I never thought I’d be back in Ohio this Christmas. Not willingly, anyway.My name’s Leslie. I’m twenty at NYU, crashing in a noisy hostel in the city. The last place I wanted to be was the quiet house in my boring hometown where my mom had just married some guy I barely knew. But when the phone rang at six in the morning and a calm male voice told me she’d had a “minor stroke” and I needed to come home, I threw my clothes into a bag and caught the first train out. My stomach was knotted the whole ride.When I finally dragged my suitcase up the front steps and knocked, the door swung open fast.He filled the doorway. Tall, broad-shouldered, maybe twenty-three or twenty-four, with messy dark hair and sharp green eyes that locked on mine like he already knew me. A plain black t-shirt stretched across his chest, and tattoos peeked from under the sleeves,nothing fancy, just real ink on real skin.“You must be Leslie,” he said, voice low and a little rough. “I’m Robb. Come on in.”Step-bro
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