Page 3 of When Love Comes Home

"Katherine," my father’s familiar voice greets me, warm and comforting as always. "I’ve got some news."

His tone sparks my curiosity. "What kind of news?" I ask, leaning forward on the porch swing and cradling the phone closer to my ear.

"It's about Adam."

My smile falters, and my grip on the phone tightens. Adam Morgan. My pulse quickens.

"What about him?" I say evenly, though my tone carries a sharp edge.

There’s a brief pause on the other end of the line, as if my father’s carefully choosing his words.

He clears his throat, that subtle tell he always has when he’s about to deliver a message I don’t want to hear. "He’s back in Cold Spring."

The words hang in the air. My chest tightens, and I sit back against the swing, staring blankly at the trees swaying gently in the breeze.

"Adam," I say, the name tasting sour in my mouth.Adam.My father's favorite.Adam.The son my father never had.

"Yes," Dad confirms, his tone betraying nothing, though I know he's waiting for my reaction. "He’s been back in town for a few days."

"And you’re telling me this because...?" I ask, my voice sharper than I intend, but I can’t help it. The very mention of his name still gets under my skin.

There’s a brief silence on the other end, like Dad’s weighing whether or not to continue down this path.

"I thought his life was in Cortland," I say. The idea of Adam leaving his life there after all these years to return here feels like a personal slight. It’s as if he’s come back to invade my space once again.

My father takes a moment to respond. "Cold Spring is his home, Katherine. Let's not forget that. He's coming home."

Fury bubbles up inside me, and before I can stop myself, the anger spills out in sharp words. "Dad, you know how I feel about him. He was always your favorite child. And don’t bother denying it. He was the son you never had. Why is he back? And more importantly, what does it have to do with me?"

There's a pregnant pause on the other end, and I can almost hear my father sigh. "Katherine, I’ve never understood your insistence that somehow I love Adam more than I love you. It’s simply not true. You are my daughter, my princess, my little girl.”

But not a son, I want to say.

“But you have to understand,” he continues, “Adam is like family. I’m not going to belabor the same point again.”

"Okay, so he's back in town," I say, choosing to get to the point. "As long as he stays in his lane, there's no reason we should have any issues."

"Sweetheart," Dad says, and the way he says the word immediately gives me pause. "Adam needs a place to stay, so I've suggested that he stay with you."

I must have heard him wrong. Misunderstood. "Pardon me?" I murmur, my eyes growing wide as shock and disbelief set in. "You've what?"

He continues without taking a breath. "He's going to need a place to stay, and you have an extra room. I know it's sudden, but I know you'll understand."

The only thing I understand is the volcanic fury rising inside me, but I don’t want to lose my cool. Dad is supportive, caring, and a wonderful father—but he’s my father, not Adam’s. I need a moment to collect myself. I take a deep breath, trying to calm down as I clasp my phone tighter.

My next words come out short, strained, and full of emotion. "Dad, why can't he stay with you and Mom, since you guys love him so much?"

My father's voice softens. "Katherine, you're both adults. I need you to be mature about this, find a way to get along, and work things out."

“Dad," I snap, consciously choosing to let my anger take over. "Adam was in our home all day, every day for four long years. I was a child, and I didn’t have a say in the matter. Now that I’m an adult, I wish you would treat me like an individual with free will—the ability to choosewho lives with me.” I put emphasis on the last four words. I hang up the phone without letting him respond.

What the hell just happened? The rage I feel is palpable. My heart pounds against my chest so hard it feels like it could explode. The mere mention of his name has me riled up. The idea of sharing my house with him makes me want to vomit. Why is he back after all these years? I can't live with him—the mere idea is absurd!

I stare at the phone still clenched in my hand. I can’t believe I just hung up on my father, but I’m furious. Five minutes ago, I was preparing to sit on my swing, surf the internet, and enjoy my now-cold cup of coffee. I was completely oblivious to what had been conspired against me behind my back. My own father and his golden child—not my brother, my enemy.

I have to come up with a plan of attack in one hand and an apology in the other. I’ll start with the apology. I pick up the phone and dial.

"I accept your apology, Princess," Dad says after picking up on the first ring. I feel chastised.

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