Chapter One

CHAPTER ONE

Morgan

Eighteen years later

“Do you want to go?” The question comes out before I acknowledge what I’m saying. It should be automatic—my question. Or at least I should know if I want my serious boyfriend, the man I live with, to go back home to Birchbark with me, but I already know what he’s going to say, and I don’t feel strongly about it one way or another. That’s not how it’s supposed to be when you’re in a relationship with someone. I know that, but it doesn’t change the reality.

“To spend the summer in Michigan with your family that I’ve never met? I can’t say that I do,” Rob replies, standing in our bedroom in a pair of briefs and a button-up white shirt. Rob is…honest, blunt. He’s logical and doesn’t sugarcoat feelings. It took some getting used to, but now I don’t even flinch. I’d rather know where people stand than be blindsided. I’d rather not think someone is one person, only to be completely betrayed by them. “I can’t believe you’re going.” He glances toward my suitcase, which is beside me on the mattress.

“My dad had a stroke.” The soft fabric of our blanket is like a pillow beneath my thighs. All the stuff in our Santa Monica condo is Rob’s. It was his place, and I’d moved in with him. None of it is really my taste, but the bed is certainly comfortable. Most things here are too sterile for me, though, but I don’t care enough to mention it to him.

Rob pulls a pair of slacks from a hanger. “You hate your dad.”

My spine stiffens, memories trying to dig their way to the surface, but I throw more dirt on the pile, not willing to let the past become uncovered.

He’s right. I do hate my father. There had been two people in his life he cared about making happy: my mom and himself. Actually, that’s not true. He was different with Ella, but I think that’s because she was the only girl and Mom had wanted her so damn much. The week before she’d hemorrhaged, Mom had been the happiest I’d ever seen her. And while Dad doted on Ella in ways he didn’t with us boys, he’d left taking care of her and Easton to me, Rhett, and nannies. Rhett and I’d both had Ella and Easton to worry about after we lost Mom.

A slow ache starts in my chest. I rub my hand over my left pec, trying to massage it out before it can grow. “My brothers need me,” I say, unsure why I’m even talking to Rob about this. If I want to share with anyone, it should be Spencer, my closest friend in Santa Monica. He’s the kind of guy who will drop everything to go with me if I ask, but he’s also in a new relationship and crazy in love with his boyfriend, Corbin. I’m not going to bring my shit to his doorstep.

“The brothers you rarely talk to? You can’t even speak to Rhett without getting angry, and the only time he calls is when there’s something going on with your dad or Easton. I don’t pretend to understand what happened between you and your family, but I really can’t make sense of you taking a leave of absence to go help people you haven’t seen in ten years.”

Rob has never asked—not about what happened, not if I’m okay, not if I need him. That’s always worked for me because I don’t like to get too close, but in this moment, I can’t help wondering what in the fuck I’m doing. Why I’ve spent so much time with this man, and why he stays with me when I’m not sure he likes me very much.

Because you don’t ask much of him. Because you’re just as closed off as he is.

I grab my jeans and tug them on. The truth is, I don’t know why I’m going. Rob’s right. I can’t talk to Dad or Rhett without getting angry. Rhett’s been in competition with me my whole life, doing everything in his power to be exactly who Dad wants him to be. Everything has always been about Rhett getting what he wants, and he’s taken it all, even the one person who meant the most to me. Dusty.

And Easton…sometimes I feel like I don’t know him at all. He’s always been in his own world, but he would invite us in, joke and be silly with us before he lost Ella. He would spend whole afternoons chasing butterflies with her simply because she loved them so much. After that…he became completely closed off.

I mentally shovel more dirt on the pile.

But regardless, I’ve always felt an obligation to my family, to take care of what needs to be done, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

Even if returning to the UP feels like cutting my own damn heart out.

*

I didn’t feelmuch as I flew into Detroit, not even when I rented a car and started to drive. It’s not until I’m driving across the Mackinac Bridge that it really hits me what I’m doing. Going home. To Birchbark.

The Straits of Mackinac are below me, the water clear and beautiful. Lake Michigan is to the west, Lake Huron to the east, and in the distance, everything is green and vibrant.

It’s pretty shitty that the place I hate most in the world is also one of the most beautiful…and that with each mile I travel, the ache in my chest only grows.

It’s a three-hour drive before I’m in Birchbark, the town I called home for the first twenty-five years of my life, but it feels like it takes five minutes before I’m pulling into the familiar small town on the shores of Lake Superior. Most of my childhood was spent swimming on local beaches until we lost Ella. It took years before I was willing to get into anything other than a pool after that. And while it holds bad memories, I’ve found ways to allow myself to enjoy it.

I’m not staying at Dad’s. I don’t have it in me to do that, and it was too late to get any kind of long-term rental. Tourists flock to the UP in the summertime, taking advantage of all the beauty and nature it has to offer. That means finding a vacation house rental isn’t easy.

I head straight to the hotel in downtown Birchbark, where I reserved a room. Even though it’s early June, there’s a nip in the air. It smells like a mixture of minerals and fresh water that might not be obvious to out-of-towners but is familiar to me.

The second I step inside, the man at the counter looks up, gaze snagging on me. “You’re Morgan Swift.” He’s clearly younger than my thirty-five years, so I don’t think I went to school with the guy or anything, but then, he’s expecting me. Or recognizes me.

“I didn’t tell my dad or Rhett where I was staying.”

He shrugs because we both know it doesn’t matter. No one has as much control in Birchbark as Mayor Gregory Swift, former member of the United States House of Representatives before he took a step down in his career and stayed local. Funny how he waited for that until we were all grown.

Apparently, the stroke hasn’t changed him much. He’s still meddling in other people’s business.

“You reserved the two-room king suite?” the clerk asks. That part is right, so at least my dad didn’t fuck with my reservation. If I’d gotten something smaller, he would have upgraded me—not for my comfort, for appearances.

“Yes, sir.” I pull out my credit card and ID, but he waves them off. Sure, the number is on file from when I made the reservation, but the only reason they’re not asking for it is because of who my father is.

My skin prickles with annoyance, but I don’t call him on it. What’s the point? It won’t change anything. Nothing ever changes here, and again, I wonder what in the hell I’m doing. Why I’m back in this place that’s filled with nothing but bad memories.

I finish checking in, get my keycard, and take my two suitcases up to my room. The main area of the suite has a view of Birchbark—shops and restaurants where people laugh and eat and work. When I get to the bedroom and open the curtains, I’m not surprised to see it’s facing the harbor. Of course they will give me the best views in the hotel. Gregory Swift’s son deserves the best, if for no other reason than to get on Dad’s good side.

I unpack my things, knowing I’m stalling. I didn’t update Rhett about my schedule or let him know my flight arrived, but there’s no doubt in my mind he’s already heard I’m here.

The perfect son is nothing if not exactly like Dad. Left Birchbark for college and law school, not caring that Easton was only nine and grieving. I stayed and finished my senior year of high school, then went to the local university because there was no way I’d leave Easton with just Dad. Dad had shut down when Mom died, but it was even worse after we lost Ella, like our connection to not only Mom, but our family in general, had died with my little sister.

At least Rhett and I had Mom until we were eight and nine. Easton hadn’t had her at all. Leaving him with only Dad would have been cruel, but I’m not sure I did a better job at helping raise him. Easton is a fucking mess. From everything I’ve heard, he couldn’t even hold down a job until Dusty took him on as an apprentice at his auto body repair shop—probably as a favor for his new best friend Rhett.

Fuck. Why am I thinking about this shit again? Being back in Birchbark is already messing with my head.

I finish putting everything away, and when I can’t think of any other reason to stall, I text Rhett.

I’m here.

I hate myself for the tightness in my chest. Hate that my own brother fills me with rage more than anything else in my life ever has, except our father.

Rhett: Meet me for dinner at Angelo’s. Six.

Nothing is ever a question with him. He issues demands just like our father and expects the world to fall into place around him.

Me: Do you really think in public, just the two of us, is the best way to handle this?

Rhett: I’m not looking to spend any more time with you than you are with me, but we should talk before you see Dad and Easton.

As heavy as the boulder in my gut is, he’s right. We won’t argue in public the way we would in private. Rhett would never risk making a scene.

Me: I’ll be there.

*

Rhett’s schedule doesn’tgive me much time. When I end the call, I shower and get dressed. The good thing is, Angelo’s is within walking distance from my hotel.

The streets are a little busier now, people getting off work and going about their day. Quite a few of the restaurants have patios where people can eat in nice weather. If there’s anything to be thankful for in this whole situation, it’s that it happened during the summer. It’s been so long since I’ve experienced a UP winter, I’m not sure I’d be able to handle it anymore.

“Just one?” the hostess asks when I enter the Italian restaurant. The lighting is muted but not too dim. Dark-wood tables are scattered across the room, with chandeliers above them. It’s been updated since I was here last, the hanging lights being new, and I’m sure they’re from someone local. That’s one of the things I do love about the area. They strive to shop local first and to build up the community around them.

“I’m meeting my brother, Rhett Swift, here.” There’s no doubt in my mind he has already arrived. I’m five minutes early, but Rhett will be even earlier.

“Oh, Mr. Swift is right this way.” The young woman with box braids leads me to Rhett’s table. I’m sure she’s one of the local college students.

The first thing I notice is how much older he looks. While Easton has blue eyes and honey-blond hair like our mom, both Rhett and I have brown eyes and dark hair, only unlike mine, his hair is peppered with gray along the sides. It’s freshly cut—of course—the top longer than the sides, which are buzzed into a slight fade. He has more stubble than I do—again, his with a little gray. All three of us have a golden tan to our skin, but Rhett is taller and broader than me and Easton.

He looks up from his phone, impassive gaze holding mine.

“Thank you,” I tell the hostess before pulling out the chair across from him and sitting down. Rhett managed to get a table in the back, one that’s a little more secluded, and I’m pretty sure that was done on purpose.

The second I sit down, he says, “Dad is retiring at the end of this year. It’s the last of his term anyway, so we’re going to have to get him through December, but that’s manageable. He’s not happy about leaving, but it’s for the best.”

“Nice to see you too,” I say, and he rolls his eyes.

“You don’t mean that, Morgan. You’re just trying to piss me off and look like you care more than I do.”

I shrug because the truth is, he’s right. Well, mostly right. No matter what happened, he’s still my brother, and there’s a part of me that can’t believe how much time has passed, that Rhett looks so much older. But instead of extending an olive branch, I say, “Of course Dad isn’t happy about it. Nothing has ever meant as much to him as his work and pretending he’s king of the world.”

“Mom did,” he says without missing a beat. I can’t believe he said it.

“But not us?”

“He loves us, Morgan. We were given an incredible life. Sorry he wasn’t perfect like you seem to think you are.”

Money and security. He gave us that, but he didn’t give us the things that really matter. I’m pretty sure that’s why Rhett’s marriage didn’t last—because he’s just like our dad, only he didn’t love Lori like Dad loved Mom.

Maybe he’s been secretly in love with my ex-best friend this whole time.

“I can’t do this with you.” I rub a hand over my face, already feeling the weight of frustration bearing down on me. “Just tell me what I need to know.”

The waiter arrives then, and I realize I haven’t even looked at the menu.

“Baked ziti,” we say at the same time. Goddamn him. Why can’t he like something else?

There’s already a glass of water for me, so I tell the waiter I don’t want anything else to drink.

The moment he walks away, Rhett gets back on track. “Things could’ve been a lot worse. Dad has a slight limp on his left side and lost some mobility in his arm. Miraculously, his speech is only a tad slower. But he’s…forgetful.”

I nod, trying to think of my father any way other than perfect. The reminder that he’s human like the rest of us will be eating away at him.

“I’d like you to stay with him and—”

“No,” I cut him off.

“Jesus Christ, then why the fuck are you here?”

“I don’t have to be.” I move to stand.

“Sit down.”

“You don’t get to do that. I’m not one of the people you can order around, Rhett.”

He sighs, his jaw tight when he forces out, “Please.”

I sit back down.

“I have a home here. East has his place, and I wouldn’t trust him to stay with Dad anyway. The two of them rarely speak. You agreed to give us the summer, and you’re in a hotel. The least you can do is stay with him. I’ll check on him during the day too, but I worry about him being alone at night. I’ve found him…wandering sometimes. Talking to himself.”

My chest aches, but I ignore it. “What about the end of the summer? Who will stay with him then?”

“I’ll cross that bridge when I get to it. I’ll…I don’t know, sell my house or rent it out and—”

“What the fuck, Rhett. You don’t have to do that. He didn’t come home for us when we needed him. Why would you uproot your life for him?” We had to help Mom when she was pregnant. When she hemorrhaged after the twins were born. After she passed, it was nannies and two scared, broken kids taking care of the babies.

“Why do you care what I do? You don’t give a shit about me,” he spits out, and Jesus, this is already a disaster.

“I’ll stay with him starting tomorrow.” I don’t want to argue with him. I want this day, then this summer, to end as quickly as possible. “What’s wrong with Easton?” I’ve been hearing some things the past few months, but Rhett makes it sound like things are worse.

“He’s East. Been arrested three times in the past few years, nothing major, just stupid shit. Bar fights and things like he’s a fucking kid. I have a feeling things go down more than we know, but for whatever reason, Officer Thorn goes easy on him. Probably because of Dad.”

That doesn’t surprise me. Dad has that power here.

“He’s a fucking mess and always has been, but…it feels different lately. I can’t put my finger on it. The only reason he consistently works now is because of Dusty, but sometimes Easton flakes on him too. Dusty is a lifesaver. He’s really come through.”

I freeze at hearing Rhett speak about my ex-best friend. At the familiarity in his tone.

I try to hold the memories at bay, but thoughts of that night break through my mental dam, flashes of Dusty and Rhett at the lighthouse.

We’d never been more than friends, but Dusty had always felt like he was mine, my solace, the one place I was always safe. I’d never had to fight for Dusty’s attention the way I did Dad’s—and I only ever got Dad’s when he needed something from me or when I wasn’t doing something well enough. Dusty didn’t make demands of me the way Dad or Rhett did. When they fucked with my head, Dusty always brought me back to earth… And then Rhett had taken him away from me.

Even all these years later, hearing Rhett talk about him feels like someone’s ripping out my guts.

Rhett did it to take what’s mine, but Dusty? I will never understand it…why he would go to Rhett.

The only reason I can think of is that I wasn’t enough.

I push to my feet. “I gotta go.”

“What are you talking about? The food hasn’t even arrived. This discussion isn’t over.”

“Yes,” I say, tossing my napkin down. “It is. I’ll be at Dad’s sometime tomorrow.”

Without another word, I walk away.