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“Romatar?”
She nodded again. “He did this to me.”
Trace’s jaw flexed. Lines strained in his neck. “Your father?”
“Brian. The sperm contributor that I was stuck with after my mother died.”
They stared in silence, communicating clearly. His eyes darkened, lips flattening. The swell of aggression in her heart lightened when he squeezed her.
“I need a second.” Trace rolled out of bed, throwing the covers around her, and grabbed his pants and phone.
She hadn’t connected the dots until a minute ago but had never been surer of anything. Her piece-of-shit father had sold her out for a paycheck.