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I showered then got dressed quickly, knowing I didn’t have long until my father called me down to kowtow to the new mistress of the house.

Anger simmered in my blood at the sheer performance of the entire charade. My father would pretend not to be trapped by a gold digger, while the new wife would pretend to love him for his shitty personality, and I’d pretend not to hate them both.

Happy families.

Still, it wasn’t like the Sinclairs had ever been a happy family, so it made sense after all. My father was in the kitchen.

Arthur, his lifelong assistant, was making him his coffee just the way he liked it.

The new wife stood at his shoulder, watching.

“I told you, Marjory. There’s no need to make it yourself. Arthur knows how I like things,” my father called out, not turning away from the news playing on the huge flat-screen TV in the enormous kitchen-cum-living space. One of three in this unnecessarily massive house.

Cal lingered by the doors to the garden, his face unreadable.

“Ah, Brody, there you are. Come and say hello to Marjory. As of today, we’ll all be moving into this place and living like a family.”

Like a family.My father had no idea how funny he was.

I caught Cal’s eye and hid a smile at his expression. I never had to tell my brother how I felt; he always knew. That was twins for you, or maybe just siblings in general.

“Brody, it’s such a pleasure to see you again.” Marjory abandoned the coffee machine tutorial and closed in on me.

She was beautiful, I’d give my father that, and his age, which also earned him bonus points. The only thing worse than getting a new stepmom at the age of twenty-one would be if she were the same age as me.

I held my hand out to her, trying to put a barrier between us, but she gave me an awkward, one-sided hug. She was expensively dressed and made up. Someone used to money, though according to Arthur, she didn’t have any. Apparently, her late husband used to, before he kicked the bucket and left his wife broke and on a mission to secure another rich husband.

And my father had fallen for it. Led around by the cock, at his age. What an embarrassment.

“Callahan.” Marjory turned to my brother, who just watched her approach with a dark glare.

“He goes by Cal,” I told her.

“Cal,” she repeated, getting close enough to pat him awkwardly on the shoulder.

Cal’s energy didn’t exactly give off hug-me vibes.

Then the doorbell rang, and Marjory let out a small yelp, cutting the tension rising in my chest.

“Oh! She’s here. Now, we’ll really be complete, all under one roof.” She fluttered around the videophone at the doorway and pressed things.

“Here, press this.” I jabbed the right combination of buttons to allow the guest in.

A figure stood at the outside gate. It was impossible to make out their face, as they were swathed in an enormous hoodie with the hood up. Still, Marjory seemed confident she knew who it was.

The gate buzzed, and the girl came inside. It had to be a girl from the way she walked, despite her oversized outfit. Something about that outfit tugged at my mind, but then my father was talking and distracted me.

“Well, only if the team is winning. To play on a losing team just isn’t the Sinclair way.”

“What?”

My father turned from Cal to me. “You brother was just talking about the Hellions team. You can both participate, as long as it’s not an embarrassment to the family name, and as long as it doesn’t take up too much of your time. Hobbies are a luxury men like us seldom have time for.”

The thought of hockey being ripped away from me had me clenching my fists. A strange kind of anger filled me, and I watched Marjory and shoved it down, deep inside, where I stuffed the rest of my unacceptable emotions. Yes, hockey was my release. It was the way I handled my feelings. Losing it would hurt like hell.

“They’ll win,” I told my father decisively. “Once Cal and I are on the team, we’ll make sure of it.”

“We’ll see. Now, put on a happy face and greet your new sister,” my father said.