“You don’t have to thank me,” he replies, sitting back down with me. “I promised your dad that I’d look after you, and I meant it, Bronte. I’m here for you.”

   My tummy is full.

   My house is clean.

   My heart is...empty.

   But still beating.

   And that slow, soft strum is going to have to be enough to save me.

* * *

   “Hey, Nadia, could you please call me back when you get this message? It’s important, thanks,” I say into her voice mail.

   Placing my phone down on my side table, I look up at the ceiling and know I have to push myself to get out of bed, and out of this apartment. Crow has dropped by for the last four days, making sure I’ve eaten and that I’m okay, and I don’t know how I’m ever going to thank him for being here in my darkest hours. He was my strength when I had none, but now I’m going to have to stand on my own two feet.

   After thinking about Dad’s death, and how something about it just isn’t right, I know I have to do something. I need answers. I need to give him justice. I need the truth.

   I have a shower, get dressed in jeans, a white T-shirt and my white Nikes, and open my front door.

   I take a deep breath before stepping over the threshold. This is me facing the world, instead of hiding from it.

   This is me facing life without my dad in it, and boy, is it hard.

   Getting into my car, I have a reason for pushing through, a purpose.

   I’m going to find out what really happened to my dad.

   And I’m not going to stop until I know the truth.

Chapter Eight

   My first stop is Uncle Neville’s house. While I’m waiting on Nadia to call me back, I’m going to see what my uncle knows, and to see how he’s handling the loss. It’s not just me who will be grieving right now, and I know it was selfish of me to just shut everyone out, but I did what I had to for myself at that time.

   When I knock on the door, he answers straight away. “Oh, Bronte,” he whispers, pulling me into his arms for a bear hug. “I’ve called, I’ve come to your apartment... Where the hell have you been?”

   “I’m sorry, I’ve just been trying to deal,” I admit, clearing my throat. “How are you?”

   He looks away. “Trying to deal, too. Freddy was the best younger brother in the world, you know that?”

   “He used to say that you were the best bigger brother in the world,” I admit.

   “I don’t know about that,” he murmurs after a slight hesitation.

   We step inside and I follow him to his spacious kitchen. Sitting at the marble bench, I watch as he makes us some coffee.

   “I’m glad you came by,” he says after a few moments. “We need to stick together right now, and I want you to know I’m here for you. Whatever you need.”

   “I know,” I say, smiling sadly. “I actually did want to talk to you about Dad. I know it sounds like the grief talking, but I don’t think he overdosed on pain meds, and that’s what they’re telling me.”

   I look him in the eye. “I want to know what you think, and please be honest.”

   “Bronte...” he murmurs, exhaling deeply. Yeah, he’s not going to enjoy this conversation any more than I’m going to.

   “The time for keeping things from me has passed,” I say, wrapping my arms around myself. “There was something going on between you and Dad. I’m aware you were doing business together. Do you know anything that could help me find out what happened? I need to hear the truth, and you’re the only one that can help me.”

   He studies me closely. It’s the hesitation there that has me intrigued. “Bronte—”

   “Don’t you ‘Bronte’ me. I want you to tell me what you’re thinking. Tell me what you know. Because I’m not going to stop until I find out what happened, and we both know damn well Dad wasn’t trying to overdose. He wasn’t even taking any medication that I was aware of,” I fire back, gritting my teeth. I don’t care if they found pain meds next to his bed. Anyone could have put those there. I know my dad, and I know in my gut that he’s not the type of person to do something like that.

   He sits down next to me, coffee in front of us both. He pours some whiskey into his. “It’s complicated.”

   “That’s not an answer.”

   “Bronte—”

   “Whatever it is, I can handle it,” I assure him, but he still looks uncertain.

   There’s something he’s not telling me, and I need to know what it is.

   “Okay. You know that all my businesses haven’t always been...legitimate,” he starts, tiptoeing on the subject.

   “I do know that. Dad told me that you deal with some unsavory characters with your business deals sometimes,” I reply, shrugging. “What does that have to do with this? Do you think they targeted Dad instead of you? Mixed the two of you up or something?” I don’t understand.

   “Your dad worked with me as a partner.”

   “Okay,” I say slowly, dragging the word out. I mean, my dad always had money, and I knew it had to come from somewhere. “The construction company, right?”

   “You don’t make that kind of money in construction,” he mutters, clearing his throat.

   My dad never acted like he was rich. I always knew my uncle had money, though. Not because he showed it off, but I could tell that money was never an issue for him. He may portray himself as a farmer, but he was a wealthy farmer.

   “And what exactly did the two of you do that’s making you look at me like that?” I ask him.

   His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “We...we were trying to get out of some of the deals and become completely legitimate, but it was a harder process than we had anticipated.”

   I’ve never seen my uncle nervous in my entire life. He’s full of confidence, and he can bluff with the best of them. He’s never been one to give anything away, but right now he looks uncomfortable.

   “What aren’t you telling me?” I press, looking him dead in the eye. “Just say it, please.”

   He bites down on his lip before he replies. “You’re going to look at me differently, and I don’t want you to ever think badly of Freddy.”

   “There’s nothing you can say that will make me think badly of my dad.”

   “Okay. One of our most profitable businesses ever has been dealing in...narcotics.”