ONE
Austin
The relentless banging on my front door is like a bad drum solo—one that makes you want to bash your head against a wall. It’s not like it’s been going on for hours, but it’s hit that sweet spot where my patience is officially on vacation. Long enough that I’m considering a dramatic dive through the window to escape it, but short enough that I know it’s not a random delivery guy. This isn’t a “Here’s your Amazon package” knock. Not out here in the middle of nowhere.
No, this knock screams “family.” Specifically, one annoyingly persistent brother who’s like a dog with a bone.
“Hey!”
The voice floats through the house, and I freeze. There’s no one here, right? Except… it sounds exactly like Levi. My brother. But I definitely didn’t let him in, and I know he doesn’t have a key.
I inch toward the foyer, eyes narrowing at the mail slot in the door. The metal lip jiggles, then lifts like it’s possessed by a very determined ghost.
“Austin! Yo, Austin!” Levi’s voice booms through the slot. “Austin Porter!”
Why anyone thought a mail slot in a door was necessary on a farm in the middle of nowhere is beyond me. We’ve got a mailbox. But Grandma insisted on one, probably just to confuse the mailman.
With an eye roll that could power a wind turbine, I yank the door open. The look on Levi’s face is worth every second of my irritation. He’s hunched over like a gargoyle, hand cupped around his mouth, ready to unleash another shout through the slot.
“What do you want?” I snap, shoving a hand through my hair. Levi, of all people, should know that when I say I want to be left alone, I mean it. And I literally told him that last night on the phone.
Levi scrambles to his feet, grabbing at a brown paper bag and a beverage container on the porch. “I’ve got croissants and coffee for us. Can I come in?”
I don’t bother to respond; he won’t listen if I say no. Instead, I simply walk away from the door, leaving it open to his interpretation, and head back into the living room where I drop into my old recliner.
A large bay window dominates one side of the room, offering a breathtaking view of a picturesque pond. The water shimmers in the light, reflecting the greenery of the surrounding landscape. Just beyond the pond is a neat boxwood hedge, and on the other side, a neighboring house stands with a moving truck parked out front—a truck that’s been there for at least a day, hinting at the recent arrival.
“Your new neighbor is moving in today,” Levi says as he puts the coffee on a table beside me and hands me a croissant. His eyes dance across the tabletop, taking in a set of binoculars I left parked there. “Obviously, you saw, too. Are you going to walk over and say hello or stare at them through your weirdo goggles like a homicidal maniac?”
When I cut my eyes his way, he watches me with an expression on his face that reminds me of one of our mother’s cherub statues. Levi the angel.
“You know…” I sigh, holding the mug to my lips. “I wasn’t asked by the welcoming committee to go by, so…”
“Like there’s a welcoming committee that would have you as a member.” Levi chuckles, his eyes rocking to the television that’s powered off for once. He nods toward it. “If I pull up YouTube, what’s your search history going to look like?”
Gripping my cardboard takeaway coffee cup, I take a deep breath in and focus on not crushing it before I slowly let the air out, counting to eight. Bless therapy, I’ve actually come a long way since my accident.
I stare at Levi pointedly. “I don’t need you policing what I choose to watch.”
“When you’re rewatching the moment you were injured on the field, yes,” he says with a shrug. “Yes, you do.”
“Did you come over to chastise me this morning?” I try to keep the sarcasm out of my voice, but it seeps from my pores.
Levi studies me with a furrowed brow. “I’m worried about you. You spend a lot of time out here, watching football, alone. You know that makes you seem a little cuckoo, right?”
“If by cuckoo you mean invested in my healing process, then okay.” I tip my coffee cup in the air, toasting Levi. “Here’s to me being the cuckooiest of all the cuckoo birds there are.”
Do I want to admit that I sometimes sit here and question if I’ll ever go back to the NFL? That I replay the moment I went down on the field, in my mind, day and night like watching and rewatching a trending video again and again on TikTok?
No. I don’t.
“Cuckooiest,” Levi repeats. “That’s not a word. And you know I’m right. You hardly leave this place, if ever.”
“I get social company from Amy.”
“Your housekeeper?” Levi cocks his head to the side. “You told me she was always hitting on you. When she started, your underwear went missing. I thought you were getting rid of her?”
“Like I’m going to take the time to find a new one?” I snap back. So the maid keeps hitting on me and I find it highly uncomfortable and inappropriate. As a semi-reclusive soul, I’m not in the position to pick and choose my helpers at the moment. “And, I do leave the house. I do things like run errands and go to therapy.”
