Luke didn't have a chance to be embarrassed, because the hum of the back door made everyone freeze. His father walked in first, and behind him, Ethan navigated his wheelchair into the kitchen with such ease that it made Luke realize just how long he'd been using it.
Sometimes it felt like only yesterday they'd been camped out in the hospital, waiting for the swelling to go down, hoping against hope that Ethan would walk again. Other times it felt like aeons had passed since that fateful night.
"The prodigal son returns," Ethan muttered when he spotted Luke.
Luke forced a smile, trying not to be hurt by the lackluster greeting. "Hey, little brother. Looking fit." Ethan's arms bulged against the fabric of his Nike T-shirt. He must be up at least a couple of pounds of muscle since they'd seen each other last. "Katie must be putting you through your paces."
Ethan nodded at the mention of his physiotherapist. "Yeah. She's tough." He grabbed his plate and started dishing out some food.
"This is Luke's friend, Holly," his mother offered, wading into the tension.
"Hey," he said without glancing up.
"Ethan! Manners." There was a warning note in Cathy Maguire's voice that not even a sullen twenty-two-year-old could ignore. Hell, even Luke still flinched when she marched it out.
Ethan sighed and Luke watched him physically regroup. When he raised his eye, Luke recognized the battle-weary look of a man engaged in a tireless fight. "It's very nice to meet you, Holly."
Holly's smile was warm, despite the fact that the greeting had been decreed rather than given sincerely. "You, too, Ethan."
Taut silence settled over the room then, broken only by the clank of utensils as everyone served themselves portions of chicken and stuffing and gravy and veggies.
"If you'll all excuse me, I'm going to eat in my room."
"Ethan, we have company." Ross Maguire's voice held a hint of desperation that made Luke wonder how many nights he and his mother ate at the dinner table alone.
"Oh, that's fine." If she was hurt by his brother's abruptness, Holly didn't show it. "I understand better than most what it's like to want to avoid small talk," she joked.
"Thanks." It was, by Luke's count, Ethan's most sincere moment of the night.
The world deflated when he left.
Luke could feel his mother's heart break just a fraction more, see the way his father's shoulders sagged under the weight of his youngest son's misery. He wanted to punch his brother in the face for doing this to them, and yet...
And yet, Luke's own shoulders and his own heart were just as affected at the sight of Ethan's struggle to make sense of the devastating blow he'd been dealt. His little brother was the strongest man he knew. Ethan's dedication to his recovery was beyond incredible, and even the doctors were amazed by his progress. Luke was jealous of how ripped he'd gotten and in awe that Ethan had taught himself to walk again.
But he could only stand for short periods, and his walk was a slow shuffle. Neither was good enough for his brother, who was aiming for nothing less than full recovery. But three years later, the odds of that were dwindling at an alarming rate. And his brother was angry.
Luke couldn't blame him for that, even when he wanted to.
Holly broke the ice. "I can't wait to dig into this chicken."
His mom smiled and encouraged everyone to eat. Holly was wonderful through the entire meal. She did her best to carry the dinner discussion and after the meal, helped his mom clean up the dishes so he and his father could figure out why the power opener on the back door wasn't functioning properly. Then they all sat outside on the deck with his mother's famous lemonade and talked until it was time for bed.
"Thanks," he said, as he and Holly sauntered toward the garage. The evening air was warm and damp and tinged with the scent of spring flowers.
"For what?" she asked, like she honestly didn't know.
"For handling today like a pro."
"Nothing to thank me for. Your family was incredibly kind."
He put a hand on her hip, tugged her forward a step and brushed a soft kiss to her lips. Her sigh was sweet and dreamy, and he leaned his forehead against hers. "Good night, Holly."
She smiled up at him. "Good night, Luke."
He kissed her once more before he pulled himself away, glancing behind him to watch her ascend the small staircase and disappear into the guest suite.
He waited until she'd pushed the door shut before he headed back to the house.
He had every intention of heading straight for his own room, but instead, he found himself standing outside his brother's.
Luke rapped his knuckles against the door before he pushed it open.
Ethan didn't look up from his physio log book. "Hey."
"Hey." It was weird, seeing the wheelchair beside the bed. Unlike his own room, Ethan's reflected the passage of time. All his trophies and posters and hockey paraphernalia had been packed up and hidden away-probably in the attic, if he knew his mother. Cathy Maguire couldn't bear to throw away memories.
"I just dropped Holly off in the guest room. I'm glad Mom's still protecting our virginities," Luke joked.
A ghost of a smile played over Ethan's lips.
"Some things never change."
Luke didn't mean for his gaze to dart to the wheelchair beside the bed, but it did, and the moment of camaraderie disappeared with the blank expression that overtook his brother's face.
Luke wasn't about to let his brother shut him down that easily. Not again. "And some things change a lot."
"Yeah, well. Be thankful you're the one who got out of this mess unscathed."
Luke ran a frustrated hand over his hair. The ever-present guilt chewed at the lining of his stomach. He ignored his brother's dig and tried to take the high road. "Do you want to come to the sledge hockey game with Holly and me tomorrow? The kids would love to meet you. They keep giving me a hard time that you haven't come."
"I have physio."
"Ethan-"
"I have physio," he repeated in a tone that brooked no opposition.
"Okay, fine." Luke didn't know what to do to reach his brother anymore. Every time he came home, he felt like they grew further and further apart. "You wanna have some ice cream?" he asked. It was a last-ditch effort to connect, a ritual from back in the day. Whenever there was company staying at the house, they'd wait until midnight and sneak downstairs for makeshift ice cream sundaes, thinking they were pulling one over on their parents.
It wasn't until years later that they'd realized it couldn't be coincidence that whenever they had visitors, there was always ice cream in the freezer and an array of toppings in the cupboard. Luke didn't doubt for a second they were there now.
"I think I'm just going to go to sleep. Hit the light on your way out?"
Even though Luke had braced himself for the impact of rejection, his brother's dismissal stung more than he'd expected. "Yeah, sure. Good night, Ethan."
Luke flipped the switch and headed for his own room. He unceremoniously stripped down to his underwear and crawled into bed, but he didn't sleep. It wasn't just that he'd outgrown the bed, either. The whole house was uncomfortable. The whole family was stuck in the middle of a nightmare.
Luke was still wide-awake come midnight. He slipped out of bed and pulled the door shut behind him. Once in the kitchen, though, he decided ice cream didn't sound all that appealing.
A glance out the window showed a light burning brightly in the suite above the garage. Suddenly, he was in the mood for a different kind of sweet.
Luke grabbed the extra key from the hook in the entryway and was careful to close the door silently behind him-a trick he'd mastered by the age of twelve. In no time, he'd crossed the small expanse of grass between the house and the garage and climbed the stairs to the door.
He knocked before he used the key. Holly looked up from her phone as he pushed the door shut behind him. She was sitting on top of the covers, her back against the headboard, feet flat on the mattress, wearing nothing but a T-shirt and another pair of those sensible white cotton panties. She was absolutely perfect.
"To what do I owe the honor?" she asked, her eyes tracking down his bare chest, boxer-briefs and thighs. If he hadn't already been up for the main event, that once-over would have done the trick.
"This is a booty call."
She licked her lips. "You don't say."
"But it's not just any booty call," he explained, crossing the carpeted floor until he stood beside the bed. "This is a booty call twelve years in the making."