Page 67 of The Sculptor

“Do you really need to be away from Tatum? What if she needs you?”

Astor, the oldest of us, flashes Vance a patient grin. “Halle is capable of watching Tatum for a little while. Let it go, Vance. You’re not in charge here.”

The perks of being the oldest.

Vance looks like he wants to argue, leaning back against the front of his desk, but he agrees, respecting the hierarchy. “Fine,” he grits out between clenched teeth. “Stay. Add more stress to your plate.”

Astor simply grins, ignoring Vance’s fit, and looks at me. “All right, Duke. You have our attention. What’s going on?”

I held nothing back.

I told them the truth—thewholetruth.

Their brother wasn’t a drug addict.

He didn’t run away to get high in an abandoned cabin with his high school girlfriend.

He was a man who tried to honor his responsibilities.

A man who held his lifeless son and prayed as he breathed life back into his lungs.

I told them of the silence.

I shared with them the screams.

And when I got to the end of my story, I stood and begged—for their forgiveness—for their help in finding the boy I lost that winter.

But then the tears started to fall, and things got awkward.

I swipe at my cheeks, drying the unwanted emotion, and try to lighten the tension with a joke.

“Vance, you keep staring at me like that, and it’s going to set the record for my longest-lasting relationship.”

No one moves.

I’m not sure that either of them breathes until Vance stalks forward and grabs me by the back of the neck, his eyes aflame with something I can’t quite place. “I should beat your ass,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “And I will if you ever keep something like this from us again.”

He yanks me toward him and… hugs me. It’s awkward, but we let it play out all the same. It’s not often my brothers and I hug, but this wasn’t an easy conversation to have.

“I will kill Harrison,” he finally says, letting me go, his gaze flashing to Astor, who, at the mention of a son, had jumped up and started pacing the room.

“Agreed,” Astor says, coming over and pulling me in for a hug, too. “I can promise you, we will find your son.”

“I’ve started a war,” I remind them, stepping back and taking a seat. “It won’t be that easy. Congressmen Ford and Albrecht will do anything in their power to keep this story from coming out. That means destroying Potter’s Plastics in the process. They’ll go after what we care about.”

Vance scoffs, rounding his desk and opening his laptop. “I wish they fucking would. Richard needs something to do.”

Richard is our family attorney. He’s the one who recently handled Vance’s lawsuit.

“Now, this adoption,” Vance continues, his focus still on his screen. “You said you had a reporter working on it?”

Relief hits me hard as Vance completely moves on from the concern about the practice. If anyone was going to worry about their reputation, it would be Vance.

“Kelly,” I answer. “She’s the reporter helping us.”

“She’s looking into the death certificate, too?” Astor chimes in.

I nod and start to tell him that I have another copy, but Vance cuts me off. “Tell her we’ll handle it. Astor, come look at this.”

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