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And I’m not letting go.

Chapter Thirteen

Brogan

You can tell the temperature of my citizens by the size of the fire in the Foster backyard. When the night’s cold enough to sting your skin, folks gather close, letting the flames and a little borrowed courage do their work. Secrets crackle, old grudges thaw, and new stories get spun in the glow—because nothing says “family” like a circle of chairs, a stack of snacks, and the kind of laughter that echoes for blocks. Everybody knows the Fosters’ bonfires are legendary, but tonight, there’s a new kind of electricity sparking through the crowd. People steal glances at Brogan and Joely, and for once, it’s not about the score or the weather—it’s about something that feels like hope finally getting brave enough to show up out loud.

Playlist: Fire and the Flood by Vance Joy

I pull up to the house with my heart still somewhere between Joely’s bedroom and my chest cavity. After a day spent walkingaround like my brain was short-circuiting, Boone finally booted me out to grab more beer and snacks before everyone descended for the bonfire.

The Foster bonfires are legendary in Sorrowville. Doesn’t matter if it’s the middle of July or twenty below in February—if the flames are going, people show up. Stories say our dad once roasted a whole deer out here, and the crowd stuck around till sunrise, swapping secrets and dares until the sun finally gave up and joined in. There’s something about firelight and we Foster brothers that makes you think anything can happen, or at least that you might remember the night forever, even if your eyebrows don’t survive.

By the time I get back, the snow’s piled high on either side of the plowed drive, but it’s already filling back in—Sorrowville’s way of telling me not to get too comfortable. The firepit is already crackling in the backyard, silhouetting my brothers and a few of the guys against the flames like some kind of backwoods warrior tribe.

I slam the truck door and crunch my way to the yard, adjusting my beanie like that might somehow hide the fact that I’m completely, utterly wrecked. Not in a bad way. In a ‘my entire existence shifted overnight and I have no fucking idea what to do with it’ way.

And tonight’s different. Because Joely’s going to be here—not just as one of the guys or my lifelong wingman but as something more. My person. The label’s changed, and now, I’m supposed to know what to do with my hands and how to look at her and where the hell to stand without giving away how flipped inside out I am. I want to touch her. I want everyone to know she’s mine.

But I also want to crawl into a snowbank and disappear because I already hear my brothers winding up—the chirps, the jokes, the “about damn time, Foster” and “try not to screw it up,BroFetti.” I’m terrified I’m going to get this wrong right here in front of everyone. And yet, for the first time in my life, I want to get it right so damn bad I can barely breathe.

Bennett’s the first to notice me. Because of course he is.

“Where the hell have you been?” he calls, beer in hand, standing next to Boone and Gage like he’s king of the damn tundra.

“Boone sent me out for snacks.”

He tips his chin behind me.

I turn.

Joely. She’s bundled up in her puffy coat, hair tied up, cheeks pink from the cold, walking toward us like she didn’t just turn my life upside down when we crossed a line that can’t be uncrossed.

Bennett doesn’t miss a beat. “You leave her in your bed, too? Or just the back seat this time?”

Boone nearly chokes on his beer, Gage cackles, and my ears go hot enough to melt the snow.

“Did you tell her to stay?” Bennett adds, deadpan.

“She’s not a dog, bro.”

Bennett shrugs. “Didn’t look like you had much trouble letting her off the leash last night.” Then, softer so only I can hear, “Just… don’t screw it up, okay?”

I barely have time to swallow the lump in my throat before Shep jumps in, turning up the volume for everyone. “No one would think that she’s a dog after seeing her in that dress last night.” He grins at Joely, loud as ever. “You looked sexy AF, babe.”

My jaw tightens. “You… call her Joely.”

She elbows me in the ribs on her way past. I wince, and my shoulders drop. I didn’t get a kiss. I didn’t get a hug. I didn’t even get a forearm squeeze.

I got the elbow.

Which would sting more if my brain wasn’t already shorting out, replaying last night on an endless, X-rated loop—her thighs trembling, her fingers in my hair, the taste of her still haunting me every time I blink. I try to focus on the snow, the fire, literally anything else, but it’s useless. Every nerve in my body is screaming to get her alone again, to crawl right back between her legs and stay there until I forget how to speak.

Instead, I’m just standing here with grocery bags of chips, my heart pounding like a rookie after his first goal, and wondering how the hell I’m supposed to survive a bonfire when all I want is to light her up all over again.

Bennett grins as he stares at my open mouth. “Already got him wrapped around your finger. I’m impressed.”

Her eyes narrow. “What are you even talking about? Don’t you have a fire to make or something?”