The Wolf
In exactly ten seconds, he’d walk through that door.
In exactly eleven seconds, he’d realize what I’d done.
And in exactly twelve, the look on his face would make me question every decision that had led me here.
It had been my idea.
Sooner or later, I’d have to answer for it.
I sucked in a breath and held it.
Seven.
Six.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
The lock turned.
Slowly, as if Jason had too many things in his hands and not enough patience left to juggle them.
The front door creaked open, spilling a stripe of fading evening light across the hardwood floor. Outside, the last remnants of sunset painted the sky in broad strokes of orange and gold, bleeding into the approaching dark.
His blue suitcase crossed the threshold first, its wheels scraping softly against the wood. Then came the familiar sound of keys tossed into the ceramic bowl on the entry table.
Home.
For the first time in five years, my twin brother was home. As the door swung shut behind him, I glanced sideways toward Kaide. He crouched beside me behind a decorative side table that hid neither of us nearly as well as we’d hoped. If Jason caught us hiding like this, I’d never hear the end of it.
Kaide gave me a nod. The expression on his face was grim enough to attend a funeral. Which was impressive, considering the man somehow looked like a Renaissance sculptor’s greatest achievement even while hiding behind furniture. Honestly, all he was missing was a marble pedestal.
My attention snapped back to the foyer.
The lights flicked on. Twenty people exploded from their hiding places.
“SURPRISE!” My voice cracked halfway through the word.
Jason froze.
The reaction was immediate.
Absolute horror.
Not confusion.
Not surprise.
Pure, unfiltered horror.
I nearly laughed.
His gaze swept across the room as though searching for the nearest emergency exit. Brown hair fell across his forehead, longer than I remembered. His suit looked freshly pressed despite what had probably been a full day of travel. Prada, naturally. The cuffs landed perfectly against his wrists. He looked older. Not aged.
Just... sharper somehow.
More polished, and somehow more distant.
Five years had passed since I’d last seen him. Five years since Montana. Five years since politics swallowed him whole and spit him back out. And now he was standing in our parents’ living room looking like he’d rather face another election than this welcome-home party.
“What’s all this?” he muttered. People immediately descended on him. Hugs. Handshakes. Back slaps. The poor man didn’t stand a chance.
“Your welcome home party, man,” Kaide said, already abandoning the ambush and reclaiming his usual armchair beside the fireplace. He kicked his feet onto the coffee table. “So welcome home.” A smile tugged at his mouth. It never reached his eyes. It hadn’t in a long time.
I watched him carefully. Ever since he’d come back to Centralia City, something inside him had been missing. Something important. I’d tried asking, and when that didn’t work I’d tried prying and threatening and bribing.
Nothing worked.
Whatever happened between him and Jason out on that campaign trail had been buried deeper than a coffin. When Kaide’s mother died from brain cancer, I’d assumed he’d return to Montana afterward. Return to Jason. Return to the life they’d been building as brothers together.
Instead, he’d stayed right here in Centralia.
Permanently.
That alone told me everything and absolutely nothing. The two of them had always been inseparable. Not friends. Not brothers.
Wolves.
That’s what they’d called themselves growing up. A matched set. A hunting pair. Which made it impossible not to notice the distance now. Jason had chased his dream all the way to Montana. Kaide had come home. And neither of them would tell me why.
I stared at Kaide for a moment before forcing myself to look away.
“Hey, J.”
The words felt embarrassingly small. I crossed the room when my turn came and wrapped my brother in a brief hug. “Welcome home.” He hugged me back. Politely. Carefully, as if we were distant relatives instead of twins.
The truth was, we hadn’t spoken in five years, not really. Not beyond the occasional failed attempt. A text left unanswered. A call that never came. Five years of silence loud enough to shake foundations. After what happened between me and Kaide, I couldn’t entirely blame him. I wouldn’t have spoken to me, either. So I retreated to the couch across from Kaide and tried very hard not to look at him. Which was impossible.
My pulse hammered in my ears while the last of the guests greeted Jason. One by one, everyone settled into seats around the room. My mother emerged carrying trays of food and enough refreshments to sustain a small army. Jason stood in the center of it all, taking stock. His gaze bounced between Kaide and me.
Again.
And again.
And again, like he was trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. Eventually he joined me on the couch. Conversation resumed around us. The evening stretched onward. Hours passed. Guests filtered out. The room slowly emptied.
“...and then it was like nobody wanted to vote blue after everything came out,” Jason was saying. “I don’t know what shifted exactly. Maybe I should ask my new campaign manager. Skye’s brilliant.”
He smiled. A real one. Across the room, Kaide looked like he’d swallowed broken glass.
His jaw tightened. His eyes darkened. For a split second, I thought he might get up and leave. Something had happened between them.
Not an argument.
Not a misunderstanding.
Something bigger.
Something capable of taking two people who once moved through life as a unit and turning them into strangers. Then my mother came to sit down. Kaide immediately stood. Offering her his chair with suspicious enthusiasm. An escape route. Perfectly timed.
Eventually, only the four of us remained. My mother smiled brightly. “Sunshine, can you help Kaide with the dishes?” Jason’s stare could have cut steel.
“Sure, Mom.” Beside me, Kaide rubbed the back of his neck. There was no refusing Martha. Not after everything. Not after she’d practically become his mother when he’d lost his own. We didn’t talk about his father.
Nobody in Centralia City did anymore.
Not openly.
Some scandals never really died, they just settled into the foundations of a town. A respected doctor. A pregnant medical student. A hungry reporter. The story had devoured the Daniels family for months.
Kaide most of all.
I slipped past Jason. His eyes followed me. Sharp. Accusing. Kaide waited until I reached the kitchen before following. “It’s just dishes, dears,” my mother called after us. “Don’t look so grim.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Kaide sighed.
“Gladly.”
Ten minutes later, the kitchen felt too small. That was the only explanation. Too small. Too warm, and too full of things neither of us could say. The faucet ran steadily. Water sloshed and plates clinked. Silence settled between us like a third person standing shoulder to shoulder. Kaide scrubbed another plate until his knuckles were white.
His hands were surgeon’s hands.
Steady.
Capable.
Beautiful, honestly.
The kind of hands meant to save lives. I wondered if he hated looking at them. Wondered if all he saw was his father staring back. I would never ask, though. There were some things that were better left unanswered.
I dried each dish he handed me carefully, sitting it down on the white and black granite countertop covered by a perfectly seasonal kitchen towel. Every time our fingers brushed, he flinched. It wasn’t because he was disgusted, though. God, I almost wished it was disgust.
Disgust would have been simple. This was something worse. This was pain—raw and exposed—the kind that never quite heals because people keep touching it. I wanted to tell him I didn’t see his father’s mistakes when I looked at him. I didn’t see ruined reputations. Or newspaper headlines. Or scandals. I saw Kaide.
Just Kaide.
But the words remained trapped behind my teeth like the last breath of a dying woman. “You don’t have to stay, Ari.” His voice was so quiet that it was almost lost beneath the running water.
“I want to help.” He handed me another plate. Our fingers touched. Electric. Neither of us pulled away immediately. For one impossible second, everything stopped.
The water. The room. My heartbeat. Just the two of us suspended inside every conversation we’d never had, every feeling we’d never named, and every year we’d spent pretending none of it existed. Then he handed me the last plate. His thumb lingered against my palm for one heartbeat. Two. Three.
It was a small touch, but a devastating one.
“It doesn’t just wash off, Ari.” I looked up. His eyes were fixed on the murky dishwater swirling down the drain. “No matter how much soap you use...” His voice broke just slightly. “Some things just stay stained.”
