Page 97 of Where the Roses Bloom
I was home.
CHAPTER 33
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 threeyears, 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 awexorcism,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 anoof, 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.
