Page 58 of Faron
He nodded. “I haven’t reached out. Wanted to ask you first.”
I stared at the photo. She looked strong. Confident. Everything I hoped she’d grow up to be.
“She doesn’t know I’m alive,” I whispered. “Our mom made sure of that.”
“You want me to keep digging?”
I nodded slowly. “Yeah. But gently. If she doesn’t remember me… I don’t want to scare her.”
Tag rested a hand on my shoulder. “You got it, brother.”
We stood in the quiet hum of laughter and conversation, the scent of barbecue thick in the air. The clink of cups. The music. Blue’s voice floating through the breeze.
It felt like home.
Family.
Hope.
Tag smirked. “Also—I brought pie.”
I blinked. “That’s the real headline.”
“Cherry. Homemade. From a lady I’m trying to impress. Don’t screw this up for me.”
“God help her,” I said, heading back toward the food table.
Blue caught my expression. “You okay?”
I wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed her temple. “Yeah. I think I finally will be.”
53
Faron
Downtown L.A. was loud.
Louder than Blue’s clinic. Louder than a battlefield, in a different way—sirens, voices, the clash of too many lives crammed into too little space. I missed the wind off the cliffs of the reservation. The crash of waves back home. But this wasn’t about me.
This was about her.
Tag’s final report came two days ago.
Aponi Lightfoot—now Aponi Hartman—Detective, LAPD, violent crimes task force. Thirty years old. Single. No kids. Dozens of commendations. A reputation for being sharp, fearless, relentless.
She didn’t know I was here.
I wasn’t even sure she knew she had a brother.
I leaned against the hood of a dusty rental car across from her precinct, ball cap pulled low. Watching.
Then she walked out.
Even across the street—I felt it.
She moved like someone trained to survive. Alert eyes, precise stride, her hand always near her sidearm even off-duty. But there was more. She carried herself like someone who’d fought for every inch of ground. Confident. Steady. A grown version of the girl I used to carry on my shoulders through dust storms.
She stopped to speak to a homeless man. Gave him something. Smiled like he mattered.
