“Shouldn’t you be resting?” I ask Dad.
“I rested enough for a lifetime in that damned hospital bed,” he says. “You’re usually a little more of an early riser than this.”
“I had trouble sleeping.”
“Insomnia? Is this new?”
“Happens from time to time. Where’s Mom?”
“Over at Marjorie’s. Big party tonight.”
Shit. That’s right. Dad’s big welcome home party. Which means I’d better get some shut-eye between now and then or I’ll be falling asleep. Fat chance of that happening, though, with everything else that’s going on.
“I hope you’re planning on doing a lot of resting today, then,” I say to Dad. “They’re going to expect to see a lot of you at this big shindig.”
Dad smiles. “I suppose you’re right. Your mother and her parties…”
“Yeah. Seems a bit much sometimes.”
“Really? You used to love them.”
He’s not wrong. I had a devil-may-care attitude for most of my life. I chose not to dwell on my past, but instead, I embraced the present. And my present was pretty darned good. As a Steel, I had the best of everything, and I never wanted for anything. Always the present. Never the past.
Until now.
The present is a big fucking mess.
I wish I could confide more in the man sitting across from me. But damn, he just got out of the hospital. Someone fucking shot my father. My father could be dead right now but for circumstances that day.
Not only that—someone tried to do him in while he was in the hospital getting treatment. Atropine poisoning.
More research to do.
And who do I trust? Besides Dale, Brock, and Callie… I just don’t know.
My father… My father who fucking rescued us that day.
And I’m not sure I can trust him.
Was the bullet really meant for Uncle Joe? Makes me wonder, because whoever did it obviously came back and tried to finish the job on Dad in the hospital.
And here’s the part that scares me the most. Perhaps the bullet was meant for Uncle Joe, but there was another one coming for Dad. And there might be one more coming for Uncle Ryan, Uncle Bryce. Aunt Marj.
My mother.
Oh, God.
What the hell is happening to my family?
“What’s bothering you, Don?” Dad’s voice is low, serious.
If only I could tell him the whole story—more than just the safe-deposit box and the ring. If only I could confide in this amazing man who saved my life.
But I can’t.
“I’m good. Just exhausted.”
“That may work on anyone else in the family, son, but it won’t work on me.”