Page 150 of Burning Daylight

“Juliette isn’t like that.”

The words come out slow, like a whisper. It’s a risk to say it, but fuck it. I’m tired of sitting back while everyone has their own idea of who she is, too.

A look of understanding flows over my dad’s face, and he shakes his head, but the anger I expected never comes. “So, there is something.”

I clench my jaw, rolling the stem of the wine glass back and forth in my fingers, the red liquid sloshing around in the bottom of the glass. “Nah. Nothing that matters.”

And fuck, does that hurt to admit.

“Some things are better left to die, son.”

My chest squeezes tight, and I force a nod. “Is that what you did with Ma?”

“I loved your mother.” His eyes grow sad. “But what I felt for her pales in comparison to the love I have for you.”

My brows draw in, and an ache hits me right in the sternum, like something has clawed its way inside of me and ripped open old wounds. I let out a humorless laugh. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

“I’ve made a lot of mistakes; I can admit that. But you’re my legacy, Roman. The purest love I’ve ever felt was when you were born and I held you in my arms. You don’t have to believe it, but it’s the truth.”

Another phantom pain spreads through my chest, and I reach up to rub it away.

My father takes a bite of his steak, his chin moving as he chews, his eyes locked on me like he’s trying to convey a secret.“And I would have done what I did a thousand times over to protect you.”

“Part of me still hates you,” I admit. “I don’t know that your soft words and pity acts can undo years of abandonment.”

He grunts. “That’s something I’ll just have to make peace with when I die, then.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that. I don’t like it.”

Shock filters over his face like a curtain.

“Who is Brutus Myrddin?” I ask, not wanting him to focus on what I just said.

He glances around like he’s worried someone will hear. “He’s the man the Calloways went into business with.”

“Then why was his picture in the files you gave me?”

“Because he’s a large part of why we’ve lost everything that we have.”

“He partnered with the Calloways.”

He dabs the corner of his mouth with a cloth napkin and places it back on his lap. “And was very upset that I wouldn’t sign on the dotted line to dissolve the WayMont agreement. Doesn’t matter. He’s dead now.”

“How did he die?”

My father takes a sip of his drink. “Shot in the back of the head and found on the bank of some river in Boston.”

“Jesus.”

“Enough of this talk,” he says. “Things are getting back to how they should be, and that’s why you’re here. To make a statement. Craig’s fumbling in his power now; people are waking up.”

He coughs then, his napkin coming up to cover his mouth. It’s a vicious attack, and I’m reminded that he isn’t well. Sometimes, it’s hard for me to remember because he’s so good at covering it up. “Enough shop talk. How’s your sister?”

My mind is running a thousand miles a minute, trying to come to terms with the fact my father is giving me pieces to a puzzle and assuming I’m okay being left halfway in the dark while I expose people for secrets they’d rather have buried.

If it weren’t for others who don’t match my description being purposely caught on cameras around Rosebrook, people would surely know it was me already.

“She’s barely speaking to me. How’s Mom?” I reply.