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As I settled onto the too-firm mattress in the guest room at Roderick’s parents’ place later that night, I couldn’t help but feel off-kilter. I’d slept in this same bed more times than I could count—and never once realized how unyielding the surface was. Like every spring poked into me, a constant prickle of unease I couldn’t shake even if I wanted to.

Over the course of their six years together, June and Roderick had made a habit of auto-inviting me to a variety of different activities. Camping trips, day-dates, and movie parties—among other things. I’d never minded. Nor had it ever felt odd to spend so much time with my sister. Lord knew, aside from her, the only friends I had were the guys on my recreational hockey team—the very same team I’d met Roderick on, before I’d hooked him up with my sister.

June and I were close.

We always had been .

Even for twins.

Sometimes it felt like we each had half of the same soul.

And though our personalities could clash on occasion, at our core, we always aligned.

I’d taken a liking to Roderick right away.

He was a boring guy. Plain, honestly. He wore long socks with his sneakers, only ever replacing them when they were full of holes. He only knew what hair gel was because I’d shown him. And I was pretty sure he thought that Gucci was a kind of cheese.

Suffice to say, he was perfect for Juniper. A girl who’d grown up in the suburbs, fallen into money in her teens, and spent the last decade warding off people who wanted to use and abuse her just to get to her wallet.

Roderick wasn’t like that.

Which was why I felt remorseful that I’d caused a commotion at his party earlier. Though, if I were being honest, Roderick’s feelings about the barbecue were the least of my worries. No, what was keeping me up wasn’t the too-hard bed, but guilt over the face I’d caused George to make.

Shame, because my actions had caused him pain.

And even though I’d set out to prove we weren’t compatible—something I figured we were in mutual agreement about, considering his apparent lack of interest—instead, all I’d managed was to genuinely hurt him.

“I haven’t been home for eight fucking years. Eight. Years. And after the shittiest year of my life, all I wanted was to come here—to see my mom—to get to pretend for one fucking week that my life isn’t a goddamn shit show.”

His words haunted me.

He wore his heart on his sleeve, face so expressive that if you paid close enough attention, you could almost read his thoughts. Which was how I knew I’d fucked up. Because before George had even opened his mouth to tell me off, I’d seen the tremble of his lower lip, the glassiness in his eyes, the way his hands shook at his sides. And instead of backing off, I’d pushed him over the proverbial cliff.

He’d looked terrified.

Of me, maybe.

Terrified I’d rope him into another uncomfortable situation.

There was no taking back what I’d done. The damage had been dealt. I suppose…until it happened, I hadn’t realized how badly I abhorred the idea of being a person that George disliked. The thought that he was hating me—even now, from across the street—made my skin feel too tight.

This was the first time in my life I’d felt this way.

George wasn’t the first match June had set me up with that I’d sabotaged. But he was the only one that I regretted. He hadn’t deserved the way I’d treated him. And like we were goddamn magnetized, even after I’d sworn I wouldn’t flirt—wouldn’t react, wouldn’t put fire to the kindling June had stacked—I still hadn’t been able to help myself.

Not when he’d acted so…unaffected.

I don’t know why it bothered me so much. But it did. I was used to people liking me. And between his reactions on the plane and at the barbecue, I’d…lost control.

I’d pushed too far.

Simple as that.

I didn’t blame George for not accepting my apology, even though it had been sincere. I understood better than anyone how important it could be to maintain a facade of perfection when one felt rotten beneath the surface. I’d cracked his, like he was an egg, and I’d splattered his yolk all over the party.

In my defense, I’d set out to leave him alone. But I couldn’t bring myself to do that. Couldn’t ignore him, or the way he made me feel. It ate me up inside seeing him sit beside Roderick looking somewhat content when all my efforts to put him at ease on the plane had only resulted in more tension—and a goddamn pen in my leg.

I couldn’t believe how torn up I was over George. It didn’t make sense .

Interrupting my thoughts, a knock on the door sounded.

“Come in,” I called with a sigh.

June pushed the door open, and I flashed her a smile. Normally, I’d tease her. Say something off-putting to make her laugh, but I didn’t have it in me right now.

But I was glad for a distraction, even if I knew why June was here, holding her phone. Every time I talked to our dad, all I could see was his bruised face. All I could remember was the hours in the waiting room, head in my hands, June’s cheek on my shoulder. The beep, beep of the heart monitor. And the fear, and subsequent relief, when we found out he’d be alright.

We’d almost lost him.

It was the scariest moment of my life.

“Dad wants to video chat,” June said.

She hadn’t said anything about the party since we returned.

Which, honestly, spoke volumes.

“Right,” I agreed, sitting up and scooting over to make room on the bed for her to sit. It was late. We’d stayed at the Milton’s till well after dark, but Dad was a night owl, so I was unsurprised he still wanted to talk.

June sat beside me, legs spread wide. She took up a huge amount of space for someone who was basically a big-boobed hobbit (her words, not mine). She was quiet as she held up her phone and hit dial. In companionable silence, we waited as the call connected.

“S’up, old man,” I said as soon as Dad’s forehead came into view. His forehead. Even though he was a fifty-plus-year-old business-savvy mogul with his thumb in so many profitable pies I’d lost count—he acted ancient when it came to tech.

I’d explained FaceTime to him about a hundred times, and still, most of the time it took him a solid five minutes to realize we were conversing with his eyebrow, or his forehead—or one memorable time, the inside of his nose.

“How was the party?” Dad asked, not bothering to respond to my teasing .

“Fun.” June was quick to reply before I could. “Alex wouldn’t stop flirting with Roddy’s ex.”

Dad knew all about George-Arthur Milton.

Of course he did.

Roderick was a blabbermouth and he’d spent the better part of the last five years informing all of us about every one of his exes, George included. No one had ever asked —but no one had wanted to make him feel bad by shutting him down. Hurting Roderick would be like kicking a puppy.

It was just wrong.

“Which one?” Dad asked.

A fair question, considering.

“George-Arthur,” we both said in unison.

“Well, that’s a mouthful,” Dad chuckled. “Are his parents fans of British Aristocracy?” he asked, poking fun at the origin of the name.

“Not that I know of,” I said, pleased that we’d gotten far enough off-topic that I wouldn’t have to admit that I liked him. At least…not yet. “Mr. Milton doesn’t seem like the kind of man who’d appreciate tea.” Tall and severe-looking, the Milton patriarch would look downright hilarious sipping a cuppa over his morning paper.

Not to judge.

“How tit-tea-lating,” Dad giggled. He finally figured out his camera, swearing a little as he pulled the phone back far enough we could actually see his face. Dark eyebrows greeted us, as well as twinkling brown eyes. He sported the same shit-eating grin and black hair that June and I shared—only Dad’s was full of gray now, at his temples, by his widow's peak, and all throughout his beard.

“Hardy har har,” June snorted. He looked frail in his silk robe, tied tight enough to strangle, so the only bare skin visible was his throat. I wanted to wrap him in bubble wrap so he could never be injured again.

“You said tit,” I pointed out, only for Dad to huff and glare at me .

“I did not,” he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was smiling, though. I loved it when I made him smile. Behind him, I could see the mahogany wood walls of his office, leather-bound books lining the shelves along the back.

“You kinda did,” June smirked, to which I responded by high-fiving her.

“Why’re you working?” I frowned, glancing at the time. “You’re supposed to be resting.” Dad wasn’t allowed to be doing anything in that damn office.

“I’m not going to keel over and die because I fill out a damn paper.” Dad rolled his eyes.

“Too soon,” I said, because it was.

“The doctor okayed me for light exercise.”

“Since when is working exercise?”

“Exercise of the mind , Alex.” Dad looked far too pleased that he understood the meme I’d just referenced. He was a regular old “meme king”. Spent an hour on social media every day so that he could drop random references in conversation, all because he wanted to look “hip.” His words, not mine.

The man was a riot.

“Maybe you should put that on my gravestone,” Dad said. “Alexander James. Father. Philanthropist. And then below that, in cursive, too soon . Maybe with a picture of that cat. The mean one.”

“Grumpy Cat?” June said dryly.

“No. I don’t think that’s right.”

They argued about memes for another five minutes before Dad finally forced us back on track enough to hear about the party. But June and I could tell his energy was waning, so she didn’t heckle me more or bring up George again. I made sure to remind him to go to bed and that pushing himself was not the answer right now—and he agreed—but we had no idea if that meant he’d actually listen.

When we hung up, the mood was bittersweet.

The car wreck that’d broken his ribs, leg, and left arm had left June and me untethered. It’d been a close call. A reminder of mortality that neither of us had been prepared for. Especially when Dad’s concussion had been so severe he was disoriented for a few days, and neither of us was sure he even recognized us.

June’s phone sat silent and black on the bed between us. She leaned into my side, one of her arms wrapping around my middle, cheek smooshed against my bicep. We didn’t speak for a long time, letting the silence mend the fractures left behind by my father’s absence. Dad’s bruises had healed, but we hadn’t recovered from seeing him battered.

“Alex?” June said eventually as I lay my cheek on the top of her head.

“What?”

“I feel like such an asshole…” June’s voice cracked. “I should’ve had my wedding closer to home. Made it easier for him, you know?” She sniffed. “It feels so selfish that I didn’t.”

“Dad would be pissed if he’d heard you say that,” I admonished. “He wants you to have your dream wedding.”

“I know.”

“And if that dream wedding is…a camping trip in the mountains? Then that’s what you’re going to get.”

“Maybe I should cancel…” June was still spiraling, and I hated it. “Or postpone? We’d lose the deposit…but…” If she did that, months—hell, a fucking year of work I’d put into this damn thing would go right down the drain. And yet, that wasn’t why I spoke up. It wasn’t me I was worried about

“Don’t cancel,” I replied immediately.

“But he?—”

“The doctor said Dad’s fine to escort you down the aisle. Everything else has been taken care of. All you’re supposed to do is enjoy the shit I’ve spent the last— infinity —planning for you. All any of us want is for you to be happy. Dad, me, and your fiancé included.” I wasn’t sure if I was getting through to her. Her expression was sad. “Besides. You’re like…the least selfish person I’ve ev er met. The fact you’d even consider postponing your wedding proves that.”

June sniffed, a wobbly smile twisting her lips. “You’re only saying that because it would mean a lot of work to reschedule. Fuck. Maybe I’d need to elope? I don’t want to put you through that agai?—”

“Fuck you.” I rolled my eyes. And then, I put on my “sincerity hat” with a grimace. “Look. You deserve to have this day be exactly as you envisioned— when you envisioned it. You’ve both waited long enough, and it took for-fucking-ever for the cabins you wanted to rent to be available. If we push it back, it could be a year or more before everything aligns the way you deserve.” I’d already had enough problems with the cabin situation to foresee that being a nightmare and a half.

June had been looking forward to this damn thing for what felt like centuries.

She was so excited. So fucking excited.

She’d had a binder when we were kids, full of pictures she’d hacked out of magazines and slapped inside—pages and pages of inspiration. June’s dream wedding had simplified somewhat since then. There were no unicorns, for one thing. And the festivities she was most excited for involved basic camping activities—like the “Wedding-Lympics” and the day at the lake that she’d rented wave runners for.

But still.

My tone softened, “Don’t you think you’ve waited long enough?”

“You’re sure I’m not…” June trailed off, but I filled in the gaps.

“You’re not being selfish,” I repeated. “No one thinks that.”

“Okay.” She was still quiet. And though I could tell she felt somewhat better, I knew there was only one thing I could do right now that would legitimately cheer her up. June wasn’t selfish. But she was, in some ways, a sadist. I winced, already knowing what I was about to do was going to be painful.

“You were right,” I admitted. Her silence was unenthusiastic, despite those words being something I rarely said. “About George.”

“Yeah?” June perked up, twisting out of my grip to gape at me. “For real? No bullshit?”

“For real, no bullshit.” I shrugged, trying to force away how uncomfortable this amount of honesty made me feel.

“And?”

This was a direct mirror to the conversation we’d had earlier, but I couldn’t even be mad. My sincerity hat was still on. Now was good-brother time. Distract-my-sister time. Even if it meant cracking my heart open and revealing the black hole inside it.

“And I really do like him. Not just because he’s fun to poke. But because he intrigues me. On a level that is not purely physical.” George’s eyes intrigued me most of all. His earlier distress transfixed in the back of my mind.

“This is a first for you.” June looked pleased with herself. “You’re a chronic fucker.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“You know.” She made a crude gesture with her hands. “Wham bam, thank you ma’am. You get someone to occupy your bed, then forget they exist the second your dick’s not wet. You don’t do feelings. Not since…you know.”

“Gross.” I grimaced, but she was…right. Even if I didn’t like to be reminded of why exactly I’d decided relationships weren’t for me. It had been a decade since the last time I’d had more than a one-night stand. “I already fucked it up, though.” Just saying those words out loud made me sick to my stomach. “He said he doesn’t want to talk to me.”

June made a sympathetic sound. “Did you apologize?”

“Yes.”

She blinked, surprised. “Really?”

My cheeks went hot. The fact that I’d immediately tried to make amends was more telling than openly admitting my feelings to her. “He didn’t accept my apology.”

She laughed.

Which was just evil .

“Well, you probably didn’t deserve his forgiveness.” She shrugged. “Words don’t mean shit, Alex. It’s actions that count. You know that.”

She was right, so I didn’t argue.

“Besides,” June continued, “George isn’t like the other people you interact with. He’s a Milton . He can’t be bought, charmed, or manipulated.” June nodded up and down, cheerful again, her tears forgotten. Mission accomplished. “If you’re going to get on his good side, you’re going to need to be more creative. And also stop playing games. Miltons don’t like games.”

“I know.” I didn’t really know. How could I? I’d only just met him. But…it was true that no one in his family had ever treated either of us differently because of our background or our surplus of money. They were no-nonsense by nature, and because of that, the Miltons were the fairest people I’d ever met—aside from Roderick’s parents. Hell, they might as well have been his second set, considering how often I interacted with them.

It made a cosmic amount of sense that George would need more than flowery words. Something tangible, maybe? An apology gift?

My thoughts spun.

“I have a good feeling about him. Plus, I’ve never seen you act the way you did earlier today, even if your flirting totally bombed,” June said, interrupting my plotting. “Call it intuition, but…I think George would be good for you. ”

How the hell could she possibly know that? She’d spoken to him less than I had, for god’s sake.

“You had a good feeling about Paris, too. And we ended up getting mugged—and our tickets to Madonna were counterfeit,” I pointed out.

“Still.” June’s smile only grew. Her eyes were shining. “I know setting you up with him is a little…unconventional.”

“Considering he’s your fiancé’s ex? Yeah. I would think so.”

“But Roderick has only ever had nice things to say about him. That he was a total fucking sweetie when they dated.” June’s hands expanded, fingers fluttering as she ticked off each fact by closing a finger into her palm. “That he was incredibly loyal. A fierce friend. That he was honest. That he was never afraid to be who he was.”

“Thanks for the TED talk.”

“It didn’t work out with them for good reason,” June continued, on a roll now. She clapped her hands together. “ Obviously, their personalities didn’t clash romantically. There was no sexual chemistry.” She waggled her eyebrows. “Not like what Roderick and I?—”

“Ew. No. Do not finish that sentence.”

It amazed me that she could say any of this without a single ounce of jealousy.

Most people would feel threatened if their partner spoke so highly of someone else. Most people wouldn’t talk about the sexual chemistry their fiancé had with his ex—or lack thereof. But not my June. Her heart was disproportionately large for her tiny frame. And the only petty bones she possessed were borrowed from me.

“They were too different and too young—and now that they’re older they’re even more incompatible. But you …” June sucked in a breath, eyes lighting up. “Maybe you guys could mesh? The way they didn’t. You could be…uh.”

Oh jeez. Here came one of her signature metaphors.

“You could be the peanut to his butter.”

That was even worse than usual. Didn’t even make sense.

“Maybe,” I conceded. “I still don’t know him.”

“But your chemistry is off the charts.”

“True.”

“So, maybe…apologize again tomorrow? Show him you’re not an asshole all the time. Stop playing games with his feelings. Drop your guard a bit. ” I balked at the suggestion. “Just a little!” She was quick to interject. “You could see how it goes. See if there’s something there to explore,” June urged. “Even if the arrangement is only temporary. How are you ever going to know if you don’t try?”

She was right .

But I’d been hurt so badly before, it would take a lot of courage for me to agree. I’d have to push aside that pain. Think outside the box. Figure out how to break through George’s icy exterior. Flirting hadn’t worked, nor had words, and unbidden my mind cycled back to the idea of a gift. It was a solid option. A symbol of my remorse. A way to show George that I hadn’t meant to ruin his trip home—even though I had.

That was when June let me in on her plan.

Apparently, June, Joe, Roderick, and Mrs. M had all hatched up this hare-brained scheme to make George ride with me to Hocking Hills—to “clear the air”. It felt like a bad idea. A super bad idea. For so many reasons. George would be less than thrilled to spend the afternoon alone with me.

I hadn’t realized what today meant to him. I’d been blinded by my own agenda—and failed to empathize. Failed to see what was right in front of my face.

In my defense, I hadn’t had all the pieces until he’d given them to me.

Maybe George and I were more alike than I’d realized.

I still had no idea why he’d been away from home for so long, or why the last year had been the “shittiest of his life,” but…I couldn’t leave this be. I had to try to make it right, one final time. I owed it to him. Besides, we’d both benefit from burying the hatchet, so to speak. I doubted spending this trip avoiding me was what he’d wanted when he’d booked the flight home to be with family.

Even so, what June was proposing was…intimidating to say the least. In order to prove to George that I wasn’t the total dick he thought I was, I would have to lower my guard more than “a little”.

And that was…

Petrifying.

“Fine.” I agreed, heart thumping erratically at the thought of being alone with George again. “I’ll try.”

“That’s good enough for me.”

I’d accept whatever fate George chose for us .

If he never wanted to talk to me again, I’d respect that.

I could put aside my pride.

I could accept this sliver of grace for what it was.

A second chance to make things right wrapped up in one terrible, awful, bad decision. Even if I had to earn that second chance by embarking on the most uncomfortable road trip in the history of the world. That was a small price to pay for an opportunity to earn George’s forgiveness.