Chapter 1

Elias nudged the heavy steel door shut behind him with the heel of his sneaker, the latch echoing through the cavernous loft. Once a meat-packing factory, the building had long since traded conveyor belts and cold storage for polished concrete floors, exposed brick walls, and soaring factory windows that stretched nearly from floor to ceiling. The renovation had kept its industrial soul—aged steel beams crossed the ceiling overhead, old painted numbers still marked a few support columns, and the freight elevator across the hall remained as much a conversation piece as a convenience.

Late afternoon sunlight streamed through the enormous windows, turning the warm brick walls amber and filling the open living space with a soft golden glow. Outside, Boybroville buzzed with its usual energy. Even in January, the weather was comfortably mild enough for windows to stay cracked open. Music drifted between neighboring lofts, punctuated by laughter from the street below and the occasional rumble of a passing electric bus.

Boybroville had become the hottest neighborhood in Boyden almost overnight. Former warehouses and factories had transformed into stylish apartments and lofts, while sleek townhomes filled the empty lots between them. The area had developed a reputation as the place where young tradesmen, athletes, college grads, and creatives all seemed to land after getting their first decent paycheck. Crop tops, tiny athletic shorts, oversized hoodies tied around waists, and expensive sneakers were practically the unofficial uniform. It was the sort of place where nobody looked twice if a group of guys played basketball shirtless in January or carried groceries home in gym clothes.

Elias fit right in.

At twenty-three, he had the lean, athletic build of someone who genuinely enjoyed training rather than simply chasing aesthetics. His cropped vintage band T-shirt still clung slightly to his chest and shoulders from the workout he’d just finished, while his tiny running shorts revealed long, powerful legs that were still lightly flushed from the gym. A faint sheen of sweat lingered on his neck as he crossed the loft.

He dropped his gym bag beside the door with a muffled thud before setting two paper grocery sacks onto the oversized kitchen island. Fresh vegetables, chicken breasts, yogurt, protein shakes, coffee beans, and a loaf of sourdough peeked over the tops of the bags—his usual weekly haul.

For a moment, the loft was perfectly still.

Golden light floated through the dust motes hanging in the air. Somewhere across the alley, someone laughed loudly before turning their music up another notch. The smell of fresh coffee from the café downstairs drifted faintly through the cracked window.

Elias exhaled, enjoying the rare quiet after a long workout.

Then his phone, lying face-up on the island beside the groceries, vibrated sharply against the countertop.

The screen lit up.

Mom ❤️

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he even reached for it. She always seemed to know exactly when he’d get home. He wiped his hand absently on his shorts, picked up the phone, and accepted the call.

Elias smiled as he answered. “Hey, Mom.” “There’s my oldest boy.” A grin spread across his face as he wandered barefoot across the polished concrete floor of the loft. “Well, somebody sounds happy.” “I usually am when you answer on the first ring.” “I’ve been trained.” “You have.” He laughed quietly, setting his phone on speaker while he began unpacking groceries. His vintage Mötley Crüe crop top clung comfortably to his lean frame, the hem stopping well above his waist. Tiny leopard-print athletic shorts sat low on his hips, a style that looked outrageous almost anywhere else but fit perfectly in Boyden. A smudge of black eyeliner still framed his blue eyes from earlier, and his thick mass of teased dark hair—equal parts glam-metal frontman and modern street style—had settled into its usual gloriously messy shape after the gym. The look had started as a joke years ago. Their mom had raised both boys on old rock records—Bon Jovi, Def Leppard, Poison, Mötley Crüe, Skid Row, Whitesnake. Somewhere along the way, Elias and his younger brother had stopped listening ironically and genuinely embraced the whole aesthetic, mixing vintage ‘80s glam with Boyden’s modern athletic fashion. Around Boybroville, nobody thought twice about it anymore. “So,” his mother asked, “did I interrupt dinner?” “I literally walked in the door about thirty seconds ago.” “Gym first?” “You know me.” “I do.” He tucked cartons of eggs into the refrigerator. “How’d it go?” “Leg day.” “Oh...” “Yeah.” “I don’t know why anyone volunteers for that.” “So I can keep carrying all the heavy stuff whenever you need help.” “Oh, so that’s why.” “Exactly.” “I thought you just liked showing off.” “I can do two things.” She laughed, the familiar sound echoing warmly through the loft. “Still impossible.” “You raised me.” “I know. That’s the scary part.” He shook his head, smiling to himself. “So how are you doing?” he asked. “I’m good.” “Just good?” “Busy.” “When are you ever not busy?” “When you’re home to help me.” “I see how it is.” “You asked.” “I did.” She chuckled. “I actually got my hair cut.” He paused in front of the refrigerator. “You did?” “I know.” “You’ve been saying you were going to for...” “Months?” “I was thinking years.” “It wasn’t that long.” “It kind of was.” “It wasn’t.” “It absolutely was.” “You are so dramatic.” “I learned from the woman who still sings power ballads while vacuuming.” “I do not.” “You absolutely do.” “ ... Only if a good song comes on.” “There it is.” Another easy laugh passed between them. “So?” he asked. “How short?” “Oh, just a few inches.” “I was picturing a complete makeover.” “Heavens, no.” “I would’ve driven over just to witness history.” “It still looks like me.” “I’m sure it does.” “And everyone at work noticed.” “They probably thought they’d walked into the wrong office.” She laughed again. “You know, you’re lucky you’re cute.” “I’ve heard.” He reached into one of the grocery bags. “So ... what’s for dinner?” “Nice try.” “What?” “Changing the subject.” “I wasn’t.” “Were you planning to cook tonight?” “I bought groceries.” “Buying groceries and cooking them are two different accomplishments.” “I feel attacked.” “You should.” He began lining chicken, vegetables, yogurt, and fruit across the kitchen counter. “What’d you buy?” “The usual.” “‘The usual’ isn’t an answer.” “Chicken.” “Mhm.” “Rice.” “Good.” “Broccoli.” “Excellent.” “Peppers.” “Nice.” “Greek yogurt.” “I approve.” He hesitated. “ ... Frozen pizza.” “I knew we’d get there.” “It’s for emergencies.” “Elias.” “It was on sale.” “Mhm.” “And technically I bought fruit.” “What kind?” “Bananas.” “Anything else?” “ ... Apples.” “There we go.” “I passed?” “B-plus.” “I’ll take it.” “You would’ve gotten an A if there’d been spinach.” “I knew there was a catch.” The conversation drifted effortlessly after that. She asked whether the loft still got that beautiful afternoon sun through the old factory windows. He turned to look across the room, where golden light stretched over the exposed brick and polished floors. “It does,” he said. “The whole place kind of glows around this time.” “I always loved that.” “So do I.” She asked about the neighborhood. He mentioned another café opening around the corner and joked that Boybroville now had more coffee shops than parking spaces. She teased him about inevitably becoming a regular at all of them. They somehow ended up debating whether vinyl records really sounded better, laughing over the fact that she still owned half the albums he’d stolen from her collection years ago. She reminded him he still had her original Def Leppard record somewhere. “I was borrowing it.” “For six years?” “I’ve been very thorough.” She laughed so hard she had to catch her breath. The conversation meandered from music to the unusually warm January weather, to whether he was finally remembering to water the neglected plant sitting beside the factory windows, to the latest ridiculous fashion trend she’d seen downtown. It all felt easy. Comfortable. Natural. Yet as the minutes slipped by, Elias found himself glancing at the phone more than once. This was ... unusual. They talked often enough, but not like this. Not twenty minutes of wandering conversation with no destination. Every time there was a pause, his mom filled it with another harmless question, another funny observation, another memory. It wasn’t forced. If anything, it felt like she was trying very hard for it not to feel forced. Elias leaned against the kitchen island, folding his arms as the late afternoon sunlight painted the loft in shades of gold. His smile softened. His mother wasn’t calling just to catch up. She was working her way toward something. And whatever it was ... She hadn’t found the words yet.

The easy rhythm of the conversation finally slowed. A quiet settled between them. Elias reached into the refrigerator for a bottle of water, unscrewing the cap as he leaned against the kitchen island. His mother took a long breath. “ ... Elias?” He smiled faintly. “There it is.” “There what is?” “The reason you called.” A nervous little laugh escaped her. “I was wondering when you’d catch on.” “You’ve been dancing around something for half an hour.” “ ... Maybe.” His smile softened. “What’s going on?” She hesitated. “I met someone.” His eyebrows lifted. “Oh wonderful. Who is he?” “His name’s Todd.” “Okay...” Another pause. “We got married.” Elias froze, the water bottle halfway to his mouth. “ ... What?” “We got married.” He stared across the loft. “What!?! Mom ... I saw you at Christmas.” “I know.” “You were very single.” “I was.” “You’ve somehow gone from single to married in barely a month?” “ ... Yes.” He laughed once in complete disbelief. “Okay ... I need the full story.” She sighed. “I met him at the Lucky Ace Casino.” “The casino?” “Mhm.” “He was there because his trucking route had him passing through for one night.” “ ... Of course.” “We started talking.” “Uh-huh.” “One drink became two.” “I don’t like where this is going.” “Then there was dancing.” “Oh no.” “And then...” “You woke up married.” “ ... Yes.” Elias closed his eyes. “There was a chapel, wasn’t there?” “There was.” He couldn’t help laughing. “There is always a chapel.” “I know.” “Oh, Mom...” She laughed too, though hers carried equal parts embarrassment and amusement. “It sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.” “It sounds like the plot of a bad movie.” “I’ve realized that.” “So ... are you trying to get it annulled?” “No.” That answer surprised him. “No?” “No.” Her voice became quieter. “I know how crazy it sounds.” He stayed silent. “I haven’t exactly had the best luck with relationships.” “You don’t have to tell me.” “I’ve spent years doing everything the sensible way.” “I know.” “And then I met someone who made me laugh.” She paused. “Someone who was kind.” Another pause. “Someone who looked at me like I mattered.” Elias’s expression softened. “I know it started in the most ridiculous way imaginable.” “...” “But I’d like to see if it’s real.” “He lives where?” “Oregon.” He let out a slow breath. “So he’s already gone back?” “He had to. This wasn’t even his normal route.” “And you’re thinking about moving there.” “I am.” He nodded slowly. “I’ve thought about it every day since he left.” “And?” “I think ... if I don’t try, I’ll always wonder.” Elias understood that. He didn’t necessarily think it was a good idea. But he understood it. “So...” he asked quietly. “You’re selling the house.” “I was planning to.” “The one in Howler’s Hollow.” “Yes.” He looked around the loft as he thought. The little house wasn’t anything fancy. But it was paid off. It had memories in every room. And once it was gone ... It was gone. “Mom...” “Mhm?” “Don’t sell it.” She hesitated. “What?” “Rent it.” “I...” “If this works out, great.” She listened. “But if it doesn’t...” He chose his words carefully. “You don’t want to come back and realize you sold your home.” Silence. “You’d still have somewhere that’s yours.” “I hadn’t thought about it that way.” “I know landlords aren’t exactly your dream job.” She laughed softly. “They aren’t.” “But hiring a property manager is a lot easier than buying another house later.” Another long pause. “ ... That’s actually a really good point.” “You don’t have to burn the bridge.” “No.” “You can cross it.” She let out a slow breath. “I think ... I needed to hear that.” He smiled. “So don’t sell it.” “I’ll call my realtor tomorrow.” “And tell them you want to rent instead.” “ ... Okay.” For the first time since she’d broken the news, she sounded relieved. Then the relief faded. “There’s still one problem.” Elias already knew. “ ... Micah.” “He’s only just turned eighteen.” He nodded to himself. “He’s only halfway through senior year.” “I know.” “I hate asking him to leave everything behind.” “He’d have to.” She sighed. “If I move to Oregon, he’d have to come with me ... unless...” “Unless?” “Unless he stays here.” He frowned. “Well I have to ask, what about our Dad?” The question lingered for only a second. She answered gently. “Elias ... you can ask him, but you already know why that isn’t really an option.” He did. Their father had left when Micah was six. Over the years, he’d built an entirely different life—another marriage, another home, another family with two young sons. They weren’t estranged, exactly, but they weren’t close either. Dropping Micah into a house where he’d always feel like a visitor wasn’t the answer. The loft fell silent. “He’d still have to change schools.” “I know.” “He can’t make the drive from Wolferton to Boyden every day.” “No.” “So it’d be South Boyden High.” “Yes.” She was quiet for a moment before adding, “He doesn’t want to go.” Elias looked out the towering factory windows. “He told me he doesn’t want to move across the country.” Another pause. “He says his whole life is here.” “A life he has to leave either way.” “I get that. But...” “But what?” “Well...” She laughed softly to herself. “He admitted the biggest reason for staying.” “Mom this is torture. What?” “He doesn’t want to leave his big brother.” Elias couldn’t help smiling. “He still hero-worships you.” “Oh, come on.” “I’m serious.” “He’s eighteen.” “And he still thinks you’re the coolest person on earth.” He chuckled, shaking his head. “He hasn’t seen me before coffee.” “He doesn’t care.” She smiled through the phone. “He talks about you all the time.” Elias felt a knot tighten in his chest. Micah had always tagged along behind him growing up. If Elias picked up a guitar, Micah wanted one. If Elias started lifting weights, Micah begged for his own dumbbells. When Elias discovered old glam-metal bands in their mom’s record collection, it wasn’t long before Micah was teasing his hair and borrowing vintage band shirts too. The kid had spent years trying to be just like him. And now ... He was about to lose his home. His friends. His school. Everything familiar. Unless ... Elias slowly looked around his loft. It wasn’t a traditional apartment. The old factory floor was one enormous open room with soaring ceilings and towering windows. He’d divided the space with furniture, tall shelving, and careful layout into a comfortable living area, an open kitchen, a small workspace, and a queen-sized sleeping area that felt surprisingly private despite having no actual walls. It wasn’t built for two people. But ... He could make it work. He already knew. “Send him.” Silence. “Send him here. That is why you called me mom.” “ ... Elias. That’s not ... I mean...” “I’ve got enough room.” “I don’t want you turning your life upside down because of my decisions.” He shook his head. “I’ll move some furniture.” She gave a watery laugh. “I’m serious.” “So am I.” It wouldn’t be perfect. It wouldn’t be spacious. But it would be home. “I know he’ll have to transfer to South Boyden,” Elias said. “That part’s going to suck.” “It will. But he’ll be with someone who loves him.” Her breathing caught. “I’ll help him get settled. I’ll make sure he gets to school. I’ll make sure he eats something besides cereal. We’ll figure the rest out as we go.” Another long silence. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with emotion. “I knew you’d say yes.” Elias smiled. “Of course. He’s my little brother.” He looked around the loft one more time, no longer seeing it as his apartment. From this moment on ... It was theirs. “Tell him to start packing,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of him.”