Page 79 of Monk

“And you’re his VP now, right?”

I nodded. “As of a few weeks ago.”

David smiled faintly. “That’s a hell of a promotion.”

“It’s a hell of a responsibility,” I said.

David chuckled quietly. “I bet.”

After that, conversation came easier than I expected. David asked about the club, about Kansas, about whether business was good, and I answered carefully, keeping to the surface. I didn’t mention guns or rival clubs or the blood we’d spilled to keep our patch secure. I sure as hell didn’t mention the fact that we’d recently executed our own vice president. But even with all the truth I wasn’t saying, it was... nice. Sitting in a family living room talking to a man who already, somehow, felt like somethingmore than a stranger. It gave me something to hold onto besides the little girl on the floor a few feet away, coloring like her whole world hadn’t just shifted under her feet.

But even while I talked, my attention kept drifting.

To Tatum. To the way she held a crayon in that stubborn little fist. To the way she bit her bottom lip when she concentrated. To the tiny furrow that appeared between her brows when she was trying to stay inside the lines. Every glance at her lodged somewhere under my ribs. And then my gaze slid past the coffee table and landed on the kitchen table beyond it.

Bills. Stacks of them. Medical statements by the look of the letterhead. Past-due notices stamped in red. Bank envelopes. Final warnings.

My jaw tightened. “David,” I said, cutting across whatever he’d just been saying. “What’s going on with the farm?”

David’s expression changed immediately, the easy warmth in it slipping behind something more guarded. “What do you mean?”

I tipped my chin toward the kitchen table.

“Those bills,” I said. “How bad is it?”

David glanced at Lina. She’d gone stiff as wire. “It’s fine,” she said too quickly. “We’re handling it.”

I turned and looked at her fully, letting her see that I wasn’t buying it.

“Lina.”

She opened her mouth like she was about to fight me on it, then stopped. Because she saw it on my face. Saw that I knew she was lying. Her shoulders sagged under the weight of it. “It’s bad,” she admitted quietly. “The farm is... we’re struggling. We’ve lost clients. Revenue is down. And Dad’s medical bills—” Her voice broke before she could finish.

I was on my feet before I even realized I’d stood, my hands curling into fists at my sides. “Why didn’t you say anything?” I asked, looking at David.

David met my gaze without flinching. “Didn’t want to bother you,” he said simply.

“Bother me?” I echoed, my voice rising before I forced it back down. “David, you’re—” I stopped, took a breath, and tried again. “You’re family,” I said, my voice rougher now. “You don’t bother family. You ask for help.”

David’s eyes softened. “Didn’t know if you’d see us that way,” he said quietly.

I just stared at him for a second. Then I crossed the room to the kitchen table and started gathering the bills into a stack.

“John,” Lina said, rising from where she’d been standing near Tatum. “What are you doing?”

I didn’t answer. I just kept stacking papers—medical bills, bank notices, overdue statements—and sliding them into the inside pocket of my cut.

“John,” Lina said again, sharper this time. “Stop.”

I turned to face her, the last of the papers tucked away. “The farm isn’t your responsibility,” she said, eyes flashing with pride and frustration and about ten other things at once. “We’ll figure it out.”

I looked at her. Then I looked at Tatum, who had gone still again, watching us with wide uncertain eyes.

I pointed at my daughter. “No,” I said, my voice low and firm. “The farm may not be mine. But she is my responsibility. And this place—this farm—is her legacy.”

Lina’s mouth opened, then closed again. Her eyes filled so fast it nearly undid me. “John?—”

“I’m handling it,” I said, cutting her off before she could argue. “End of discussion.”