The Walter Ranch was already loud before Cole even pulled in.

The house sat wide and warm against the stretch of Colorado land, porch lights glowing as boys moved in and out like it was a train station instead of a home. Someone was yelling about cleats, someone else was laughing too hard, and the screen door slammed for the third time in under a minute.

Cole Walter arrived like a disruption.

His truck rolled down the gravel drive too fast, tires crunching sharply before he cut the engine and hopped out. He wore a hoodie despite the chill, hands shoved into the pockets like he was bracing himself. For a second, he just stood there, staring at the house — the noise, the lights, the movement — like it was something he had to psych himself up to enter.

Then he smirked, grabbed his jacket from the passenger seat, and headed inside.

“Cole’s home,” Danny announced the second the door opened, not even looking up from the couch.

“Shocker,” Nathan muttered from the floor, where he was half-doing homework, half-pretending not to listen.

Cole kicked off his boots and dropped his keys in the bowl by the door with a sharp clatter. “Miss me?”

“No,” Parker said immediately from the kitchen table, not even cruel — just honest.

Will glanced up from his phone. “You’re late.”

Cole shrugged, peeling off his hoodie. “Practice ran long.”

“That’s funny,” Alex said, eyes narrowing. “Because practice ended an hour ago.”

Cole shot him a look — not angry, not playful either — something guarded. “You keeping tabs on me now?”

Alex didn’t answer. He didn’t have to. The tension sat there, thick and familiar, like furniture no one bothered to move anymore.

Katherine’s voice cut through it from the kitchen. “Cole Benjamin Walter, if you’re home, come say hello like a normal human being.”

He sighed, then softened his expression before stepping into the kitchen. “Hey, Mom.”

She looked him over the way only a mother could — checking posture, mood, energy, everything at once. “You eat?”

“Define eat.”

She pressed her lips together. “Sit.”

Cole did, dropping into a chair and stealing a roll off the counter. George glanced at him over his glasses, amused but watchful.

“You good?” George asked.

Cole nodded once. “Yeah.”

It wasn’t convincing, but it was enough. That was how things worked here — you could be not okay, as long as you showed up.

Around him, the house kept moving. Benny darted past with a toy plane. Isaac argued with Jordan about music. Lee leaned against the counter, quietly observing everything like always.

Cole leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking around the room. This was his place — the noise, the mess, the constant pressure of being seen. He played it cool, played it loud, played it careless, because slowing down meant thinking. And thinking meant feeling.

And Cole Walter didn’t like to feel.

Still, as the family settled into their familiar chaos, there was a flicker of something real in his expression — relief, maybe. No matter how much he fought it, no matter how far he pushed, this place always pulled him back.

The Walter Ranch didn’t ask questions right away.

It just let you come home.