Then his voice drops, not dramatically, just honest.
“I know we talked about this before,” he says, “but, when I’m not here anymore, I need to know my kids are going to be okay.”
My chest tightens, but the way he says it keeps it from turning into a punch. It’s more like a hand on my shoulder.
I swallow. “They will be.”
Pops’s gaze doesn’t waver. “They won’t be. Not at first. None of you will be. But you need to lean on each other.”
The words land soft and brutal all at once.
“Sloane is going to try to carry it alone,” Pops says. “And Cameron is going to try to carry her carrying it alone.”
I stare at the floor, jaw flexing.
“And you,” Pops adds, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m still afraid you’re going to try to disappear so you don’t make anything harder.”
Heat crawls up my neck.
“That’s not—” I start.
Pops lifts his hand. “Don’t argue with a dying man, Brooks. It’s bad manners.”
I let out a breath, helpless. “Okay.”
His expression softens. “You’ve been part of this family since you were a kid. I’m not asking you to fix anything. I’m just asking you to stay.”
My throat burns.
“Stay for her,” Pops says, voice quiet. “My baby girl.”
My pulse stutters.
“And stay for him,” Pops continues. “My boy.”
The weight of that sits between us.
Pops watches my face like he’s checking whether I can handle what he’s about to hand me.
“I need you to take care of Sloane,” he says, and then his mouth twitches, barely. “In whatever way you’re already taking care of her.”
My face heats instantly. “Pops?—”
He lifts a brow. “What? You think I’m blind? My brain might not work as good, but my eyes are just fine.”
I scrub a hand over my jaw, half mortified, half…something else. Something like gratitude.
“I care about her,” I say, voice rough.
Pops nods like that’s the only answer he expected. “I know.”
“And I’m not trying to—” I swallow hard. “I’m not trying to take anything from Cameron.”
Pops’s gaze sharpens. “Good.”
I exhale. “He’s going to kill me.”
Pops lets out a weak laugh. “He might try.”
