“Come on,” called Gabriel. “You can tackle Chris if you want.”

Chris said something from behind him. Michael couldn’t make it out, but the intent was pretty clear.

Hunter must have picked up on it too. He shoved out of his chair.

When they lined up to play, Michael watched Chris, ready to make sure he and Hunter didn’t push this aggression too far. But he was surprised to find that Chris’s angry eyes didn’t find a target in Hunter.

Instead, they found a target in Michael.

“Hey,” Michael began.

But then the ball was in play, and Michael lost himself in a game with his brothers.

CHAPTER 10

Hannah woke to the smell of peppermint. She opened her eyes to find a half-eaten candy cane in front of her face.

“Grandma says you have to get up because Pop is bringing home someone from work for dinner.”

Hannah groaned and rubbed at her eyes. “Dinner? What are you doing home already? What time is it?”

“Six-one-four. Grandma picked me up. We made cookies.”

Hannah sat straight up in bed. The clock confirmed the numbers he’d read off. A quarter past six? She’d slept straight through the afternoon and into the evening. She’d missed picking James up from school.

Thank god for her mother.

Hannah looked at her clock radio. The alarm switch was off.

Had she forgotten to set it? She never forgot her alarm.

“Mommy?”

His little face was full of sticky puzzlement. She grabbed him around the waist and tickled him until he shrieked with laughter, then pulled him close, inhaling peppermint backed by little-boy sweat and playground dirt.

“How was school?” she murmured.

He launched into a complicated story involving birthday donuts for a girl named Jovie, but Hannah lay there and held him, stroking the blond hair back from his forehead. Sometimes she wondered how her entire life could narrow down to one person, all her worries fading into the background when he was in her arms.

“Hannah!” her mother called. “Your father will be home in twenty minutes!”

Hannah made a face at James. He giggled.

She shoved herself out of bed and fished jeans and a T-shirt out of her dresser. Her parents had always made a big deal out of eating as a family, and that hadn’t changed when James had come along. When she’d been a kid, Hannah had loved sitting together at the table every night, hearing her father’s firehouse stories, grinning when he’d cut her food and arrange it into smiley faces and shapes.

Now, it seemed that her father used dinnertime as an excuse to list the ways she should be improving her life. Hannah used the time to ignore him when she could, choosing instead to focus on James and his table manners.

Her mother spent the time running interference.

At least her father was bringing someone home. She could eat in peace while he and some guy from the force traded BS stories.

She sent James down to help set the table, then pulled her hair into a clip. A glance in the mirror revealed dark circles under her eyes, so she spent an extra minute on lotion, some concealer, and a little bit of blush and mascara.

A far cry from the days in high school when she’d go all out. But seriously, who was she impressing? Some fifty-year-old firefighter with a beer gut and a smoker’s cough? Some retired cop who wished for the good ol’ days?

The door slammed downstairs. Male voices echoed in the kitchen. Hannah hustled.

Before dashing down the steps, she grabbed her phone. She’d been hoping for a message from Michael, but he hadn’t sent her anything.

He’d hung up on her this morning, after sounding so . . . broken. Should she call?

Or should she leave him alone?

She sent him a text before she could think better of it.

Just checking on you.

She didn’t think he was going to respond, but he did, almost immediately.

I’m okay.

She had no idea how to read that. Reassurance? Or a brush-off?

She told herself to stop being stupid. His life was in complete upheaval, and she was sitting here trying to read meaning into a message.

Her fingers slid across the screen.

Do you need dinner? I can bring you food.

I’m okay.

She hesitated at the top of the steps, wanting to call, but not wanting to push him. Another text appeared.

Thanks, though. I’m meeting someone at the Roadhouse at 7.

The Roadhouse was a little tavern that sat on the outskirts of town. At least once a month her engine company had to peel someone’s car off a tree after they’d had too much to drink.

Meeting someone?

She realized immediately that he would read that as jealousy. It wasn’t.

Well, not really.

Maybe. A little.

About a job.

Oh.

“Hannah! Are you coming down?”

Crap! She shoved the phone in her pocket.

Her mother was talking when Hannah got to the bottom of the stairs, in that engaged-yet-distracted tone she used when she was doing four things at once. “So you’re interested in becoming a fire marshal?”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s part of why I transferred to this area.”

Hannah stopped short before turning the corner. She knew that voice.

She wondered if she should go upstairs and scrub off any trace of makeup.

Or maybe she should go up there and slap on a bit more. “Hannah, is that you? Could you please fill water glasses for the table?”

Damn it.

She slipped into the kitchen, hoping her cheeks weren’t pink. Her mother was chopping lettuce for a salad. Her father was reaching for something in the refrigerator.