1. Aiden

CHAPTER 1

Aiden

Walls in Markus’s house might as well be paper.

It wasn’t just the groans that jarred me awake—they were rhythmic, matched with the steady thud of a headboard tapping the wall upstairs like a metronome gone rogue.

I groaned, pulling the blanket over my head and burying my face in my pillow.

Markus’s deep voice followed. “Nicky.”

No use. The thuds, the groans and moans filtered through the ceiling, too loud to ignore. A muffled groan—Markus, of course—followed by Nicholas’s name, drawn out and husky.

Great. Just what I needed to start my morning.

I flipped onto my back, glaring at the ceiling as if I could will the men into silence. It didn’t work. The thuds kept going, accompanied by noises that made my ears burn.

“Fantastic,” I muttered.

Another low groan. This time it was Nicholas.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I huffed, throwing off the blanket. My stuffy tumbled to the floor with a soft thud, and I grabbed my tablet from the bedside table.

I didn’t begrudge my brother and my soon-to-be brother-in-law their happiness, but did they have to broadcast it?

Living with Nicholas and his fiancé wasn’t supposed to feel like this. It was supposed to be temporary, a way to save money and build a solid client base before I launched into my dream of traveling the world. Rent-free living had sounded like a sweet deal at first. Now? Not so much.

I shuffled to the kitchen, the tablet tucked under one arm, and wandered to the window, hoping the view outside might drown out the noise. Frost coated the lawn, glittering in the pale morning sun.

Markus’s house was perfect. Too perfect. Sleek lines, pristine surfaces, and windows so big you couldn’t avoid the sunlight even if you wanted to. The fireplace wasn’t the kind you had to light yourself, not even one with those fake logs that glowed with electric embers. No, this one turned on with a button, like magic. Convenient, sure, but it felt... cold. Just another thing in this house that didn’t quite feel like home.

I set my tablet on the kitchen island and dropped onto one of the stools, flicking it on. A clean, minimalist logo filled the screen—the beginnings of a project for a boutique coffee shop. It was simple work, but if I kept stacking projects like this, I’d hit the income threshold for a digital nomad visa soon enough.

Countries like Portugal, Norway and Thailand made it easy for a freelancer to live abroad, as long as you proved you made enough money. The dream was so close I could taste it. Just a few more clients, a few more months of saving, and I’d be gone.

Not that I didn’t love my brother. I did, more than anything. He’d given up so much for me—college, his dreams of becoming a nurse sooner—just to keep me out of foster care after Mom passed. I owed him everything.

Still, this wasn’t how I pictured adulthood. Living with my brother and his fiancé wasn’t exactly the carefree post-college experience I’d dreamed of.

I thought of our old house, nestled at the end of the cul-de-sac. If we hadn’t rented it out, I might have been there now. After Nicholas and Markus renovated it, the house had been freshly painted and outfitted with shiny new appliances, and now it was home to a family—a teacher, her husband, and their three kids. The kids probably didn’t appreciate those upgrades half as much as Nicky and I would have when we were their age. It was strange, knowing someone else lived in the place where so many of our memories had been made.

The thuds upstairs slowed, then stopped. Finally.

I waited for the inevitable follow-up: footsteps down the hall, the creak of the bathroom door, muffled conversation. Right on cue, the water turned on.

Rubbing at my eyes, I set my tablet on the counter and got the coffee going—three mugs, because even with Markus’s endless cheer and Nicholas’s grumpy pre-coffee face, I wasn’t going to be that guy who didn’t make enough for everyone. I poured my cup and left the rest in the insulated carafe, knowing they’d probably come down too late for anything fresh to still be hot.

Settling onto the kitchen stool, I wrapped both hands around my mug and took a sip, the heat curling through me as I tapped the tablet back to life.

I worked in silence, tweaking lines and adjusting colors. The creak of footsteps echoed. Water ran upstairs, faintly audible. I knew their routine by heart.

Fifteen minutes later, Markus’s footsteps echoed down the stairs. “Morning, Aiden,” he greeted as he appeared in the kitchen. Somehow, he always looked put-together, even first thing in the morning—glasses perched neatly on his nose, that effortless air of competence he carried everywhere.

I looked up at him. “Morning, Markus.”

His gaze landed on my tablet. “Working on something?”

I nodded, glancing at the screen. “Just a client’s project.”

“Anything fun?”

“Sort of,” I said, offering a faint smile.

“Breakfast? I’m making omelets.”

I hesitated. Markus was a fantastic cook, and the house usually smelled amazing when he was in the kitchen. But I wasn’t in the mood for company—not after this morning’s wake-up call.

“I’m good, thanks.”

Markus smiled, unfazed by my lack of enthusiasm. “You need more than coffee to fuel creativity.”

I rolled my eyes, more out of habit than actual annoyance. “I’ll grab something later.”

He didn’t push, just gave me a look that said he didn’t quite believe me before turning to the fridge. The quiet clink of pans and utensils filled the air as he started cooking.

I exhaled, letting my shoulders drop as I refocused on my tablet. Markus was a great guy—seriously. He’d done wonders for Nicholas, who hadn’t had it easy since Mom died. But sometimes, his well-meaning concern was a little too much.

As the smell of butter and eggs filled the kitchen, I finished my coffee, rinsed the mug, and poured a second cup. By the time Markus set two plates of omelets and toast on the table, my brother had appeared in the kitchen, his face flushed, but his smile as annoyingly perfect as ever. His hair was damp, his scrubs perfectly neat.

“You eat yet?”

I held up my coffee in response.

“That’s not breakfast.”

“I’m not five, Nicholas. I don’t need you checking in on me.”

He sighed, grabbing a fork and digging into his plate. “This again?”

Markus set his coffee cup down, picked up his knife, and spread some butter on his toast. “Aiden’s been up early. Maybe he’s just tired.”

I rolled my eyes, focusing on the steam curling from my mug. “I don’t need a referee, Markus.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Nicholas muttered around a bite of omelet, earning him a pointed look from Markus.

The sound of their utensils on their plates filled the room. I watched Nicholas from the corner of my eye, his expression softening as he relaxed into his seat. Markus took a few more bites, pausing to sip his coffee, his casual demeanor a sharp contrast to the tension simmering between me and my brother.

Markus glanced over at me. “Sure you don’t want a plate? There’s enough left for one more.”

I shook my head. “Still good with my coffee.”

Markus wiped his hands on a napkin, his plate now halfway empty. “I’ll go warm up the car. You two can... finish this.”

Nicholas grabbed a protein bar from the counter and tossed one to Markus, who caught it effortlessly. He shot Nicky a knowing look before disappearing outside.

Nicky crossed his arms, giving me his full attention. “You’ve been back for a couple of weeks now, and you’re still treating this like some war zone. What’s your problem?”

“I don’t have a problem,” I snapped, though the heat rising to my cheeks suggested otherwise.

“Really? Because you’ve been stomping around like you hate it here.”

“I don’t hate it here. I hate...” My words faltered. What did I hate? The thin walls? The constant reminders of how grown-up he was now? How left behind I felt?

“Look,” Nicholas said, his voice softening. “If something’s not working, we can talk about it. But I can’t keep guessing what’s going on in your head.”

I stared at my now empty coffee cup. “I just need space.”

He frowned. “Space?”

“To figure out my stuff. To work.” I gestured around the room. “This house is beautiful, Nicholas, and I’m happy for you and Markus, but I don’t think being here is the right fit for me, even as a temporary arrangement.”

The words hung heavy between us.

Nicky sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay. We’ll figure something out.”

I didn’t reply, and he didn’t push.

Nicholas got up and started picking up the dishes from the counter top.

I cleared my throat. “I’ll tidy up the kitchen. It’s the least I can do.”

Nicky paused. Without warning, he rested the couple of dishes he had in his hand back on the counter top and pulled me into a hug, his arms strong and steady around me.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice low. “But let’s be clear: you don’t owe me or Markus any favors. We’re family. We show up for each other. Always.”

His words hit me harder than I expected, and for a moment, I stood there, letting the hug anchor me.

“Yeah,” I said quietly, pulling back. “I know.”

The sound of the car horn outside broke the silence.

“Gotta go.” Nicholas hesitated for a moment. “We’ll talk later.” He gave me a small, lopsided smile before heading out the door.

Left alone, I cleaned up the kitchen, rinsing dishes and wiping down the counters. It didn’t take long, but the simple act lifted my spirits higher than I’d felt in weeks.

When everything was in its place, I headed back to my bedroom. The familiar sight of my stuffy on the floor made me smile faintly. I swiped it up, the soft fabric comforting against my hands, and climbed into bed. Curling up with it, I let the warmth and weight of the morning finally pull me under.