When I return, Erin’s head is in her hands.
“He didn’t see anything,” Brax murmurs gently to her as I place my arm around her. “He just heard the shot, then came out swinging his baseball bat.” A mix between a grimace and pride traces Brax’s mouth. “My brave little man.”
“Why did you tell Roman not to call 9-1-1?” Erin asks, lifting her head. “Don’t you have to report it?”
“It’s an off-duty shooting during an off-the-books investigation. I’m not obligated to call it in. I let my sergeant know—he’s the only one who matters,” Brax explains.
“We were wrong about Laurel,” I tell him.
Brax straightens, wincing. “What do you mean?”
“She approached me,” Erin says. “She wasn’t behind the research. She didn’t send the photo to my mom. She came back recently, looking for answers about Elliot.”
Brax’s face falls. I don’t tell him Laurel warned Erin about him.
Neither does she.
“You believe her?” Brax asks quietly.
“Yes,” Erin and I say together.
“Did she tell you who made her do this?” Brax asks, looking exhausted but okay, like he’s holding himself together with tape.
Erin’s eyes flick to mine. One look between us is an entire conversation.
Brax is the kind of man who bleeds out on his kitchen floor and thinks about comforting his son before calling for help. Watching him rub circles on Roman’s back with a shaking hand, refusing a hospital, and pushing through his pain so his kid doesn’t fall apart. It paints a clear image. There’s no version of Brax that fits Laurel’s warning.
None.
I cover Erin’s knee in a quiet decision.
Her eyes answer in response.
We trust him.
So, we let it go. Because we know the truth when it’s right in front of us.
Erin places the thumb drive on the table.
“Hawk,” she says. “That’s the name she gave me.”
Brax pushes to his feet, pockets the drive. “Take Roman,” he says. “I don’t want him here tonight if whoever did this decides to come back for round two. I’ll call you in the morning.”
He pauses when he gets to the door of his cave, just off the side of the living room.
Without turning around, he murmurs. “Keep my son safe, Pretty Boy.”
It’slate and I can’t sleep.
Roman is out cold on our bed, and Chase and I are on the floor beside him. Chase has his arms wrapped around me, his face nuzzled against my pillow, breathing slow against my skin. Usually, his hold is all it takes for sleep to pull me under.
But tonight?
Tonight, my mind won’t shut up.
Laurel’s words spin like a record player, looping louder and louder. They’re what pushes me to slip out from Chase’s arm and tiptoe across the room. At the door, I glance back, Roman a tired loaf in blankets and Chase unmoving on the floor. I slide out to the hallway before I second-guess myself.
It’s stupid walking the streets alone at three a.m. I know Chase will worry when he wakes up, but the noise in my head is too strong. The questions, the fears, the truth I’ve started to believe… I need answers.
