The lake house smells like cedar and forgotten summers when I push through the door, anniversary flowers wilting in my arms like some kind of tragic metaphor I'm too tired to appreciate.

"Evan?"

Nothing. Just the creak of old floorboards and my own stupid hope echoing back at me.

Of course he's not here. The text came through twenty minutes ago while I was already halfway down the gravel drive: Sorry babe, Hendersons moved the closing up. Have to stay in the city. Rain check?

Rain check. On our two-year anniversary.

Third time this month he's canceled. But who's counting? Just me, apparently, standing in the doorway of his family's lake house like an idiot with grocery bags cutting circulation off in my fingers and a bottle of wine that cost more than I make in a day.

I should leave. Drive back to my apartment, drink the wine alone, maybe ugly-cry to some Adele. That's the smart play.

Instead, I kick the door shut behind me.

Because I'm already here, and I bought the good steaks, and fuck it—I deserve a nice dinner even if my boyfriend can't be bothered to show up for it.

I'm halfway to the kitchen when I hear it. The clink of glass on wood from the back deck.

My heart does this stupid flutter thing. Maybe he's here after all. Maybe the text was a test, or he's planning some surprise, or—

"Evan's in the city."

Not Evan's voice.

Cade's.

I freeze, grocery bags dangling from numb fingers, every nerve ending suddenly awake and screaming danger.

Cade Mercer. The brother I've spent two years carefully not thinking about. The one who left town six months ago and hasn't been back since.

The one I absolutely should not be alone with.

"I know," I say, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near strangled. "Got his text."

Silence. Then footsteps, and he's filling the doorway between the living room and deck, all six-foot-something of dark hair and darker eyes and that lean, dangerous build that makes my stomach do complicated things I refuse to examine.

He looks different. Harder. There's a fresh scar cutting through his left eyebrow, and his hair's longer, curling against his collar. He's wearing a faded black t-shirt that clings to shoulders that weren't quite that broad two years ago, jeans that hang low on his hips.

He looks like trouble.

He's always looked like trouble.

"You drove all the way out here for nothing," he says. Not a question. His voice is rougher than I remember, like he's been smoking or screaming or swallowing glass.

"Apparently." I hoist the grocery bags higher, armor against the way he's looking at me. "What are you doing here?"

"Packing." He gestures vaguely behind him. "Selling the bike. Figured I'd crash here one last time before I head out."

"Head out where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

Something in his tone makes my chest tight. He says it like he's running from something. Or someone.

I should leave. Every instinct I have—the ones that kept me alive through a childhood of chaos and instability—is screaming at me to put the groceries down, get in my car, and drive away from whatever this is.

But there's something in his eyes. Something raw and bleeding and so fucking familiar it hurts.

Loneliness recognizes loneliness.

"I bought steaks," I hear myself say. "And potatoes. Way too much food for one person."

His jaw tightens. "Sloane—"

"Unless you've already eaten."

"I haven't."

"Then it seems stupid to waste good meat."

We stare at each other across the living room, and the air feels thick, electric, like the moment before lightning strikes.

This is a terrible idea. Monumentally stupid. Evan's brother. The one he's always warning me about, the one with the reputation, the fights, the string of broken hearts and broken noses in his wake.

The one who looks at me like he's starving and I'm the last meal on earth.

"Okay," Cade says finally. "Yeah. Okay."

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The thing about cooking with someone in silence is that it's louder than conversation.

Every movement is amplified. The sound of him opening the whiskey bottle. The clink of ice in glasses. The way he moves around the kitchen like he owns it—because he does, kind of, or his family does—while I try to pretend my hands aren't shaking as I season the steaks.

He slides a glass across the counter to me. Whiskey, neat, two fingers.

"I don't really drink whiskey," I say.

"Tonight you do."

I should argue. Tell him I prefer wine, or nothing at all, or literally anything that doesn't involve accepting drinks from men who look at me like that.

Instead, I pick up the glass and take a sip.

It burns. God, it burns, all the way down, but there's something clean about it. Honest. Like it's exactly what it is and makes no apologies.

"How long have you been back?" I ask, because the silence is going to kill me.

"Three days."

"Evan didn't mention it."

"Evan doesn't know."

I look up sharply. Cade's leaning against the counter, glass dangling from long fingers, watching me with those storm-gray eyes that see too fucking much.

"Why not?"

"Because I'm leaving again tomorrow. Didn't see the point."

"Where have you been?"

"Alaska. Oil rigs." He takes a long drink. "Good money. Shit work. Perfect for someone like me."

"Someone like you?"

His smile is sharp enough to draw blood. "The family fuck-up. The one who's good at breaking things."

There's something underneath the words. Something bitter and resigned and so deeply sad it makes my chest ache.

"Evan's never said that about you," I lie.

"Evan's a better liar than you are."

Fair point.

I turn back to the steaks, focusing on the sizzle as they hit the hot pan. The smell of searing meat fills the kitchen, mixing with the whiskey and something else. Something that's just him—motor oil and leather and cedar smoke, wild and dark and nothing like his brother's expensive cologne.

"He stood you up," Cade says quietly. "On your anniversary."

"He had to work."

"He always has to work."

"He's building a career. I understand that."

"Do you?"

I spin around, spatula clutched like a weapon. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Cade straightens, and suddenly the kitchen feels smaller. He's not touching me, but he might as well be, the way his presence fills every available inch of space.

"It means Evan's always been good at making excuses. And you're too good for that shit."

My heart is pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat. "You don't know anything about us."

"I know he leaves you waiting. I know he cancels plans and expects you to smile and take it. I know—" He stops, jaw working like he's physically biting back words.

"What?" I challenge. "You know what?"

"I know if you were mine, I'd never let you spend our anniversary alone."

The air leaves my lungs in a rush.

If you were mine.

Three words that shouldn't mean anything. Three words that definitely shouldn't make my entire body flush hot and tight and aching.

"I'm not alone," I manage. "You're here."

"Yeah." His voice drops, goes rough and raw. "That's the problem."

I should ask what he means. Should demand an explanation. Should do literally anything except stand here staring at him while the steaks burn and the whiskey makes my blood feel like honey.

"The food," I whisper.

He doesn't move. "Fuck the food."

"Cade—"

"Do you know why I left town?"

I shake my head, not trusting my voice.

He takes a step closer. Then another. Until there's maybe two feet of charged air between us and I can see the gold flecks in his gray eyes, can smell the whiskey on his breath mixing with cedar and smoke.

"I left because I couldn't stand it anymore. Watching him take you for granted. Watching you pretend to be happy with someone who doesn't see you." Another step. "Watching you and knowing I had no fucking right to want you the way I do."

Oh God.

Oh fuck.

"You're drunk," I say desperately.

"I'm not. I wish I was. Would make this easier."

"Make what easier?"

"Telling you the truth." His hand comes up, and I think he's going to touch me, but he stops just short, fingers hovering near my face like I'm made of something breakable. "I've wanted you since the first time Evan brought you home. Two years, Sloane. Two years of watching you with him and wanting to break every bone in his body for not treating you like you're the best thing that ever happened to him."

I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything except feel the words sinking into my skin like brands.

"You never said anything," I whisper.

"Of course I didn't. You're my brother's girlfriend. There's a code. Lines you don't cross." His laugh is broken glass. "But I'm leaving tomorrow. For good this time. And I'm so fucking tired of pretending I don't see you. That I don't want you. That watching you with him doesn't make me want to burn the whole world down."

My hands are shaking. I press them flat against the counter behind me, grounding myself, because if I don't I'm going to do something catastrophically stupid.

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you deserve to know. Because someone should tell you that you're worth showing up for. Worth choosing. Worth—" He stops, breathing hard. "Because I'm a selfish bastard and I needed you to know before I left."

The steaks are definitely burning now. Smoke is rising from the pan, filling the kitchen with the acrid smell of ruined meat.

I don't care.

"Evan loves me," I say, but it sounds hollow even to my own ears.

"Maybe. In his way. But it's not enough, is it? The way he loves you."

It's not a question. It's a truth I've been avoiding for months.

Because he's right. Evan loves me the way he loves his car, his career, his reputation—as an accessory to the life he's building. Something pretty to show off at dinner parties. Something that fits into his five-year plan.

He's never once looked at me the way Cade is looking at me right now.

Like I'm oxygen and he's drowning.

"This is crazy," I whisper.

"I know."

"We can't—"

"I know."

"Evan would never forgive—"

"I. Know." Each word is bitten off, sharp and desperate. "That's why I'm leaving. That's why I've stayed away for six months. That's why I'm telling you this now, when it's too late to matter."

But it does matter.

God help me, it matters more than anything.

I'm with Evan. Good, safe, reliable Evan who wants to marry me someday and give me the stable life I never had growing up. Evan who fits into every plan I've made for my future.

Evan who doesn't make me feel like this.

Like my skin is too tight. Like there's lightning in my veins. Like one touch might shatter me into a thousand pieces I'll never be able to put back together.

"You should go," I say, but it comes out like a plea.

"Yeah. I should."

He doesn't move.

Neither do I.

We stand there in the smoke-filled kitchen, two feet and a thousand miles of terrible choices between us, and I know with absolute certainty that I'm about to ruin everything.

"Cade," I whisper.

His eyes close like I've hurt him. "Don't. Don't say my name like that."

"Like what?"

"Like you want me to stay."

"I don't—" But the lie dies on my tongue.

Because I do. God, I do.

His eyes open, and the naked want there steals whatever breath I have left.

"Tell me to leave, Sloane. Tell me you love my brother and this doesn't mean anything and I'll walk out that door right now. I'll disappear and you'll never have to see me again."

It should be easy. Four words: I love your brother.

True words, even. I do love Evan. In a safe, comfortable, this-makes-sense kind of way.

But Cade is looking at me like I'm the only thing in the world that matters, and my body is screaming at me to close the distance between us, and I can't remember the last time Evan looked at me like anything other than a box to check on his list of life accomplishments.

"The steaks are burning," I say instead.

Something flickers in Cade's expression. Hope, maybe. Or resignation.

"Fuck the steaks," he says again, and this time when his hand comes up, he doesn't stop.

His fingers brush my cheek, and I swear to God I feel it everywhere.

My sharp intake of breath is loud in the quiet kitchen. His thumb traces my cheekbone, rough and calloused and so careful it makes my throat tight.

"Last chance," he murmurs. "Tell me to go."

I should. I know I should.

Instead, I lean into his touch like a flower turning toward the sun, and whisper the words that will destroy everything:

"Stay."