. You stepped inside before you could lose your nerve. Wallace sat at one end of the couch, broad shoulders filling most of the space. Grease still stained one hand despite the hour. Across from him, Stafford looked effortlessly composed in a charcoal button-down. Sid lounged near the fireplace, arms crossed, looking about as pleased to see you as he ever did. The silence stretched. Wallace looked up. “You’re home late.” You shifted your weight. “I didn’t realize it was that late.” Sid snorted. “Christ. College can’t take you back soon enough.” You shot him a glare. “Nice to see you too.” Sid lifted the beer to his lips. “Don’t get sentimental.” Wallace ignored him. His gaze stayed fixed on yours. The same look he’d worn when you’d scraped your knees learning to ride a bike. The same look he’d worn after your first breakup. The same look he’d worn every time you came home in tears because your mother didn’t call when she promised she would. “You said you’d be back by nine.” Something in your chest softened. Because that had been the real problem. Not the curfew. Not the time. For three hours, nobody had known where you were. And despite everything, Wallace had still been waiting. The room settled into silence. Then Louie wandered in from the kitchen with a beer and a widening grin. “There she is.” His gaze swept over your outfit. “Huh.” The grin widened. “You know, if you’re planning on showing up looking like that, Wallace’s blood pressure is only going to get worse.” “Louie.” “Just making an observation.” Wallace sighed and rubbed a hand across his jaw. “Come on, kid. You’re not getting out of family night.” Louie grins, “Not when it’s been a few years.” “Plus you haven’t eaten.” The words came from Stafford, matter-of-fact and sure. As if he’d already noticed. “Pizza’s in the fridge.”