Which left Flynn with two options. He could sleep on the couch or he could stay in the monstrosity of a house he’d grown up in. Porter had fixed the place up. He’d made it seem more like home, but Flynn’s memories were enough to keep him away.
He’d take the couch for the next few months.
He’d slept in worse places and for longer amounts of time.
He walked around the side of the house, grabbed his suitcase from the SUV he’d rented. He’d packed light. A reminder that he wasn’t planning to stay forever. His brothers had fallen in love and fallen under the small-town spell that Benevolence seemed to weave.
Flynn had no intention of doing the same. But that wasn’t a good excuse for spending so little time helping on the farm. He had four nieces and two nephews who’d desperately needed stability after the accident. He’d allowed Sullivan and Porter to provide that while he used the ranch as an excuse to stay away.
Your brothers have been doing what they think is right, and they’re doing a great job.
Sunday hadn’t meant the words to be an accusation, but they echoed in his head as he unlocked the front door and stepped into the farmhouse—accusing and convicting. He knew the truth. Knew what he could have done and what he’d chosen to do. Not because he didn’t care, but because he hadn’t thought he could ever be what Matt’s kids would need.
He set his suitcase down near an old umbrella stand in the corner of the foyer, stretched a kink from his back, and listened to the silence.
No footsteps. No hint that Sunday was awake.
Somewhere upstairs, someone was moving. Light footfalls. Quick steps. A soft rustle of fabric. No lights turned on. He didn’t think it was Sunday. She moved more cautiously.
Probably one of the kids.
If he had to guess, he’d say Moisey. That kid was always finding trouble.
He walked through the foyer, had his foot on the first step and was heading upstairs when a scream shattered the silence. Ear-piercing. Soul-shattering. There was a heartbeat of quiet and then another scream, choked off by sobs that made the hair on Flynn’s nape stand on end.
He sprinted upstairs as doors opened and lights turned on and the quiet of the sleeping house turned to chaos.
Home Again Page 26
