“No.” Tears filled my eyes instantly. “He was afraid.”
The truth settled over both of us at the same time.
Dad didn’t separate us because Hersh wasn’t good enough.
He separated us because Hersh mattered too much.
Mercer could use him.
And eventually?—
he did.
Hersh looked away briefly, pain flashing across his face so fast it nearly broke me.
“Sixteen years,” he said quietly.
The grief in those two words.
I grabbed his hand instantly.
“He was trying to protect us.”
“No,” Hersh said darkly, eyes lifting toward the convoy outside. “He was trying to protect you.”
Thunder cracked violentlyoverhead.
Outside, SUV doors opened one by one.
Dark figures stepped into the rain.
Armed.
Disciplined.
My stomach dropped.
Because I recognized one of them immediately.
Gray hair.
Tall build.
Black cowboy hat.
“Frank,” I whispered.
Rook’s head turned sharply. “You know him?”
Tears burned my eyes instantly.
“He used to bring me birthday gifts when I was younger.”
The room went deadly still.
Because somehow that made this worse.
So much worse.
