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Yolanda placed the tray on the counter and walked into my open arms. Her rose perfume overcame the strong sage. Moving back, she looked up at me and tugged at my hair, making a disapproving expression. “What’s up with the long hair?”

She’d lightened her brown hair with highlights that framed her pretty face. She wore a blue dress that matched her sandals. Pride spread through me. My cousin was a good catch, and I was proud of the woman she’d become. She worked as an administrative assistant at some law firm, but helped at the apothecary whenever she had time off. Yolanda and Grandma Morena were my only family.

I tugged at her hair. “Yours is different too. You don’t hear me complaining. I like it. Makes you look younger.”

Pink dusted her cheeks, but then her eyes narrowed on me. “You calling me old? I’m only three years younger than you. Last I heard, twenty-nine is the new twenty.” She studied me from various angles, shaking her head. “Nope, I like you better with short hair. This look makes you seem like a man with no direction. Want me to trim it?”

A man with no direction? Where did she get that from? My hair wasn’t even chin length. It grew past my ears, and that was probably as long as I’d let it get, but I wasn’t going to divulge this detail to Yolanda, who for some reason disliked my new style.

“No.” I swatted her hand away from my hair. “Change is a good thing.”

She stepped back and crossed her arms, studying me. “Even your clothes are different. What is this button-down shirt? A Robert Graham! I got you one years ago, and you didn’t wear it,” she pouted. I didn’t remember her giving me any shirt. “And this slim khaki pant makes you look like some European model. What happened to your jeans and polo shirts, preppy boy?”

“They’re in my closet. People get bored. They acclimate. You’re an herbalist. You should know that energies change all the time—like a woman’s mood.” I winked at her, but she didn’t appreciate it. My experience with the female patients revealed that women’s moods varied like a child’s crayon box—they came in all shapes, sizes, and colors. “I’m just trying something different.”

“Something new, huh?” Yolanda’s eyebrows came together. “Why?”

“Why not?” I retorted.

I didn’t understand why people were fascinated with my hair and fashion preferences. They should embrace this new look that differed from my usual clean-cut appearance. What was the big deal, anyway? Grayson had called me out on it, and now my cousin too.

Not wanting to continue the ridiculous conversation, I headed to the back office, where my grandmother spent her time sorting herbs. There was nothing wrong with change. People often forgot that change was necessary. Stagnation created diseases. Blood needed to circulate, and energy required constant motion to maintain good health. Yolanda should have known this as well. Maybe she did, but chose not to acknowledge it. Some people had selective hearing and vision.

If there were one important thing that I’d learned as an immunologist, it was the fact that the human body’s best remedy was to keep moving. It can heal itself by mimicking nature. This was my personal observation based on years of studying western and holistic medicine. Plants grew because of the change in weather. Some days they required the sun to thrive, while other days, they preferred the rain. This constant change allowed for growth.

The human body was no different. The prescription for my emotional rut was change—hence my longer hair.

Yolanda had unknowingly poked at my vulnerable spot without knowing. She was seeing the exterior part of me, not the true reason. Growing my hair was an experiment, just like the change in clothing preference. No big deal.

Liar. It’s more than that.

I slowed my steps as I warred with myself.

So what?Yes, the long hair and trendy clothes thing had a story behind them, but I wasn’t in the mood to explain it to anyone.

Maybe I should get a trim and be done with it. I’d return to my usual self and no one would question me about anything.

But that’s surrendering.

I didn’t surrender. Defeat was not an option. Period. I’d gotten where I was today from working my ass off and maneuvering the dangerous world filled with ruthless, powerful men. Money yielded power, and power made men believe that anything was possible.

The threat looming over me and my friends grew larger each day. Remington, Royce, Grayson, Arrow, and I were discreetly working toward destroying The Trogyn, a powerful crime organization with an extensive global reach. Besides watching my enemy suffer, The Trogyn was the reason I had planned a trip to Texas. My friends and I had discovered an elusive club in Austin, and my colleague had connections to a gathering that could be linked to them. I couldn’t let this opportunity slip by without investigating.

My boys and I were taking careful steps to ensure our loved ones were safe. Still, there was a quiet whisper that made me fear that someday this crime organization would attack me and my loved ones unexpectedly.

Who knew that one incident from our teen years could change the course of our lives forever? The past had a power to imprison us more than we realized. I wanted those shackles removed.

As I walked toward the back room, Grandma made her way toward the front and stopped in her steps when she saw me. She blinked, tightened her grip on the basket of dried flowers, and pressed her lips into a thin line.

“What powerful current blew you in here?” Grandma asked, surveying me. She had a lovely accent and learned English at the same school that had taught me in Brazil. “You’ve lost weight. Working too much and ignoring your health? Money isn’t going to prolong your life, boy. When will you learn?” She shook her head. “I thought you forgot about your family.”

“Never.”

She sneered at my remark, making me wince. Grandma Morena wore her gray hair in a bun with a crystal accessory. She had sharp green eyes that seemed to know everything, and a face etched with wisdom and strength. Her olive skin was a shade darker than mine, which contrasted nicely with the off-white top and full skirt. A pouch of crystals dangled from her belt.

“That’s hard to believe when I hardly see you anymore,” she said.

Grandma was a petite woman, standing four feet ten inches tall. Without her, I’d probably be an orphan living a different life.