I had seen my father bury brothers.
I had seen him walk away from gunfights with blood running down his face.
I had watched him sit in silence after my mother died, staring out the clubhouse
window for three straight days.
But I had never seen him look at anyone the way he looked at Eve while she read
Thomas Cross's journal.
Like he was carrying twenty years of guilt on his back.
Nobody spoke.
The entire clubhouse seemed to shrink around us, every brother pretending not to
watch while watching anyway.
Eve stood by the old oak table, one hand gripping the leather journal, the other
covering her mouth. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks as she stared at the first
page.
If you're reading this, then I failed to keep my promise... and Eve is no longer safe.
She traced the words
