Page 2 of Her Remarkable Protector

“Well, that’s why I’m wearing this tee.”

He tousles my hair. “God, you grow up fast!”

A grin is my response.

“So, what are you going to ask your mother to do with the fish this time?” Dad asks, holding up a glistening trout.

“Grilled!” I blurt, barely needing to think about it. Mom’s cooking is famous in our house, but grilled fish is the best—especially with herbs, roast potatoes, and veggies. “Just no Brussels sprouts!”

I race ahead to push open the front door, ready to yell,We’re home!But the words freeze in my throat.

Mom is kneeling behind the cabinet, her hands clutching something, her face furious. Dad freezes beside me, the fish slipping lower in his grasp.

“Bree, I can explain,” Dad says, his tone already defensive.

“Don’t even try!” Mom spits, holding up one of the wrapped bundles—a brick of brown paper that I know all too well. “Property of S.C.? Are you kidding me?”

Dad turns to me. “Skipper, go to your room!”

I don’t move right away. I don’t need anyone to spell it out for me. Those bricks aren’t just packages—they’re poison. Dad never stopped. Selling. Using. Lying. I know what he’s done. I’ve always known.

But now Mom knows, too. Poor Mom. She really believed he’d left it all behind.

“Honor! Go to your room!” Dad barks this time.

I drop the basket and bolt upstairs as they start arguing. The walls seem thinner than usual, their voices coming through the cracks. My bed feels like the only safe place, so I crawl deep into it. I tie my hair into a ponytail, slip on my headset, and crank up the music, drowning out the smothering fight below.

Minutes feel like hours before the shouting finally stops. The door creaks open, and Mom steps inside. Her face is pale, and she looks unsure, like she’s not even sure how to begin.

She waves for me to take off my headset. “Honor, honey?”

“I’m fine,” I snap.

“I know you are. We girls are tough, aren’t we?” She sits on the edge of my bed, her weight making it sink a little. “But I need to apologize. You shouldn’t have seen that. I should’ve handled it better.”

I shrug, pretending I’m cooler than I feel. “I’m not a kid anymore, Mom. I know what’s going on.”

And I do. I know exactly who S.C. is—or rather, who they are. The Stoneborn Circle. Nobody talks about them, but I’ve heard the whispers. I’ve even heard Dad mention them.

Mom’s shoulders slump, and her lips press together like she’s searching for the right words. She’s about to say something when?—

Bam.The front door slams open so hard it shakes the walls. Definitely kicked.

“Smells fishy in here!” a man’s voice booms, slick and cocky. I don’t know him, but his tone screams trouble. “Saw the truck, saw the fishing gear. Smells like y’all had a good haul.”

Mom jerks into action, shoving me off the bed. “Closet. Now. Don’t make a sound.”

I scramble into the closet, heart hammering. She shuts the bedroom door behind her, moving quietly. Mom left the force for love—some twisted idea of it, anyway—but she’s never stopped being a cop. Not in the ways that count.

Downstairs, the guy’s voice grows louder. “You’re a fuckin’ thief, old man! You know what happens to people who cross the Stoneborns?”

Dad’s voice cuts in, desperate, shaky. “I was gonna give it back! I swear!”

“Jackpot’s right here, boys!” the guy yells, loud enough for whoever’s with him to hear.

“You got it. You want it. Take it!” Dad pleads. “Just... just take it and go.”

This is bad.

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