Page 34 of Where the Roses Bloom (Gospels & Grimoires #1)

Rhett

The house was almost ready, our priest was prepared, Willow was at her impromptu bridal shower…and it was almost time for what was going to be both the strangest and happiest day of my whole damn life.

We were halfway through stringing the last set of lights over the arbor when a car door slammed at the end of the drive.

I glanced up from the ladder, squinting into the afternoon sun, heart already stuttering like it always did when something unexpected happened at this house. Silas froze mid-hammer, and Whit—balanced precariously on the porch railing—shaded his eyes with one hand.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Whit muttered. “Look what the cat dragged in.”

I couldn’t believe it at first—there was no fucking way.

Holden Ward—the baby of the five of us, now taller than the rest because fate is cruel—stood next to a dusty rental car, duffel bag slung over one shoulder.

He was wearing a camo jacket and hiking boots, looking like he belonged on safari and not in our driveway.

He’d been in Guatemala for the past three years, not coming home a single time. Not for birthdays, anniversaries…

…just for Hazel’s funeral. Before he dipped out again.

“Miss me?” he called.

“No,” Whit said immediately. “But we did assume you were gonna be too evolved or enlightened or whatever to come.”

Holden shrugged and started up the walk. “Yeah, well…figured I’d hate myself if I missed my big brother’s wedding.”

“You could never hate yourself,” Silas scowled. “And it’s a wexorcism, actually.”

“A what now?”

Whit hopped down from the railing with a grin. “Wedding meets exorcism. You know—joy, commitment, maybe banish a cursed ghost or two. Very on-brand for us.”

Beau came around the side of the house just as Holden stepped onto the porch.

“Think someone heard you pull up,” Beau grinned, and I wondered who the hell he was talking about?—

—only for Milo to shoot past him like a goddamn missile.

Holden barely had time to react before ninety pounds of pure, unfiltered golden retriever joy launched at his chest. None of us tried to stop him; Holden could use a little humble pie, and Milo would absolutely be the one to deliver.

He staggered backward with an oof , catching himself on his back foot just as the dog tackled him.

“Jesus,” he wheezed, laughing. “Have we met before?”

“This is Milo,” Beau chuckled. “He’s…friendly.”

Holden wrestled upright, Milo’s paws still braced on his chest, thrilled just to be included.

“Friendly?” Holden coughed. “He just licked my earhole.”

“He likes people with questionable morals,” Beau said. “Explains why he’s obsessed with Whit. ”

“And explains why he likes me better than you,” Whit shot back.

“So…he’s yours?” Holden asked Whit.

“Nope,” Beau said. “He’s mine. Just showed up one day…was skinny and sweet and needed someone. Felt familiar.”

Holden opened his mouth, then shut it again.

Hazel had said something very similar about him once upon a time.

“How the hell did you even find out this was happening?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Last I heard, you didn’t have any way to reach us from…where again?”

“Todos Santos,” Holden said. “And no, I still don’t have a signal—Beau had a message sent through the Peace Corps and I caught the first flight home.”

I shot him a look.

“Hope that’s okay,” Beau said.

I didn’t answer right away…because I wasn’t exactly sure if it was okay. The silence that had come after Hazel’s funeral had stretched three years, and in that moment, I remembered every jagged thing Holden had said the last time he stood on this porch.

About how we weren’t cursed, just dysfunctional.

About how maybe our parents’ wreck wasn’t some cruel twist of fate, but something they brought on themselves…

…and the implication that Amelia’s death had been that way, too.

It had broken Silas to the point where he’d punched Holden right in the jaw, and we hadn’t heard a word from him since.

“Yeah,” I said at last. “It’s fine. It’s…it’s good.”

Holden’s jaw worked, then he did the last thing I expected. “I should’ve come home sooner,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Silas didn’t say anything. Just started up hammering a nail into the porch to hang the lights .

Hammering hard .

Whit muttered, “Damn right you should’ve.”

Holden didn’t rise to meet Whit, not this time.

He just stood there with his bag still slung over his shoulder, Milo dutifully at his side now like some kind of canine buffer.

Beau reached out to give him a pat, and I could see it clear on his face: how he was trying to be the bridge, how he wanted this to go smooth.

“I mean it,” Holden added. “What I said at the funeral…I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I just…” His gaze flicked to Silas. “Well. I guess I’m a bit of an asshole.”

A smile threatened to crack Silas’s anger. “More than a bit.”

I looked between them all—Whit itching for a fight but willing to let it lie for the rest of us; Silas pretending to care more about the nail than the person who came all this way to stand under the same roof again; and Beau anchoring the moment with that soft steadiness that had always made him the glue that bound us together.

And Holden…well, he looked older, maybe a little wiser. Not so much like the kid who’d been young enough to be more like a son to me than a little brother.

Maybe less of a cocksure little shit.

But beyond that, it occurred to me that the town had been healing, the land, the county, the house.

Even if we were haunted now, Willow had freed us from a generations-long shadow.

It was the first time since Hazel passed that all five of us were standing here together…

and it was for a wedding , not a funeral.

I could practically feel her spirit watching over us, just waiting for that extra juice to cast Carter’s energy out for good.

“So…” Holden said. “Can I meet her? The bride, I mean.”

The word sounded strange, something I hadn’t thought about enough.

Everything was moving so fast that I hadn’t had a chance to even think about Willow as my bride…

and it felt like we were already bound in all the ways that mattered.

But I smiled at the idea of it, shaking my head.

“She’s out with a friend right now,” I said. “But…well, would you look at that.”

A cloud of dust appeared at the end of the driveway, swirling around Delilah’s Jeep as she drove up from the road. Delilah always drove like she was trying to outrun the devil, and I made a mental note to remind her not to do that when she had someone so damn precious in the passenger seat.

Willow didn’t seem bothered by it as she got out of the car, though, her bag slung over her shoulder, a bakery box in her hand. She grinned up at me, taking in the sight of all five Ward brothers on the porch—a little confused that we’d someone added a new one.

“Um…” she said, shifting the box of pastries in her hands. “Did you get a new one?”

“A new what?”

She tipped her chin toward Holden. “Ward. I thought only four of you lived in the county. Or is this…”

“Holden,” I confirmed, nodding. “He flew all the way from Guatemala for our good old-fashioned wexorcism.”

Willow’s brows lifted. “Holden…huh. I thought y’all were making him up—like a metaphor for unresolved trauma.”

“Not entirely inaccurate,” Whit muttered.

Holden gave a sheepish wave. “Hey.”

Before Willow could ask any more questions, Milo let out an excited bark and launched himself from the porch like he’d just realized new people were here.

I lunged forward with a curse and caught him mid-air before he could send Willow—and the entire bakery box—flying.

Willow gasped as Milo huffed in protest, legs windmilling.

“Milo!” she laughed. “Oh my god…why does he always come for me like I owe him rent? ”

“Because he’s a golden retriever,” Beau called from the porch, “and he believes in reincarnation. You probably were a roast chicken in a past life.”

“Or a tennis ball,” Whit added.

Willow arched a brow, steadying the box against her chest as I lowered Milo back to the ground. He sat, tail sweeping the gravel like he hadn’t just tried to end her with love.

“Well,” she said, looking up at me with a half-smile, “he’s lucky I’m in a good mood.”

I brushed a kiss against her temple. “He’s not the only one.”

Behind us, Holden cleared his throat. “I should probably, uh, say hi properly.”

Willow turned toward him, cocking her head like she wasn’t quite sure about him yet. She didn’t know the backstory—just that I’d told her once, a little gruffly, that the youngest Ward brother wasn’t really around anymore.

But she gave him a smile that was gentle enough to offer grace without forgetting the past. “Welcome home,” she said. “You picked a hell of a time to show up.”

Holden nodded. “Yeah. I’m kinda late to a lot of things.”

“You’re here now,” Beau said simply, coming down the steps to meet us. “That’s what matters.”

The driver’s side door finally swung open and Delilah stepped out, sunglasses perched on her head, braid half-undone, eyes narrowed like she was trying to decide whether to hex someone or hug them.

“Well,” she drawled. “Look who grew up.”

Holden’s head jerked toward her just in time to catch a blur of red hair and black leather as she all but launched herself at him.

Her arms went around his neck like they hadn’t lost a single year, and to his credit, Holden caught her without toppling over—though he did grunt like he’d been punched in the ribs .

“You asshole,” Delilah said into his shoulder. “You weren’t even gonna send a postcard?”

“Didn’t think I deserved the attention,” he said, voice muffled.

She pulled back just enough to give him a once-over. “You don’t. But I’m glad you’re here anyway.”

Whit cleared his throat. “Hey…I’m glad we’re having these nice reunions and all, but we’ve still got work to do. The main event is tomorrow, and this wexorcism ain’t waitin’ for sentimentals.”

Delilah didn’t even flinch. She just smacked a kiss to Holden’s cheek and turned toward Whit with a gleam in her eye. “Poor baby. You jealous I didn’t jump you instead?”

Whit smirked. “You wish, darlin’.”

Delilah rolled her eyes, then crossed to Willow. “You need a hand?”

“Nah…I think I’m good,” Willows said, then stood on her tiptoes to kiss my cheek. “I’ll see you inside.”

“See ya,” I replied.

We watched the girls go in, Milo trotting behind them like he was fully convinced he would be getting a lemon bar. Holden leaned in, nudging me with his elbow. “So…that’s her, huh?”

I laughed softly. “Not what you expected?”

He met my eyes—looking down at me , the lanky bastard.

“She seems perfect for you,” he said.

And I could tell he meant it.