And he’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.
The air froze in his lungs. His heart chugged. His blood ran cold.
Seth knew without a shred of doubt who had hidden the note on the back of his dresser.
His father.
Afraid to move—to breathe—Seth stared at his father’s stark handwriting on the envelope.
For a moment, he considered shoving the dresser back and pretending he’d never seen it. He had a future to worry about—Heavenly, the baby, Hudson, Beck.
He couldn’t fucking let the past drag him back now.
But how could he ignore this? If his dad had written him a note, hidden it in his room—where no one else would find it—there was a damn good reason.
Seth didn’t see how he could just turn his back on that.
And he had to be fast, before Heavenly finished her shower.
“Fuck.” He peeled away at the duct tape, the adhesive crackling and threatening to disintegrate under his fingertips.
Finally, he pulled the envelope free with shaking hands and turned it over, studying the faded ink on the front.
Seth.
His name written in his father’s careful block letters.
Nothing else.
He sat still. Stunned. Praying that the content inside was something innocuous, like a letter of fatherly advice his dad had written during a reflective moment. Or encouragement about handling responsibility as he grew into a man. Seth hoped like hell that he could read the page, fold it back up, and tuck it away with a bittersweet smile.
He had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be that simple.
Seth’s heart pounded as he crossed to his side of the bed. His legs felt unsteady, so he sank onto the mattress and angled his body to block the view of anyone who might burst into the room. If worse came to worst, he’d shove this into the nightstand drawer.
He exhaled, trying to steady himself, as he slid his thumb under the flap and lifted it.
Inside, he found a single sheet of folded paper, along with a business card to a climate-controlled storage unit a couple of miles from the house. On the back of the card, his father had left a gate code and a unit number. In the bottom of the envelope, he found the kind of small key used for padlocks.
Seth’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t sentimental. This was the past coming back.
This was dangerous.
Dread coiled as Seth unfolded the letter. The date at the top of the page was exactly one week before his father died.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, dragged in a ragged breath, and read on.
Seth,
If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’ve failed. I’m equally sorry to leave this on your shoulders, but I don’t have any other choice.
There’s real danger. I’m afraid for you, your mother, and your brothers. I’ve been looking into things—corruption, bad people doing unspeakable things—and I think they’re onto me. I don’t know how much time I have. Maybe I’m being paranoid. I hope I’m overreacting. But if I’m not, and something happens to me, I need you to understand why.
I don’t trust the people in charge to investigate this properly. They’re part of the problem. So I’m leaving this for you, because you’re smart. Because I know you’ll be cautious, and you should be. And because, when you’re old enough, I know you’ll know what to do.
I’m not asking you to finish what I started or to seek vengeance. I don’t want you to put yourself in danger. But I need you to know this threat exists. Pretending it doesn’t could get people killed—your mother, you, and your brothers—all the people I love who don’t deserve to be collateral damage in this corrupt war.
I prayed I’d never have to write this. Prayed you’d never have to read it. But if you are, I couldn’t stop the threat and keep everyone safe. I hope somehow you will understand why I couldn’t stay silent.
