Chapter 7

New Home

Today's the day. Moving day.

I'm standing in what used to be our apartment, looking at boxes everywhere and trying not to panic. Mom's been running around all morning, nervous energy making her talk nonstop about how excited she is.

"This is going to be so wonderful, Bryson," she says for the tenth time, taping up another box. "A fresh start for both of us."

I nod and smile because that's what she needs. But honestly? I've been dreading this day since the engagement.

It's not that I don't want Mom to be happy. She deserves this after everything she's been through. It's just that living with strangers feels impossible when I'm still trying to figure out where I fit anywhere.

The Hayes mansion is exactly what you'd expect from a rich family. Huge, perfect, the kind of place you see in magazines. When we pull up with the moving truck, I feel like I'm about to move into a museum.

Richard Hayes is waiting for us at the front door. He's tall and distinguished, wearing clothes that probably cost more than our old rent. But he seems nice enough in that polite, distant way rich people have.

"Welcome home," he says, helping Mom out of the car. 

Home. Right.

"Bryson," he says, shaking my hand. "I'm so glad you're here. I hope you'll be comfortable."

"Thank you, sir," I say, because Mom taught me manners.

He's trying, I can tell. During the tour of the house, he makes an effort to include me in conversations even though we have absolutely nothing in common. When he shows me the library, he mentions that I'm welcome to use it anytime. When we pass the home gym, he says I can work out there whenever I want.

He's being nice. It's just weird.

Mom is practically glowing as she shows me around. "Look at this kitchen, Bryson! And the living room! Can you believe this is our home now?"

Our home. I keep trying to make that feel real, but everything here is so fancy it makes me uncomfortable. The furniture probably costs more than Mom made in a year at her old job.

"And wait until you meet Richard's son," Mom says as we walk upstairs. "Julian. He plays hockey too! Richard says he's the team captain at Blackridge."

My stomach drops. "The team captain?"

"Yes! Isn't that exciting? You two have so much in common. I bet you'll be best friends."

I force a smile and nod, but inside I'm freaking out. There's only one team captain on Blackridge's hockey team. Only one Julian.

But that's impossible. Hayes is a common name. There's no way… But the name Julian…

"He's been at a friend's house all weekend," Mom continues, "but he should be home soon. I can't wait for you two to meet."

The rest of the afternoon is a blur of unpacking and trying to act grateful. My new room is bigger than our entire old apartment, with its own bathroom and a view of the backyard that looks like a park.

It's perfect. It's also completely overwhelming.

Mom keeps talking about family dinners and traditions and how we're all going to be so close. Richard nods along, clearly happy to see her excited.

I just keep thinking about hockey practice tomorrow and whether the team captain is going to be who I think he is.

Around six o'clock, we're in the kitchen when we hear voices from the front hall.

"That must be Julian!" Mom says, her face lighting up. "Oh, this is perfect timing."

My mouth goes dry.

"Bryson, come on," she says, grabbing my arm. "Come meet your new stepbrother."

She drags me toward the front hall, practically bouncing with excitement. I can hear male voices talking, Richard saying something about dinner plans.

"This is going to be so wonderful," Mom whispers. "You two are going to get along so well."

We round the corner into the foyer, and I see Richard standing by the front door, talking to someone I can't see yet.

"Julian," Richard says, "I want you to meet—"

The person turns around.

It's him.

Julian Hayes. Hockey bag slung over his shoulder, car keys in his hand, that familiar confident expression on his face.

The same Julian Hayes who's been making my life hell for weeks.

The same Julian Hayes who humiliated me in the dining hall.

The same Julian Hayes who's been my biggest rival on the hockey team.

My new stepbrother.

For a second, everything stops. Julian's expression freezes when he sees me, his mouth actually falling open. I probably look just as shocked.

Neither of us says anything.

"Bryson," Mom says, oblivious to the tension, "this is Julian, Richard's son. Julian, this is my son Bryson."

Julian's eyes are wide, and I can see him going through the same realization I am. All those times we fought, all that animosity, and now we're supposed to be family.

"You..." Julian starts, then stops.

"Hi," I manage to say.

The silence stretches out way too long. Our parents are looking between us, waiting for some kind of normal reaction.

"Aren't you two going to shake hands?" Richard asks, laughing. "Don't be shy."

Julian looks like he might throw up. I probably look the same.

"We, uh..." Julian clears his throat. "We know each other. From school."

"Oh, that's wonderful!" Mom claps her hands together. "You're already friends!"

Friends. Right.

"Something like that," I say weakly.

Julian's still staring at me like I'm some kind of hallucination. His face has gone pale, and I can see him trying to process this.

"This is perfect," Richard says. "You boys can show each other around, help each other settle in. It'll be like having a built-in best friend."

Best friend. The guy who's been my biggest enemy for weeks.

"I need to..." Julian says, then stops. "I have homework. I should go do that."

He practically runs up the stairs, leaving the three of us standing in the foyer.

"He's probably just tired," Richard says, but he looks confused. "Long day."

"Of course," Mom agrees. "You boys will have plenty of time to get to know each other better."

I nod and smile, but inside I'm completely freaking out.

This changes everything.

Julian Hayes isn't just the guy who's been making my life miserable. He's not just my rival on the hockey team.

He's my stepbrother.

And we're going to be living in the same house.

Shit.