Page 4 of Campus Fake
Sammy. The nickname hit me right in the chest. He used to call me that when we were kids, before everything went wrong.
“I miss you,” Jordan said simply. “We all do. And I know things are complicated. But I’m not leaving Montana without you. So you can either get on that plane with me tomorrow, or I can camp out on your porch until you change your mind.” He glanced at the worn welcome mat beneath his feet. “Fair warning, I’m not above guilt-tripping you with how cold it is out here.”
Despite everything, a surprised laugh escaped me. “You’re such an asshole.”
“I learned from the best.” His smile widened, and for a second—just a second—it felt like no time had passed at all. Like we were still the Lowe kids, giving each other shit the way siblings do.
Then reality came crashing back.
Going home meant facing everything I’d spent five years running from. The memories. The guilt. The looks on my parents’ faces that I couldn’t bear to see.
“Jordan, I can’t—”
“You can,” he said. “You just don’t want to. And I get it, okay? I do. But you can’t keep avoiding us forever.”
“It’s worked out so far,” I muttered.
“Sammy.”
“Don’t ‘Sammy’ me.”
“Then don’t make me be the annoying older brother who drags you home kicking and screaming.” He raised an eyebrow. “Because I will. You know I will.”
He would. That was the problem. Jordan had always been stubborn as hell, and apparently five years apart hadn’t changed that.
“Maybe we could continue this inside?” Harry’s voice cut through the tension, low and calm. “It’s cold.”
I’d almost forgotten he was there—which was insane, because Harry wasn’t the kind of person you forgot about. But I’d been so focused on Jordan that everything else had faded to background noise.
Jordan glanced at Harry, then back at me, a question forming in his eyes.
“Yeah,” I said, stepping aside. “Come in, I guess.”
Jordan moved past me into the house, and I watched him take it all in—the mismatched furniture, the hockey gear by the door, the chaos that had become my home. He looked so out of place here, and yet…
He was trying. That was the part that made this so hard. He was here, asking me to come home, and I didn’t know how to handle that.
Everyone was very obviously watching and eavesdropping, and I didn’t bother to hide my eye roll.
“Jordan, this is everyone. Everyone, this is my brother Jordan.”
He gave a little wave.
“You want us to set you a plate? We have plenty of food,” Abby offered.
But I spoke before he could. “He’s not staying.”
When my gaze met his again, my stomach knotted at the hurt in his eyes. All I seemed to do was hurt my family.
But then just as quickly, determination filled his gaze. “I wasn’t playing around. I’m not leaving here without you. I’ve already bought us plane tickets for a 2 p.m. flight out of Missoula tomorrow.”
“Jordan—”
“Sam, please. Two weeks. That’s all I’m asking. Come home, see Mom, Dad, and Eric, and if you still want nothing to do with us after that, I’ll back off. I promise.”
I wanted to say no. Every instinct I had was screaming at me to make an excuse, find an out, do anything but get on that plane.
But Jordan was looking at me with those eyes—the same blue eyes we’d both inherited from Dad—and I could see how much this was costing him. How much I had cost him, with all my running and hiding and pretending I could ever escape the pain I’d caused.
