Page 96 of Sully

“Was,” I clarified. “David died.”

“I know,” Sully said, eyes unfathomable depths, making another chill move through me. “I was there.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Sully

It was the perfect damn day.

Even if Chris didn’t actually have anything I thought was actionable.

Getting to wake up with Bonnie, spend the morning reading together, having sex, watching her overcome her fears and have fun on the playground, seeing her come out of her shell around the Hailstorm crew.

It had been fucking great.

Until she finally said it.

Her last name.

And it all fucking… fell into place.

It had been so jarring that I’d snapped at Bonnie, whose fucking gorgeous face fell, not used to me speaking to her that way.

I mean, Christ, it was enough of a bark that Fischer stepped between us.

But Clewski?

FuckingClewski?

“Baby,” I said, exhaling hard. “Why didn’t you ever tell me you had a brother?”

“I guess because I don’t anymore,” she said. “And I don’t really like talking about my past at all.”

That was fair.

Aside from knowing her old man was a nasty drunk and she’d gone no-contact with them, I honestly didn’t know anything. That little tidbit about the chickens was the most she’d said about her childhood in days.

“But you had a brother. David. Who joined the military when he was—”

“Seventeen,” she said. “My mom signed off on it. I think she knew that he was going to kill my father if he didn’t get out of there.”

“There must have been a big age gap.”

“Yeah. I was a later-in-life oopsie. Believe me, I was well aware of how unwanted I was. ‘Coulda been living the high life by now if she didn’t get her dumb ass knocked up’ was one of my father’s favorite things to say to me.”

“Asshole,” Fischer grumbled under his breath.

“Yeah,” Bonnie agreed. “I don’t really remember a lot about David. He was so much older and wanted nothing to do with a little sister. Then he left. I used to hope he might make some money, come back, and rescue me,” Bonnie said, her eyes going a little glassy before she blinked the tears away. “But then… he died.”

“I’m sorry,” Fischer said, his head tipped to the side.

I’d never been a jealous kind of guy. Especially when a man was just showing human concern for another person and their lived experience. But I was getting close to wanting to physically move that fucker from Bonnie’s side.

“Wait,” Chris, ever the pragmatist and much better at compartmentalizing things, given her horrific past, spoke. “So, you knew her brother? There is a connection between you.”

“Yes,” I said, answering Bonnie, because there was a question in her eyes.

“He was on my last operation,” I said. “Green as grass still,” I recalled. “We used to tease him,” I added. “‘Come on, get a Clewski,’ was a common refrain those days.”

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