He’s my stepbrother. He’s a Voss. And the man who should still be in prison just started sending letters.
Cole Maddox plays three moves ahead. On the ice, he’s the forward with the perfect grin.
In our house, he became my stepbrother and never stopped watching me like I was the one thing he wasn’t supposed to want. Dante Voss doesn’t perform.
The jersey says 88; everyone on campus knows what the last name means. He’s quiet, lethal, and patient with everything except me. I built my life on distance. Editor-in-chief.
A future at a real paper. One rule: never become the story. Then the letters start. Polite. Handwritten. Signed by the man my mother and I ran from. I drew one line between the three of us.
Then Cole touches me like rules are temporary. And Dante looks at me like patience has limits. He calls himself my father. He signs every letter like he’s coming home.
And the two men who’d burn the world for me don’t know how close he already is.
