Page 186 of Beat of Love
A weighty weariness settled over Rafferty. “He’s dead, Connor,” he admitted, exhaling. “Miguel Oliveira, your biological father, is dead.”
Connor narrowed his eyes and lifted his chin. “How do you know?” he challenged, repeating the same words from earlier.
“Because I was there when he died.”
I watched him bleed out from wounds I gave him.
Connor tilted his head, studying Rafferty with quiet intensity.
Please don’t ask why I was there.
Then.
“Good,” Connor whispered. “Now he can’t hurt us.”
*
Rafferty moved quietly around the room that had once been his and Sully’s. The furniture from his childhood had been replaced by pieces from Connor’s room back in Clearbrook. The moving truck had arrived only hours before they did, but his family had worked fast — unpacking, arranging, making sure the kids would arrive to something familiar.
Pulling the damp sheets from the mattress, the scent hit him — ammonia and shame — and he winced for Connor, heart aching.
Fear did this. Not laziness. Not immaturity.Fear.
He bundled the sheets and soiled pajamas under his arm and left, pausing in the doorway to the bedroom that had been his parents’ until Pa’s accident, staring at the sleeping Connor stretched out on the wide bed. He watched the soft rise and fall of Connor’s chest, the small hand still clutching the edge of the blanket like a lifeline. How many nights had the kid lain awake, worrying about his father coming for him and his little sister.
Only six years old.
And already carrying scars that would shape the rest of his life.
Rafferty scrubbed a hand over his face, exhaustion dragging at his bones. But it wasn’t just fatigue — it was the weight of all he carried, and all he’d taken on.
Connor’s mine. Not by blood. But by every damn choice that matters.
Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep again, Rafferty made his way to the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.
What he really wanted was to slip into bed beside Brandy-Lyn, wrap her in his arms, and forget the world for a few hours.
But he had responsibilities underthisroof.
He’d hate for either kid to wake up and find him gone.
And yet you’re about to head to South America on another mission for revenge.
One you might not come back from.
The thought stopped him cold.
Connor and Nadie needed him.
Here.
He sank into a kitchen chair, elbows on the table, head in his hands.
He couldn’t leave them.
Not now, not so soon after they’d lost their mom.
Not ever.
