“Hey, big brother,” I sob.
I shake my head against him when he tries to let go. He laughs and runs his hands up and down my arms.
“Not gonna go anywhere if you let go, Jelly Tot. Promise.”
I let out a sigh and detangle myself from his body. He swipes under my eyes.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you when I found out about our mutual sperm donor.” Brax’s voice falters, but it’s still audible over thedistant roar of celebrating fans. “I thought I was protecting you. Keeping it from you was wrong.”
The truth hangs between us like the cold chill biting at my cheeks.
The words scrape out of me. “How did you find out?”
“I got to the hospital not long after they brought you in when you were shot.” He shifts his weight on his feet. “Told the staff I was your protective detail. That’s how I learned your blood type was O-positive.” He taps his chest lightly. “I told them to test me—to see if I could help. After you got home, a nurse called and said that my antigen profile was a close match to yours. So close that it could be a weird coincidence or…” his voice lowers, “that we shared a parent.”
My breath catches, frosting the air. “They said it was a local who donated and never provided a name.”
Brax helped save me.
“A simple sibling DNA test confirmed it. Probability of a half-sibling was above 99.9 percent. Clear proof Carlos wasn’t your father.”
A cold wave rushes through me, settling in my bones.
“And we both agreed the man with the tattoo—The Octopus—was the same guy I saw with my mom at the hotel,” I say, letting out a shaky breath.
“We did,” Brax says. “But I needed more than your memory. I needed proof that Sebastian Emerson was The Octopus. His drugs have flooded the streets for decades, and no one’s ever figured out how. No arrests. No busts. Nothing.” He shakes his head, frustration simmering. “When the DNA results came back, it got me thinking. Sebastian Emerson was hiding in plain sight. Maybe his operation was, too.”
“Emerson’s Barrel and Sons,” I murmur, the pieces clicking. “It’s not just a whiskey distillery.”
“The distillery’s logistics were the perfect cover. Drugs moved through the doors in crates that were supposed to be whiskey—no questions asked. The business is legitimate. Clean books. Public tours year-round. But under those oak barrels?” His voice drops to a dangerous crawl. “Sebastian ran a darker network. I collected enough evidence to take to my sergeant without alerting anyone.”
I curl my fingers, guilt gnawing at me.
“And then you gave me Laurel’s drive,” he says. “And it revealed…” He stops, breath tightening. “More.”
“I’m so sorry.” The words shake out of me before I can stop them. “I wish things could have been different. And I’m sorry Sebastian got away.”
“I’ll find him, Erin.”
My pulse thuds against my ribs.
“I won’t rest until I do,” he continues, each word as solid as the ice beneath us. “He’s out there, and soon, he’ll realize his precious distillery will be turned inside out. He won’t be able to hide in the shadows for long. Not anymore. Not now that I know who he is.”
His tone is deadly calm, promising the kind of justice that doesn’t wait for a judge or jury.
“Brax…”
He shakes his head. “You don’t need to worry, Erin. And we don’t need to talk about this anymore, at least not today. Not when you’re about to have an even more important conversation.”
Brax spins me around, and I gasp at the sight of Chase on one knee holding out a velvet box with a massive grin on his face.
Austin, Hayes, Oliver, and an emotional Griff are off to the side, holding up a banner.
Marry me, Bookworm.
I notice there’s no question mark at the end of the sentence.
I move toward him with shaky footsteps and stand right in front of him, my eyes never leaving his.
