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The short-haired brunette greets me the second I step through the door.

“Morning. I’ll take a water, sure.” I give a meek nod.

I extend my hand and accept a glass bottle of water from the younger woman, her smile wider than I thought possible—a little much for five in the morning, if you ask me.

“Thanks.”

I don’t often sleep after a red eye. I push through, drink a shit-ton of coffee, and pass out the following evening. Fucking up my sleep schedule just for one day of uninterrupted slumber isn’t worth the risk.

Beyond the large front desk, I run my fingers over the veiny marble wall that leads to the locker rooms. Fuck, this place is nice. I should come here more often.

Checking my phone one last time, the screen reads five forty-five. My thoughts drift to where they’ve lived for the last two years. With a quick shuffle, I search for Fia’s number but grimace when I come up empty and settle for her social media.

I’m not embarrassed to say I have Fia’s social media profile memorized. It’s no challenge, since she hardly ever posts. Aside from a few dance pictures that are newer, I know every picture on her profile. Every time I look, it feels like my first time seeing her.

Pulling my gaze from the small screen, I stow my bag and keys into a locker and head for the cardio room.

Between the remembrance of her still pulsing through my veins, and the impending can of worms I’m about to open, I forgo the pre-workout drink I usually pair with my post red eye run. As I set my pace to a light jog, I pull out my phone once more. When I’ve found his contact, I dial my brother.

If anyone’s awake at this hour, it’s him.

“Morning, Jett,” he answers after only two rings.

“Great morning, big bro. How’s Florida treating you?”

I love annoying his natural broodiness.

“Same as always. What do you need?”

Royce and I are like oil and water—the youngest and the oldest. As kids, he was always like my second father. With almost a ten-year age gap, Royce took the inevitable bullet for all us boys. So much so, it became his entire personality.

“Can’t a guy just call his big brother to chat?”

My nerves trickle up my legs as I reach down to increase the speed on the treadmill. When I met Fia two years ago, my life didn’t just change overnight. But every time I tried to go on with life, continuing with the same habits I’d always had when I couldn’t get her off my mind felt wrong.

I peeled away from the nightlife scene with ease. Went from four or five nights a week, to three, then two, and eventually none. But what I sat with in the silence was the hardest. Deciding whether I really wanted to address the uncertainty about my adoption was the one thing that remained pending.

It wasn’t until I saw her frozen stare moments after I entered that plane a few days ago that I knew.

If I want to really embrace this change, if I really want her, the time is now.

Royce has connections none of us understand, and for our sake, we don’t try to. If anyone can help me get the answers I’m looking for, it’s him.

“You know I don’t just chat. Out with it, Jett?” His voice is always so certain in his conviction.

“I…” I pause, zoning out. The only sound is the steady beat of the treadmill beneath my feet. With a deep inhale, I force myself out of it.

“I need you to look into something for me.”

“Okay, a girl?”

I know Royce won’t judge me, but it’s still hard to tell your brother, who basically raised you, that after thirty-one years, it’s finally time you know where you came from.

Part of me worries that he’ll be, I don’t know…mad.

“Not a girl...”

“The only puzzles I like are ones that involve calculating how many different ways I can get a woman off, kid. Get on with it. I have a busy day.”