Beckett:
There was something about watching your baby sister grow up that didn’t sit right in a man’s gut.
Seeing her on that porch again, suitcase in hand, looking like every boy’s bad idea in soft curls and a sundress—I felt like I’d swallowed gravel. Ella’s Claire didn’t belong in this world anymore. I’d made damn sure of that when she left four years ago. And yet, here she was, standing in the same goddamn doorway she used to sneak out of when she thought I was too drunk or too distracted to notice.
She thought she was slick back then.
Hell, maybe she was.
Didn’t stop her from breaking her own damn heart over Colt Reynolds.
I crossed my arms as she disappeared inside, the scent of her perfume—vanilla and something sweet I didn’t want to name—lingering behind her. I’d cleared out
