I'm frustrated with myself for not piecing it together sooner. Of course, this stunning, vibrant girl standing here is Dean’s sister. Now that my defenses have lowered, the resemblance is clear as day—Summer sports the same golden blond hair and those striking, vivid green eyes that Dean has. Sure, she’s shorter than him, but at least five foot nine, she's definitely taller than I am. “What brings you here?” Dean’s tone carries an edge as he directs the question at his sister, who stands undeterred. “I told you I was coming to visit, remember?” Summer replies, a bright smile illuminating her features. “No, you told me you wanted to visit.” Dean huffs with mild exasperation. “You can’t just drop in unannounced, Summer. What if I wasn't home?” “But you are home!” she beams, the infectious optimism in her voice filling the air like sunshine. “And now I’m here. See? The universe knows how to get things right.” Dean raises an eyebrow, irritation brewing beneath the surface. “And did the universe happen to mention that I have an away game tomorrow? That the bus leaves at eight in the morning? And that I won’t be back until midnight?” As disappointment flickers across Summer's face, she mutters a solemn “Fuck.” A moment of silence passes before her expression lights up again. “That’s fine! It just means we need to do all our catching up tonight. Where should I put my bag?” I stifle a laugh, a sudden realization flooding my thoughts—there seems to be nothing on this earth that can dampen Summer Di Laurentis’ spirits. She strikes me as someone who likely drifts off to sleep wearing a smile, her heart brimming with joy. Dean’s voice is a strained whisper, as if he sees his sister’s surprise visit as an unwelcome disruption. “I kind of had plans tonight, boogers.” “Boogers?” I can’t help but chuckle. “Plans change,” Summer retorts nonchalantly. “And your plans now include me.” Her vibrant gaze shifts toward me. “You’re cool with me hanging out with you and Dicky tonight, right, girlfriend?” A laugh bursts from me, more like a joyful howl, as I realize how absurd it is that she calls him Dicky. “I don’t mind at all,” I assure her, then meet Dean’s irritated glare and add, “Care to explain the nickname, or should I craft my own backstory for it?” Summer grins at me, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Honestly, it’s one of my duller stories. When I was little, I couldn’t say his name properly. Our older brother Nick became Nicky, and I just swapped the first letter around, and boom—Dicky.” She winks, a conspiratorial glint in her gaze. “He hates it.” Who could blame him? I can easily picture a playful spirit like Summer deriving too much joy from teasing her older brother with such a goofy nickname. “So what’s the plan for tonight?” Summer asks eagerly, her long blond hair cascading over her shoulder as she does a little spin. Sweet heavens. She’s brimming with too much energy! “Is there a club nearby? A bar? I’ve got my fake ID with me, so—” “No way,” Dean interjects firmly. “You’d better hand it over because I won’t be assisting in any illegal activities.” Summer scoffs playfully. “Oh, come off it. You were drinking when you were thirteen.” “I was quite mature for my age,” he retorts, crossing his arms. “Clearly not mature now,” she shoots back playfully. “At least I didn’t get kicked out of Brown for setting togas on fire!” “I didn’t get kicked out of Brown, and I didn’t set anything on fire!” “How would I know? Nobody in the family is willing to spill the beans on what got you kicked out.” “I DIDN’T GET KICKED OUT!” My head spins with the rapid-fire exchange between the siblings. Is this what all siblings do? If so, I feel fortunate to be an only child because this endless bickering seems exhausting. “And maybe if you can stop yelling at me for a minute,” Summer grumbles, “we might be able to settle down like adults and I’ll explain why I’m on probation.” She waves a manicured hand dismissively. “But let’s save that for later. I’m ready to party! You think one of the frats is throwing a bash tonight? Oh, wait, of course they are! It’s the only way those desperate guys get laid, right?” I can't help but choke back laughter at her enthusiasm. Dean stands rigid, clearly on edge, fists clenched at his sides as if he’s grappling with the urge to throttle his younger sister. “We’re NOT going to a party tonight. I already told you, I have to be up early to catch the bus. So, we’ll be staying in. A lovely, quiet night in,” he insists decisively. Ironically, his words hang in the air just as the front door swings open, welcoming four hockey players into the house. Well, three players and one unfamiliar face, because while I recognize Logan, Fitzy, and Hollis, the fourth guy, with his dark spiky hair, seems too small to be a hockey player. “Hey.” Logan greets us with a casual nod while shrugging off his jacket. The hallway suddenly feels cramped with so many bodies, and I find myself pressed against the wall as the guys filter inside. “This is my sister,” Dean says, his resigned tone barely containing a hint of amusement that makes me want to smile. The guys nod and mumble hellos but appear in a hurry to reach the living room. Logan glances back at us over his shoulder. “Morris got his hands on a demo version of the latest Mob Boss. It hasn’t even hit the market yet. We’ll likely be up late.” Summer, standing beside me, almost vibrates with excitement. “Don’t stay out too late!” Dean reminds his roommate, who’s already slipping away into the living room. “The bus leaves at eight tomorrow.” Logan shrugs dismissively. “I can sleep on the way.” Now practically buzzing with anticipation, Summer sidles closer to me and whispers, “Who was that?” I furrow my brow. “You mean Logan? He lives here. But don’t get any ideas. He has a girlfriend.” “No, not him.” She waves her hand dismissively. “The big guy with the tattoos. I didn’t catch his name.” “Ah, that would be Fitzy. Colin Fitzgerald,” I clarify. “One of your brother’s teammates.” Summer’s eyes glint with mischief, flipping her hair dramatically. “I want him.” “Summer!” Dean exclaims in exasperation, while I try my hardest to suppress my laughter. “What? I’m being honest,” she replies, her large eyes innocent. “Be honest or be a jerk—that’s what you taught me when I was twelve, remember? After I ‘borrowed’ your favorite shirt and then accidentally dropped it in the sewer?” “How do you accidentally drop a shirt in the sewer?” I blurt out, completely flabbergasted. “I wasn’t wearing it! It slipped out of my backpack,” she smirks at Dean. “And then I lied about it, and you lectured me about honesty, remember? Congrats, Dicky. I’m super-duper honest now.” She points toward the living room doorway. “That was the hottest piece of man meat I have ever seen. And I want him.” “Someday, I’m going to murder you in your sleep,” Dean tells his sister, his voice a low growl, full of affection and frustration. “I swear to God.” Her smile is a beacon of sweetness. “Aw, Dicky, you would never, ever do that. Wanna know why?” “Why?” he grumbles. “Because you love me.” And honestly? I think I might love her too. *Dean* The prospect of returning home fills me with dread. I’ll only be gone for sixteen hours, yet Summer Heyward-Di Laurentis possesses the uncanny ability to wreak havoc in mere minutes. When she was thirteen, Nick and I had her alone for just twenty minutes tops. When we reentered the living room, the liquor cabinet lay in shambles, broken glass sprinkled across the floor like confetti, and Summer stood there grinning at us, saying, “Oops.” She had just wanted a taste of what all the fuss was about, conveniently obliterating thousands of dollars' worth of alcohol in the process. Sure, she’s twenty now. But do I trust her? Not in the slightest. I simply pray that Allie can keep her in check. And yes, I’ve roped my girlfriend into babysitting my sister for the day because there was no way I was letting Summer loose on campus without a responsible adult. During the five-hour bus ride to Scranton, Allie updates me constantly with snippets from their day, along with colorful commentary on how amazing my sister is, and cringing every time Summer spills embarrassing childhood stories about me. Having breakfast at the diner? OMG—your first word was ‘booby’? Why does this not surprise me?? Taking S to the salon? She wants a mani. You’re scared of tattoo needles?? S just told me you almost got a tat when you were 18 but had to bail because you freaked out. Bwahahahahaha. I genuinely detest my sister. My phone remains in the visiting team’s locker room during the game, and not even O’Shea’s cold glares or snide comments can ruin my day, because by the time we skate off the ice after the third period, we’ve secured a hard-fought win. A sense of good cheer accompanies me as I step off the ice and board the bus, greeting the new batch of messages waiting for me. Driving to Boston for lunch. S wants to shop. Awesome lunch. Heading home now. Oh! It’s snowing! S and I are taking a walk. Home. Just chilling and talking like girls. Tell Tuck his tomato soup is the best! Saw on Twitter you won the game! FUCK YEAH! Starting a movie marathon. Phone’s going on silent. See you when you’re back. The last message arrived just after eight. Good. I hope that means Allie and Summer are cozied up under a blanket in the living room enjoying a movie, not out causing chaos. And wouldn’t you know it, Allie was right—it’s snowing. As the bus crosses into Massachusetts, white flakes flutter outside my window, and I smile, embracing the joy of winter and how it drapes the world in a blanket of white. By the time we pull into our arena just before midnight, I ride home in the BMW with Tucker, while Garrett and Logan head to the dorms to spend the night with their girlfriends. Ten minutes later, I pull into our driveway. Not a single light flickers in any of the windows, yet I catch glimpses of movement beyond the curtains—flashes from the flickering television illuminating the shadows. The front hall is drenched in darkness when we step inside. I stride ahead of Tucker, tossing my shoes aside as I reach for the light switch. But before I can flip it on, a bloodcurdling scream slices through the silence, stopping me in my tracks. Before I comprehend what’s happening, an overwhelming deluge of lukewarm liquid showers over me like a tidal wave. Another scream shatters the night, and as I’m still reeling from the warm downpour, something hard collides with the side of my head. Crack. A searing pain blossoms in my temple before I crash to the floor, feeling like a sack of potatoes.