Chapter Twenty-Seven
Afraid to move—to breathe—Seth stared at his father’s stark handwriting on the envelope.
For a moment, he considered shoving the dresser back and pretending he’d never seen it. He had a future to worry about—Heavenly, the baby, Hudson, Beck.
He couldn’t fucking let the past drag him back now.
But how could he ignore this? If his dad had written him a note, hidden it in his room—where no one else would find it—there was a damn good reason.
Seth didn’t see how he could just turn his back on that.
And he had to be fast, before Heavenly finished her shower.
“Fuck.” He peeled away at the duct tape, the adhesive crackling and threatening to disintegrate under his fingertips.
Finally, he pulled the envelope free with shaking hands and turned it over, studying the faded ink on the front.
Seth.
His name written in his father’s careful block letters.
Nothing else.
He sat still. Stunned. Praying that the content inside was something innocuous, like a letter of fatherly advice his dad had written during a reflective moment.
Or encouragement about handling responsibility as he grew into a man.
Seth hoped like hell that he could read the page, fold it back up, and tuck it away with a bittersweet smile.
He had a sinking feeling it wouldn’t be that simple.
Seth’s heart pounded as he crossed to his side of the bed. His legs felt unsteady, so he sank onto the mattress and angled his body to block the view of anyone who might burst into the room. If worse came to worst, he’d shove this into the nightstand drawer.
He exhaled, trying to steady himself, as he slid his thumb under the flap and lifted it.
Inside, he found a single sheet of folded paper, along with a business card to a climate-controlled storage unit a couple of miles from the house.
On the back of the card, his father had left a gate code and a unit number.
In the bottom of the envelope, he found the kind of small key used for padlocks.
Seth’s stomach dropped. This wasn’t sentimental. This was the past coming back.
This was dangerous.
Dread coiled as Seth unfolded the letter. The date at the top of the page was exactly one week before his father died.
He scrubbed a hand down his face, dragged in a ragged breath, and read on.
Seth,
If you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’ve failed. I’m equally sorry to leave this on your shoulders, but I don’t have any other choice.
There’s real danger. I’m afraid for you, your mother, and your brothers.
I’ve been looking into things—corruption, bad people doing unspeakable things—and I think they’re onto me.
I don’t know how much time I have. Maybe I’m being paranoid.
I hope I’m overreacting. But if I’m not, and something happens to me, I need you to understand why.
I don’t trust the people in charge to investigate this properly. They’re part of the problem. So I’m leaving this for you, because you’re smart. Because I know you’ll be cautious, and you should be. And because, when you’re old enough, I know you’ll know what to do.
I’m not asking you to finish what I started or to seek vengeance.
I don’t want you to put yourself in danger.
But I need you to know this threat exists.
Pretending it doesn’t could get people killed—your mother, you, and your brothers—all the people I love who don’t deserve to be collateral damage in this corrupt war.
I prayed I’d never have to write this. Prayed you’d never have to read it. But if you are, I couldn’t stop the threat and keep everyone safe. I hope somehow you will understand why I couldn’t stay silent.
Be careful, son. These criminals are dangerous and not above murder.
I love you. I’m proud of you. And I’m always with you. But most of all, I’m sorry.
—Dad
Seth’s throat closed. His eyes burned. He blinked hard, forcing himself to focus.
How terrified had his dad been when he’d written the letter? How worried had he been to put all his faith in his teenage son?
Seth stared at the note, reading it again. His dad hadn’t come right out and stated there was evidence in the storage unit. He didn’t need to. But why else would he send Seth a key and the security codes?
Something was hidden there. Something his father had died protecting.
Something vitally important that had been sitting untouched for sixteen years.
He zipped his stare to the closet—to the box that held his father’s notes. The same box Seth had combed through a million times trying to figure out why his father had been killed.
What if…he’d never solved his dad’s murder because he’d been missing vital clues? What if those clues were in that storage unit?
Seth stared at the letter in one hand, the card and key in the other.
He was at a fucking crossroads.
He didn’t feel triumph or excitement. He didn’t even feel determination.
Instead, a cold, sinking certainty settled into his bones.
Clearly, his father had known he’d been in danger sixteen years ago. What he couldn’t have known was that this threat would show up to exact its vengeance on Autumn and Tristan eight horrible years later.
He thought about Tony’s skittishness at the bar when he’d talked about the precinct. Things have changed, gotten more political. It feels…corrupt.
He thought about Nikolai’s cryptic comment minutes later. I heard the minute you arrived in town. If I am aware of such things, do you not think they are, too?
Whatever his father had discovered, it sounded as if the threat was ongoing. And according to Nik, bigger and stronger than ever.
Seth froze. His body motionless. Dangerously controlled.
But his mind raced.
Once, he’d had everything—a wife, a son, a future. Then they’d been ripped away in a single fucking night.
And now he had Heavenly. Hudson. Beck. A baby on the way.
He’d be a lying motherfucker if he said he wasn’t terrified of losing them the same way because he knew damn well that digging got people killed. Worse, the danger never came for him. It preyed on the people he loved.
For now, Seth had to shelve this discovery. They had to maintain their careful facade during this brunch—pretend Beck wasn’t a part of his relationship with Heavenly—and not let news about the baby slip. Adding a murder investigation on top of that was too much.
And if his mom found out he’d discovered a warning from his dad, she wouldn’t stand still. She would do something and put herself at risk. A chill slid up his spine. Seth was eternally grateful his mom had never found that envelope. If she had, she likely wouldn’t be here, like his dad.
Still, Seth knew he couldn’t keep this to himself indefinitely. Eventually, he had to come clean with Beck and Heavenly. A secret like this would tear them apart.
But she didn’t need this level of anxiety now. It could be bad for the baby, and he didn’t want to risk them.
So he needed to tell Beck. At some point. If he could get the good doctor alone before he took them to the airport... Of course, Beck would be livid. Seth would have to convince him, swear that he wouldn’t go recklessly chasing the truth again.
Hudson didn’t need to know. The kid had enough on his plate, and Seth refused to drag a sixteen-year-old into shit this dangerous.
Which told Seth how threatened his dad must have felt if he’d been compelled to leave evidence with his teenage son.
Fuck.
Seth let out a shaky breath. Logic told him to walk away. His allegiance was to the future, not the past. He owed the family he was committing to now his protection. He didn’t owe answers to a cold case that had been shoved in a dusty storage unit over a decade ago.
But…whatever his father had stashed could not only explain his loved ones’ deaths, but possibly end the danger for good. The investigation he and his father had tried to dissect had torn their family apart twice. The cost of all he’d lost had haunted him for years.
Could he simply ignore the chance to finally get the answers he ached for?
Wouldn’t that negate everything his father had died for? Everything Autumn and Tristan had died for?
But he owed his new and growing family as much as he owed the ones who’d died on his watch.
Fuck. Seth raked a hand through his hair. He didn’t know what to do.
Suddenly, the shower shut off. Pipes groaned. Heavenly would be back any second.
Cursing, Seth shoved the letter and key into the envelope, his heart hammering.
He had to plan…and he was out of goddamn time.
Downstairs, Seth heard the front door open and close, followed by the murmur of voices—his mother’s light laugh, Carl’s deeper rumble.
They were back—and he was holding a piece of paper that could blow up his entire life.
Seth’s hands shook as he shoved the letter into the drawer of his nightstand and closed it, but he pushed too hard. The drawer jammed in its track.
With a curse, Seth yanked on the handle. At his brute force, the lamp on top rattled. He grimaced.
Fuck. He had to calm down, get himself together.
He sucked in a breath, then let it out as he scanned the room for anything else out of place. Shit. The dresser was still askew.
Seth leapt to his feet and ate up the distance across the floor, lifting the heavy dresser back until it nestled against the wall.
When he finished, his palms were sweating. His heart hammered so hard he could feel it in his throat.
No one could see him like this, or everyone would know something was wrong. They would ask questions, and Seth didn’t have any answers.
For now, he rolled his shoulders and forced his expression into something neutral before yanking open the bedroom door.
At the top of the landing, Seth paused to listen. Mom and Carl were moving through the house, their voices clearer. He could hear the rustle of bags, the clink of dishes as he descended the stairs, his jaw already aching from clenching it.
Showtime.