Page 59 of Oathbreaker

I don’t miss the irony because she should be the only thing in the world that matters—especially to me. Obviously, her mother is in a class of her own, but Frankie is my kid. My daughter. A baby I never dreamed of but always wanted. The plan in my head had been to get through training while giving Briar that year to establish herself professionally. Then we would get married, and I’d be able to give her the general details of my job. So she wouldn’t worry. Well, so she wouldn’t worry as much.

You’re always going to worry when your significant other has a dangerous job.

At some point, when both of us were somewhat settled in our careers, we’d talk about a baby. Or three or four. I was a sad, miserable only child, physically and verbally abused by both my mother and the subsequent string of stepfathers.

There was no one to protect me or have my back until I met the guys in college.

I wanted what I had with the guys for my future kids.

Now I have one, but she calls me Colt instead of Daddy. Not even Uncle Colt, just Colt. Like I’m one of her mother’s random friends. And it stings.

I’m working on it, though.

And I won’t give up until they both love me.

But the only jersey I want to see my kid in is Banks’s.

“Hey.” Atlas nods in my direction once Frankie runs over to see Maisie.

“Hi.” I want to crack a joke or say something about how much I love seeing his relationship with Frankie, but I’m suddenly tongue-tied. He’s one of my best friends in the world and I don’t know how to talk to him anymore. He wasn’t a billionaire the last time I saw him.

“How are you feeling?” he asks politely.

God, this really sucks. This is the equivalent of talking about the weather.

“I’m better,” I say. “It’s been slow going. I have to see a nephrologist on Tuesday, so he can test my kidney function.”

I was hoping for a smidge of sympathy, and it worked—I see the concern in his eyes.

“It was that bad?” He pauses and then slowly lifts his hands in an almost helpless gesture, which is so out of character for him. “I guess I don’t know what happened to you.”

I nod. “You could have asked.”

His eyes meet mine and—finally—I see the smallest hint of regret.

Maybe we’re getting somewhere.

“I could have,” he says. “But you threw a double whammy at us.”

“I didn’t mean to. To be fair, I had no idea Frankie existed. I thought my superiors were forwarding my mail while I was in training. And it wasn’t until I got back last month that I found out I’d been declared dead. If there was any possible way for me to get in touch, I would have. You have to believe that, Atlas.”

There it is, me laying it on the line with as much brutal honesty as I can muster up.

He stands there, studying my face, as if trying to wrap his head around it.

“You were in Russia,” he says after a moment.

“Siberia.”

He grimaces. “Jesus.”

“Four years. Daily beatings. Torture. Minimal food. Cold and hungry every day.” I take a breath. “I don’t want sympathy—I just want you to understand that there isn’t a force on this earth that would have willingly taken me away from Briar and the rest of you. I fought like hell to survive so I could get back to all of you.”

Another long, calculating beat of silence.

He stares, and I stare back.

I’ve never been afraid of my brothers, and after what I’ve been through, there isn’t much that scares me. About the only thing that strikes fear in my heart is the thought of losing my family. Briar. Frankie. The boys.