The tavern quieted again.
Even Vaughn stopped smiling.
Two years ago, I thought grief and stress had changed my father.
Now?
I wasn’t so sure anymore.
“I visited him a few times before he died. He kept checking the locks,” I whispered. “All the time.”
Tate frowned slightly.
“How often?”
“Every night.”
I wrapped my arms tighter around myself.
“He stopped sleeping much. He’d look out the windows constantly.” My throat tightened harder. “Sometimes he’d pull the curtains closed if unfamiliar cars drove by.”
Wolf and Trigger exchanged a look.
Not a good one.
Ava stepped closer carefully. “Did he ever say why?”
I shook my head.
“No. But…” My voice faltered. “A few weeks before he died, he asked if I still talked about Hersh to anyone.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
Beside me, Hersh went completely still.
My heart cracked quietly at the expression on his face.
Not anger.
Not ego.
Just confusion.
Like he still couldn’t understand why my father feared him so much.
“He knew something,” Wolf said quietly.
“Or suspected something,” Ava added.
Trigger dragged a hand through his hair.
“This keeps getting uglier.”
Yes.
It really did.
