“Then what?” I ask, because I can feel the same frustration clawing at me.
Richard glances between us, his eyes narrowing.
He looks like he’s fighting himself, the words in his throat catching right before he’s able to get them out.
Then, all at once, his expression breaks.
His eyes shine and before I can even register it, tears spill down his face.
It stops me cold in my tracks, surprising me. Richard doesn’t cry. I’ve known the man half my life, seen him through losses, injuries, funerals, and never once have I seen him like this.
“If this turns into something bigger, if he goes after her again—” He stops himself, jaw working as he swipes a quick hand over his cheeks. “He better pray the cops get to him before I do.”
I don’t doubt for a second he means it.
Guilt hits me hard.
I hate seeing him like this.
Richard, my brother in everything but blood, a man who’s dragged me out of my own wreckage more times than I can count, watching him unravel over his family feels wrong, like the world’s off balance.
I want to fix it for him.
For Noelle and for Eli too.
None of them deserve to be caught in the orbit of someone like Jared.
Finally, Richard drags a hand down his face, exhaling slowly.
When he speaks again, his voice has softened, worn down and sounding tired. “She’s upstairs with Eli. I don’t want her dealing with any of this today. Let her rest. I’m going to make some calls down to a few buddies at the station. Get this passed along to the Sergeant and escalate the priority on it.”
“Let us know what happens,” Callum says quietly.
Richard nods and when his gaze lifts again, the tears are gone. What’s left behind is fire, wild and fierce. “I will. Whatever happens, I know you’ll all back me up.”
“Always,” I promise.
Richard lets out a hollow chuckle. “So much for a peaceful birthday.”
I clap a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it tight. “Once we get all of this sorted out, we’re throwing you a birthday bash you’ll never forget.”
For the first time since the conversation started, he smiles. “I look forward to it, then.”
19
DEAN
It’s been almost a week since the break-in at Noelle’s shop, and the house hasn’t felt the same since.
Most days she drifts between rooms like a shadow, barefoot with her hair tangled, drowning in one of Richard’s old sweatshirts that hangs off her like she’s a little kid again trying to keep warm when nothing else helps.
She barely eats. Half the time, the plate I leave outside her door comes back untouched, cold to the touch hours later.
When she does come downstairs, she moves slowly like the weight of it all has carved itself into her bones.
The shop used to be her sanctuary. Now she flinches at the mention of it.
Even Eli’s laughter, normally the one sound guaranteed to perk her up, doesn’t seem to break through whatever fog she’s trapped in.
