Homecoming For The Holidays: The Brodigan Family Series Book 1

Nolan

The flight attendant’s smile was so bright it could’ve guided planes to the runway. “Mr. Brodigan! I saw your hat trick against Manchester United. Absolutely brilliant.”

I forced my face into what I hoped passed for a smile these days. “Thanks. Appreciate it.”

“Could I get a photo? My boyfriend is obsessed with you.”

Of course he was. Everyone was obsessed with Nolan Brodigan, international football star, billionaire athlete, the Ice Man who never missed. But no one knew the actual person trapped inside the star, slowly suffocating.

“Sure.” I stood, letting her squeeze in beside me for the obligatory selfie. I held my breath through three different angles before she finally seemed satisfied.

“Thank you so much! Have a wonderful flight!”

I sank back into my first-class seat and reached for my phone. Seventeen messages from Gerald, my agent, each one more insistent than the last.

“Contract negotiations can’t wait until January.”

“The Armani deal needs your signature by Friday.”

“Real Madrid is sniffing around. We need to talk strategy.”

I didn’t respond to any of it. Gerald could wait. Everything could wait. I had exactly fourteen days in Connellsville, Pennsylvania (my personal purgatory masquerading as a hometown) and then I’d be back to my real life, which had been carefully curated for public consumption.

The pilot announced our descent into Pittsburgh, and my stomach dropped with the plane. I stared out the window at the gray December sky, the landscape below slowly morphing from anonymous cities into something sickeningly familiar. Rolling hills. Small towns connected by two-lane highways. The kind of place where everyone knew your business and never let you forget where you came from.

I’d spent ten years forgetting. Ten years building walls between me and Connellsville, between me and that scrawny kid who couldn’t talk to girls and thought scoring goals would make him somebody. Turned out it did. Just not anybody I particularly liked.

My phone buzzed. Mom this time.

“Rowan’s picking you up! He’s so excited to see you. We all are, sweetheart. The house is ready. I made your favorite.”

Guilt twisted in my chest familiar and unwelcome. She’d been asking me to come home for years. Every Christmas, every Thanksgiving, every major family event, I’d had an excuse. A match. Training. Obligations. The truth was simpler and more pathetic: I’d been avoiding them. Avoiding the disappointment in my father’s eyes, the way my siblings had looked up to me while I was stuck in an endless loop of hotel rooms and stadiums, the reminder that success was supposed to feel better than this.

But this year, when Mom’s voice had cracked over the phone. (“Please, Nolan. Just once. It’s been five years”) I’d caved. Five years. Jesus. I was an asshole.

The plane touched down. I grabbed my carry-on, went through customs, and made my way to baggage claim.

Pittsburgh International Airport was decorated for Christmas, all twinkling lights and garland that was very cheerful. Families reunited with shrieks and hugs. Couples kissed. I walked past it all, feeling invisible.

I spotted Rowan before he saw me. One of my younger brothers, he stood near the carousel, hands shoved in the pockets of a worn jacket, scanning the crowd. At twenty-four, he looked exactly like I remembered: dark hair, blue Brodigan eyes, that thoughtful expression he’d had even as a kid. The sight of him did something uncomfortable in me.

“Rowan.”

He turned, and his face lit up with a genuine smile. “Nolan! Holy shit, you actually came.”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” I let him pull me into a hug, his familiar face grounding in a way I hadn’t expected. He smelled like winter air.

“I mean, your track record speaks for itself.” He pulled back, looking at me. “You look terrible.”

“It’s just jet lag.”

“Oh, I’m sure.” He didn’t believe me, but he let it go, gesturing toward the exit. “Come on. I’m parked in the economy lot like a peasant.”

The jab was delivered with a grin, but it landed anyway. “You could’ve used the closer lot. I’ll cover it.”

“And there it is.” Rowan shook his head, leading the way through the terminal. “You’ve been home for five minutes and you’re already throwing money around.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“It’s not a problem, but I like to live within my means.”

I bit back a retort because he wasn’t wrong, and because I was too tired to argue. We walked in silence through the parking garage until we reached a modest Honda SUV that had seen better days. The contrast to my Aston Martin back in London was almost funny.

“Chariot awaits,” Rowan said, popping the trunk.

I tossed my luggage in, noting the youth soccer equipment scattered in the back. “You coaching now?”

“Yeah, the under-twelves. It’s fun.” He slid into the driver’s seat. “Reminds me why I loved the game before it became about money and contracts.”

Another dig. I stared out the window as we merged onto the highway, watching Pittsburgh’s skyline disappear behind us.

“So,” Rowan said, his tone deliberately light. “Mom’s planning a whole thing for dinner. Everyone’s coming except Finn. He’s still in Germany until next week, he has a game. Cara’s making pie, she’s getting really good at it. Colin’s bringing his new girlfriend, which should be entertaining. And Owen’s been practicing his autograph request all week.”

“Jesus.”

“He’s eighteen and you’re his hero. Cut him some slack.”

Hero. Right. The word sat wrong. I’d never felt less heroic in my life.

“Also,” Rowan continued, and I heard the shift in his voice, the warning. “Mom and the mayor have been conspiring. They want you to be the grand marshal for the Christmas parade.”

My hands tightened on my thighs. “What? No.”

“Nolan…”

“I said no. I came home. I just want to see my family. That should be enough.”

“Is it?” Rowan asked. “Five years, man. Five years of excuses and canceled plans and phone calls where you barely say ten words. You show up for two weeks and think that’s enough?”

“I have a career. Obligations. A life.”

“In Europe. Away from us.” He took the exit that would lead us straight into Connellsville. “Look, I get it. You’re a big deal. International star. Billionaire. But you’re also a Brodigan, and Brodigans show up for their people. Riding a parade float for an hour isn’t exactly a hardship.”

“I’m not a performing seal.”

“No one’s asking you to be. They’re asking you to participate in a Christmas parade of a city where you were born and grew up in. To show that you still give a damn about where you came from.”

I didn’t answer because I didn’t have a good one. The truth was, I wasn’t sure I did give a damn anymore. Connellsville was a place I’d escaped, not a place I belonged. But saying that out loud would make me sound like the asshole I probably was.

The landscape changed as we drove, becoming familiar. The green highway signs for towns I’d known my whole life. The rolling hills dusted with early snow. The exit for Uniontown, then Scottdale, then finally, Connellsville.

Population 7,031, according to the faded sign. Home of the Cokers, Pennsylvania’s State Champions in 1995. The sign looked exactly the same as it had when I was eighteen and couldn’t wait to leave.

“Welcome home,” Rowan said quietly.

Home. The word felt foreign.

We drove down Main Street, and I tried not to catalog all the ways nothing had changed. Ol’ Paul’s Pub still had the same neon sign. The hardware store still needed a paint job. The Christmas decorations strung between lampposts were probably the same ones from my childhood. Small. Simple. Exactly what I’d been running from.

The Brodigan house sat on a quiet street lined with similar homes: modest, well-kept, filled with families who’d lived there for generations. Rowan pulled into the driveway, and I saw the front door fly open before we’d even parked.

My mother burst out, not bothering with a coat despite the December cold, her face lit up. Maureen Brodigan, elementary school teacher, mother of six, the warmest person I’d ever known and the one I’d disappointed most.

“Nolan!” She was crying before she reached me, pulling me into a hug that felt like home. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re here. You’re really here.”

“Hey, Ma.” My voice cracked, my arms awkward around her. When had I forgotten how to hug my own mother?

“Let me look at you.” She pulled back, hands framing my face, her eyes searching. “You’re too thin. And pale. Are they feeding you over there?”

“I’m fine, Ma.”

“You’re not fine. You look exhausted. But you’re here, and that’s what matters.” She kissed my cheek, then tucked herself against my side, steering me toward the house. “Come on, everyone’s waiting. Dinner’s almost ready. I made your favorite: shepherd’s pie and apple crisp.”

The house smelled exactly right: food and warmth and too many people in too small a space. I barely had time to process before I was swarmed.

“Nolan!” Owen, my youngest brother, nearly tackled me with enthusiasm. At eighteen, he was all gangly limbs and hero worship. “Oh my god, you actually came! Can you sign my jersey? And my ball? And maybe take a picture for Instagram?”

“Owen, let him breathe,” Cara said, but she was smiling. My sister, twenty, studied me with sharp blue eyes. “Welcome back, stranger.”

“Cara.” I nodded at her, catching the edge in her voice. She’d never forgiven me for missing her high school graduation. I didn’t blame her.

Colin appeared from the kitchen, arm around a petite blonde I didn’t recognize. “The prodigal son returns! This is Ashley. Ashley, this is my wildly successful, emotionally unavailable oldest brother.”

“Colin,” Mom said warningly.

“What? It’s true.” But he grinned, clapping me on the shoulder. “Good to see you, man.”

My father was the last to approach, standing in the doorway to the living room with his arms crossed. Gus Brodigan, retired firefighter, looked older than I remembered, more gray in his hair, deeper lines around his eyes. But his posture was still strong, his gaze still measuring.

“Dad.”

“Nolan.” He stepped forward, pulling me into a brief, gruff hug. “Glad you made it.”

The words were simple, but I heard everything he didn’t say: About time. We missed you. Don’t screw this up.

“Come on, sit down!” Mom herded everyone toward the dining room. “Dinner’s ready, and I want to hear everything. How’s London? How’s the team? Are you seeing anyone?”

The questions came rapid-fire as we settled around the table that had somehow fit the eight of us when we were growing up and still managed now, crammed together with elbows bumping and voices overlapping. Someone passed bread. Colin argued with Rowan about something. Owen kept staring at me like I might disappear. Cara caught my eye and raised an eyebrow.

This. This was what I’d been avoiding. The noise and chaos and overwhelming presence of family who knew me too well and loved me anyway. It was suffocating and comforting at the same time, and I didn’t know how to exist in it anymore.

“So,” Mom said once we’d all been served, her tone deceptively casual. “The mayor called again today.”

Here it comes.

“Maureen,” Dad said warningly.

“I’m just mentioning it, Gus.” She smiled at me, but her eyes were too sweet. “The Christmas parade is in ten days, and they’d love to have you as grand marshal. The whole town’s excited you’re home. It would mean so much…”

“No.”

Everyone went quiet.

“Nolan?” Mom started.

“I said no. I’m not doing the parade.” I set down my fork, suddenly not hungry. “I came home. I’m here for two weeks. That should be enough.”

“It would be one afternoon,” Mom pressed, gentle but insistent. “A few hours. The community would love it…”

“I’m not a performing seal, Ma. I don’t owe this town anything.”

The silence that followed was deafening. I watched my father’s expression harden, saw disappointment come across Mom’s face. Cara’s eyes narrowed. Even Owen looked confused.

“You don’t owe this town anything,” Dad repeated slowly, his voice irritated. “The place that raised you. The people who cheered for you at every game. The community that supported your family when I got injured and couldn’t work anymore. You don’t think you owe them anything?”

Guilt and anger twisted in my gut. “That’s not what I meant…”

“Then what did you mean?” Dad’s jaw was tight. “Because from where I’m sitting, it sounds like you’ve forgotten where you came from. Or maybe you’re just too important now to spare a few hours for the people who knew you before you were famous.”

“Gus,” Mom said softly, but she didn’t contradict him.

I stood up from the table, my chair scraping loud in the quiet. “I’ve had a long flight. I think I need some air.”

“Nolan…” Mom reached for me, but I was already moving, grabbing my coat from the hook by the door and stepping out onto the porch.

The door closed behind me, muffling the voices inside: Mom trying to smooth things over, Dad’s low rumble of disapproval, my siblings probably discussing what an asshole I’d become.

I stood on the porch, breath fogging in the frigid air, and stared at the quiet street. It was peaceful and nothing like the cities I’d made my home.

The front door opened behind me. I didn’t turn, knowing from the quiet footsteps it was Rowan.

“That went well,” he said mildly, leaning against the porch railing beside me.

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“I know. But you’re going to anyway.” He was quiet for a moment. “You hurt them. Mom especially. She’s been so excited about you coming home, planning everything perfectly, hoping maybe this time you’d stay longer than a day or two. And the first real conversation ends with you basically telling everyone this town isn’t worth your time.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it?” Rowan’s voice was gentle but unyielding. “Look, I get it. You have this whole other life now. Money, fame, pressure. But to us, you’re still just Nolan. Our brother. Their son. And all we want is for you to show up. Really show up. Not just physically be here while making it clear you can’t wait to leave.”

The truth of it hit harder. “I don’t know how to be that person anymore. The one who fits into this family, this town.”

“Then figure it out.” Rowan pushed off the railing, heading back toward the door. “Because if you can’t, these two weeks are going to be really long. For all of us.”

He went inside, leaving me alone with the cold and my thoughts and the uncomfortable realization that somewhere along the way, I’d become exactly the kind of person I used to resent.

I pulled out my phone, staring at Gerald’s unanswered messages, at the calendar showing my flight back to London in fourteen days.

From inside, I heard laughter: Colin saying something that made everyone crack up, the sound warm and genuine and everything I’d been missing without realizing it.

Two weeks. I could survive two weeks. Keep my head down, avoid the parade disaster, maybe make it up to Mom somehow. Then back to London, back to my real life that I’d convinced myself was what I wanted.

The door opened again. This time it was Cara, wrapped in an oversized cardigan, her expression serious.

“You coming back in, or are you planning to freeze to death out here? Because I’ve got opinions on both options.”

I almost smiled. “I’m coming.”

“Good.” She held the door open, then caught my arm as I passed. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. Even if you are being a dick about pretty much everything.”

“Thanks. I think.”

“Don’t mention it. Now get inside before Mom sends Dad out here, and then we’ll all have to deal with the awkward Brodigan men having feelings thing.”

I followed her back into the warmth, back into the noise and chaos and complicated love of family I’d been avoiding for too long. Mom’s eyes lit up when she saw me, immediate and forgiving. Dad gave a slight nod.

I slid back into my seat, accepted the plate Mom had kept warm, and tried to participate in the conversation. Owen told a story about his soccer team. Colin made everyone laugh with an impression of his boss. Cara talked about her classes. Rowan quietly observed it all, occasionally catching my eye with a look that said see? This is what you’ve been missing.

And I did see it. I saw everything I’d sacrificed for a career that felt more hollow with each passing day. But I also saw the impossibility of it. I was Nolan Brodigan, international football star. I had contracts and obligations and a life that couldn’t coexist with Connellsville’s small-town simplicity. There was no path back, even if I wanted one.

Which I didn’t.

“More pie, sweetheart?” Mom asked, already loading my plate before I could answer.

“Thanks, Ma.”

She patted my hand, her touch warm and familiar and everything I’d been starving for but was sure I didn’t miss.

Two weeks. Just two weeks. Then I could go back to my life.

The thought should have been comforting.

Instead, it made me feel like the biggest asshole in the world.

***

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— Cat