First Look at 'Shades of Red'

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my first YouTube video, so to celebrate I am giving you guys a sneak peek at my new book, Shades of Red! It's an enemies-to-lovers forbidden romance and the start of a brand-new series. I hope you guys enjoy this first look at the opening two chapters, and make sure to follow me on my socials and subscribe to my mailing list to stay updated for Shades of Red's cover reveal and release date!

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Shades of Red

CHAPTER ONE

Blood ran between the cobblestones, forming small red rivers that made bile rise in Stella Rook’s throat as she threw herself into the fray. She grabbed her cousin’s arm, which was cocked back, ready to deliver another blow. Harvey snarled as she tugged on his arm. Underneath him, the remaining Raven moaned weakly, his fingers clawing at the hand Harvey clenched around his throat.

“Enough,” Stella hissed in his ear. 

Harvey ripped away and punched the Raven again. He was taking his time with this one; three other Ravens laid a few feet away with their throats slit open. Stella ignored them as she lunged at Harvey again, this time securing his arm and twisting it behind his back in a move so quick he didn’t have time to deflect it. Her lip curled in disgust as she felt how slick his arm was, coated in blood that was not his own.

“This has gone too far,” she snapped, quiet enough that only Harvey could hear. “Father isn’t happy, and neither am I. If you want to keep your place in this gang then you need to start following orders.”

He twisted to glare at her. “You wouldn’t kick me out.”

“I can and I will.” Stella bared her teeth. “I dare you to mess around and find out.”

Harvey glared at her for a long moment. Then he jerked his arm away and stalked away, pausing long enough to spit on the Raven. Stella’s amber eyes flashed as she glared after him, but a weak cough from the ground snagged her attention.

The Raven’s face was a bloody patchwork of bruises, his arm fractured in multiple places. Stella didn’t have to see the beginnings of the fight to know Harvey was responsible for the three dead men, too.

The Raven moaned, attempting to roll over. 

“Dump him back over the border,” Stella ordered her men. She jerked her chin at the corpses. “And take care of them, too.”

They exchanged an irksome look at the blunt orders. Stella narrowed her eyes, and they rushed into action, dragging the Raven towards the border by his legs. Trespassers deserved punishment, of course, but Harvey Rook going all-out on Raven lowlifes would not help ease the tension brewing in the Barter Streets.

Fighting back her frustration, she turned on her heel and stormed after Harvey. Her dark hair fell to the bottom of her ribcage, the curls swirling in the salt-tinged breeze. She was a spitting image of her father, with her amber eyes and brown hair. Harvey and his sister took after the Rook lineage as well, resembling Stella so much that people often mistook them for siblings rather than cousins.

She caught up to Harvey. Her hands itched to draw her gun, or better yet, punch him across his face, but she kept her hands at her sides as she fell into step with her cousin.

Harvey’s lips curled into a sneer as he looked down on her, amber eyes glinting in the midday sun. “Are you going to lecture me now?”

Blood coated his hands and face. He licked the back of his bloody knuckles with a sly smile. Stella kept her gaze firmly ahead as she drawled, “Are you going to stop beating up every Raven that crosses the border?”

“They know better.”

“You know better. Daelik is winning the sheriff’s favor because of your antics. We don’t kill everyone who walks into our territory. It sets a precedent.”

“I didn’t kill him,” he said smugly. 

Rage flickered in the corners of her eyes. “Don’t try and convince me that wasn’t your intention.”

Harvey examined the blood on his knuckles. “If you had let me finish, you would have seen what my intentions were.” His eyes flicked to her. “I don’t like it when people interrupt me.”

“Father sent me,” Stella said, crossing her arms. 

He grunted and fell silent, toying with his prized hunting knife where it was sheathed at his side. It was long and had a wooden handle with a leather grip, the tip of the blade curved just so. Harvey’s calloused fingers curled around it protectively.

Stella resisted the urge to take it away from him, knowing it wouldn’t go over well if she tried. Her father was perhaps the only person Harvey respected. He was the one who took Harvey and Zoey in after the siblings’ father was killed in the feud. Stella never cared for the idea of sharing her house with her cousins. Zoey was alright, but Harvey was… twisted. Something dark had taken root inside of him, and it had only grown worse over the years. She wasn’t fully convinced that he wasn’t rabid.

The wind picked up, blowing her hair into her face. A lone raven rode the breeze high overhead. Lochridge was eerily quiet for this time of day. Stella couldn’t help but frown at the streets that were typically teeming with people, at the restaurants and shops and bars that now sat empty. These were the Barter Streets. They were usually flooded with customers, especially on a day like today when the sun was out and Lochridge wasn’t trapped under the layer of clouds that always seemed to be present. Every business that operated in the White Roses’ territory paid a tax to Marcus, who headed the gang, but their income would be low thanks to the bloodbath behind them scaring away customers. 

Stella’s features hardened. Harvey, however, seemed oblivious as he used his shirt to clean off his knife.

The cobblestone streets soon turned to a beaten-down dirt path. Stella turned on instinct, walking up the hill towards the Rook manor. The family didn’t live in the city proper but rather on the outskirts in a beautiful farmhouse. Rolling green hills surrounded the property, the grass thick and lucious from the near-constant rain. As the cousins drew nearer, Stella could pick up on the intoxicating smell of roses. The source soon came into view: Evelyn Rook’s prized rose garden, white roses sprinkled with reds and pinks, taking up most of the front yard. An intricate fence sectioned it off, thorny vines dotted with white blooms snaking up the wrought iron designs.

White roses. Evelyn’s favorite flower and the namesake of their gang.

Two guards waited at the gate. They nodded at Stella as she breezed through, Harvey grumbling under his breath as he followed her into the house. 

Her father’s office was at the end of the hallway. Stella didn’t bother knocking as she swept into the room. What she really wanted was to clean off the grime on her hands before it could stain her shirt, but she wouldn’t have missed Harvey getting lectured for anything.

“I brought what you asked for,” she said, sinking gracefully into one of the chairs in front of his desk. Stella was born with the grace and beauty of a dancer. Even wearing nothing but a simple pair of dark trousers, knee-high boots, and a white blouse—which, she noted with distress, had a bloodstain on the sleeve from where she’d grabbed Harvey’s arm—she was breathtaking. It was her most useful quality, in her opinion; she could get men to ease their guards with nothing but a sly look, leaving them open for an attack.

Marcus barely glanced up as Harvey entered, kicking the door shut behind him. “Sit.”

One word that carried so much authority. Harvey slouched in his seat.

Stella watched her father stroke his beard. His once-dark hair was now streaked through with gray, though his whiskey-colored eyes were as alert as ever. 

“I don’t know what to do with you,” Marcus said at last. Stella tried not to get too much satisfaction out of seeing her cousin squirm in his seat. “You disobey my orders again and again. How many times have I told you to let little things go? When a lowlife sneaks across, we give them a warning and move on. The only time we engage in a fight is if they start it. That rule has been in place since before you were born. It’s the only thing that keeps any kind of peace around here, and you…” Marcus sucked in a deep breath. “You are hellbent on breaking that peace, aren’t you?”

Stella examined her blood-splattered hands through the lecture. Her father’s idea of peace was a far cry from the actual thing. To him, peace meant going a day without having to lecture somebody or get into a fight himself. Nevermind the daily skirmishes and rumors and dirty deals and brawls that happened all over the city as a result of the feud.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” he demanded.

Harvey let out an exasperated sigh that set Stella’s blood boiling. “I don’t know what to say, uncle. I saw a problem; I took care of the problem. Yes, it was a little messy, but it comes with the territory.” He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”

“That’s what you think,” Stella snapped.

Marcus shushed her. “That answer is unacceptable,” he said to his nephew. “Come up with a better one.”

He shrugged again. “That’s all I’ve got.”

“I will not have you strutting around here, doing every damn thing you please,” Marcus snarled. “The scene today will cut down on customers across the Barter Streets. I have enough on my plate already without you getting caught up in every disagreement that takes place in this city. Do you understand?”

To his credit, Harvey didn’t cower. He straightened in his seat, his head held high. 

Marcus studied his nephew for a few long moments. “That’s the way it’s going to be, then.” Harvey didn’t answer, but Stella didn’t think Marcus expected him to. “Fine. You’re on guard duty out front tonight.”

Havey exploded from his chair. “What? That’s for scrubs!”

Marcus had already returned his focus to the ledger in front of him. “Guard duty for a week.”

“You can’t force me to,” he snarled, bracing his arms on the edge of the desk. A lesser man would have cowered under the full wrath of Harvey Rook’s murderous gaze, but Marcus merely eyed him with icy indifference. 

“You will find yourself in a much worse position if you disobey me again,” he said. “You have two weeks on the night watch out front. Do you wish to keep going?”

Stella smirked as Harvey stared, his mouth hanging open in a way that was almost comical. He was a mess, his white shirt untucked and stained red, his dark brown hair falling in his eyes, which were alight with fury. Marcus held his gaze until Harvey finally relented, shooting a glare at them both before turning on his heel. The door slammed shut behind him with such force that the lamp on the desk rattled.

Stella turned to her father. “He needs temper management lessons.”

Marcus scrubbed his face. “What am I going to do with him?”

“It’s not too late to put him down. It’s what we usually do with rabid dogs.”

He stroked his beard again, as if trying to rub away the streaks of gray. “Zoey needs to keep a better eye on him. She’s the only one he’ll listen to.”

“Most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” he agreed. “His antics are getting to be a problem. Things with Daelik and his Ravens are bad enough without Harvey making it worse. And with the meeting coming up, we can’t afford extra tension.” He studied his daughter. “I know it’s not exactly your place, but you need to start keeping an eye on him, too. Zoey has her hands full.”

Controlling Harvey was most definitely not her place, but Stella nodded all the same. It would do her no good to argue with her father over this. He was in a temper after Harvey, and he had already punished one person today. Stella didn’t want to be next.

She sighed. “I better talk to Zoey.”

“That would be a wise idea,” Marcus agreed.

Stella left his office with a splitting headache and a gutted feeling in her stomach. She eyed the grand piano sitting in the corner of the parlor as she passed the open door. It was a beautiful day to play—with everyone out on errands, leaving the house mostly empty, the room was quiet, filled with the sunshine pouring in through the open windows. Her fingers itched to dance across the ivory keys, to lose herself in the music, but when she reached out to play a note, she cringed at the sight of the blood caked on her hands.

Stella’s mouth twisted as she trudged upstairs, doing her best not to touch anything as she aimed for the bathroom. She nudged open the door with her foot and turned the water on full blast. Droplets splashed against the porcelain sink as she stuck her hands under the spray of scalding water.

“What happened?”

Her head jerked up at Zoey’s voice. Her cousin leaned in the doorway, her cropped shirt riding up, baring a sliver of tan skin. While Stella’s hair was long and fell in soft curls down her back, Zoey’s was straight as a board, chopped off just above her chin. Her amber eyes were pinned on Stella’s hands and the blood now swirling down the drain.

“Your brother is what happened,” Stella snapped, still scrubbing. “Three Ravens dead and another on the way. I thought you were supposed to be with him today.”

“Something came up. Trystan took me to that new cafe on Hanson Street for lunch—”

She paused her scrubbing. “Trystan?”

“That guy I met at the bar last week.”

“I thought you were still with Cal.”

Zoey yawned. “We broke up two days ago.”

Stella rolled her eyes and continued washing, focusing on a spot of red caught behind her fingernail. “Harvey is getting out of hand. Father has informed me it’s now my job to deal with him.”

Zoey winced. “No, Stell, forget about that. I’ll keep him contained.”

“You always say that.” Stella turned off the water with more force than strictly necessary. Her hands were now clean, her fair skin free of every red stain. She turned to face Zoey fully, folding her arms over her chest. “I’m not worried about Harvey getting himself killed. I’m worried about him getting other people killed. When I have to bail him out, I’m terrified that he’s going to come after me in a moment of rage!”

Zoey chewed on her lip. “I’m sorry.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s not your fault,” she said at last. “You shouldn’t be responsible for Harvey’s behavior, either. But if someone doesn’t keep an eye on him, he’ll have free reign to cause all the trouble wants.”

She squeezed Stella’s shoulder. “I’ll talk to him. One of these days I’m bound to get through that thick skull of his.”

That was as good as she was going to get for now. Stella grabbed her hand, squeezing it back. Zoey grinned at her, a wild, lopsided thing that had Stella grinning back. 

“Now,” she drawled, looping her arm through Zoey’s, “tell me all about Trystan.”

CHAPTER TWO

The steady drip of blood matched his erratic heartbeat as Jordan Daelik stood over his prisoner. The Rose pulled at the restraints binding him to the chair, coughing weakly, his face darkened with bruises. Jordan’s own knuckles were bruised and bloody, but he didn’t care as he raised his fist again, delivering a swift but brutal blow to the Rose in the chair.

“I can keep this up all night,” Jordan snarled. He grabbed the Rose by the front of his shirt and hauled him close. “Is Marcus Rook paying off sailors in the Red Harbor?”

“I don’t know,” he moaned.

A door opened. Jordan glanced over his shoulder to see his father walk in, his face severe as he leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, watching the spectacle before him. John Daelik didn’t have a speck of dirt on him; his black suit remained spotless, his light hair slicked back, the only crack in his facade being the tie that was undone and left to hang around his neck. Meanwhile, Jordan was a mess. His sandy brown hair hung in his eyes. Drops of blood were splattered across his jaw and the bridge of his nose, contrasting with the warm tone of his skin. His dark sleeveless shirt was left untucked, and it was ripped in one place where the Rose had given him a fight before he wrestled him into the chair.

John offered his son a tiny nod. Jordan’s jaw clenched as he turned back to the Rose, who shrank back as the Raven heir gave him his full attention once more. He grabbed him by the shirt and hauled him forward as much as the ropes would allow.

“I’m going to give you one more chance,” he said, his voice low, guttural. 

The Rose didn’t answer. Jordan cocked his arm back again, prepping for another blow until he noticed the shift in the Rose’s eyes. It was a tiredness, a meek resolve tinged with defeat.

Jordan lowered his arm as the Rose started talking.

“The sailors had a deal,” he panted, his broken nose making the words hard to understand. “Old man Rook wanted to keep ‘em in line—”

“Did he pay them off?”

“He sent his nephew down to—”

“Did Rook pay them off or not?”

“Yes,” the Rose moaned. “He’s been paying ‘em to not deal with the Ravens.” Tears streaked down his face, his eyes glassy with pain. “I swear that’s all I know, please let me go—”

Jordan released his shirt. “I’d wager you know more than that. How about we keep you around a bit longer and find out?”

The Rose drew in on himself, pulling at the ropes keeping his wrists and ankles tied to the chair. Jordan raked a scathing look over him before stalking over to his father, who gave him a nod of silent approval.

The two of them walked out of the room without a backwards glance, leaving the Rose bloody and breathless behind them. John’s men waited outside, the sleeves of their left arms rolled up to reveal the raven tattoos on their wrists. “Take care of him,” John ordered, jerking his chin at the room behind them. “Give him food and water but don’t let him escape, or else I’ll have your head.”

The men scrambled to obey, leaving Jordan alone with his father. John scratched the stubble on his chin as he stared into the distance. 

“I knew Marcus was paying off the sailors,” he said at last, more to himself than to Jordan.

Jordan crossed his arms. “We all did. Now we prove it to the sheriff and let him deal with it.”

The Red Harbor was neutral ground. It had been ever since an especially bloody skirmish scared ships from docking in Lochridge for a month. The sheriff was a raging drunkard that let the gangs do whatever they pleased most of the time, but where he put his foot down, Jordan had learned it was best not to test it.

Both gangs had members employed at the Harbor. If the Roses were bribing sailors to refuse work with the Ravens, that violated the neutral standings of the Harbor and meant the sheriff could take action. He wouldn’t do anything too drastic; he would go easy out of a well-placed fear of the Rook family. But perhaps it would be enough to keep the Rooks in line for a while. 

Enough to keep them out of Jordan’s hair for a day or two.

“No,” John said. “We don’t have enough evidence to go to Schode. We need to handle this on our own.”

A sinking feeling settled into Jordan’s stomach. “What does that mean?”

His jaw worked. “If the Roses want to bribe the sailors, then we can bribe them right back. I want you to poke around the Harbor, see if you can find what kind of money Marcus is offering. If we can match it, then we’ll turn the tables on him.”

Fighting fire with fire—John’s preferred method of attack. Jordan glanced at the darkening sky. “Tonight?”

“In the morning. Bring Declan and Mateo with you. But make sure they don’t get into any trouble tonight. Declan won’t be worth a shit if he’s hungover again.”

His mouth twisted into a dry smile. “Duly noted.”

“And be careful,” John added. 

“You’re saying this like I won’t see you again before morning.”

“Probably not. I just got word that Harvey Rook went all-out against the western border patrol.” John’s storm-gray eyes darkened. “I need to deal with it, but it’s liable to take all night.”

Jordan let out a soft curse. No wonder his father was in a mood. Harvey Rook was a psychopath—a bloodthirsty monster that thrived on conflict. The Rook clan was tight-knit and undyingly loyal to each other, but even then Jordan had spotted them shooting irksome looks in Harvey’s direction whenever he opened his mouth.

He was glad his father was taking care of it. Jordan didn’t like the prospect of going against Harvey himself. He was a good fighter and an excellent shot, but even Lochridge’s sharpshooter wasn’t a match for a man known to lick the blood off his knife after he was done gutting someone with it.

“I’ll leave you to it, then,” he said.

The two of them exited the warehouse they had commandeered as an interrogation room and parted ways as soon as they hit the street. They were on the far side of the Ravens’ territory, the warehouse strategically picked so it would be hard for the White Roses to initiate any kind of rescue mission. Jordan used his shirt to wipe the blood and sweat off his face as he turned onto a busier street. People stared as he walked past. Jordan was well known; as the heir to the Ravens, every member of the gang knew his face. The blood wasn’t an unusual sight, either. He was the one who was sent out to represent his father, the Ravens’ enforcer dealing with the dirty work while John stayed behind running his business empire.

Jordan walked with his head held high, meeting the stares of everyone who dared to look at him. They shrank back, and he smirked. This was his territory. His gang. Every person in Lochridge with a raven tattooed on their wrist would answer to him once his father passed.

And one day, the White Roses would, too.

He wound through the streets, taking the long way around in order to sweep through his half of the city and ensure nothing was amiss. Eventually he found himself in front of the Daeliks’ house. Jordan relaxed a little upon walking into his childhood home. It was far from a peaceful household, but at least he didn’t have to look over his shoulder for threats like he did anywhere else.

Loud voices greeted him the moment he opened the door. It was lunchtime, and most of his family was in the kitchen. Jordan would have joined them had he not been a mess of blood and sweat and grime. He didn’t want anyone to see him like this, especially not Lana.

He darted past the open doorway and up the stairs, all the way to his room, the steps creaking underneath his worn leather boots as he climbed the two flights up to the attic. He only had vague memories of his old bedroom on the second floor; his parents had converted the attic into a bedroom when Lana was born because the house was running out of room. Jordan didn’t mind in the slightest. The attic was up and away from the rest of the house, just a narrow flight of steps and a creaky door at the end of the hall. The room itself boasted two small windows that overlooked the street below, one in front and one in back. He sometimes used the back window to sneak out—as long as you weren’t afraid of heights, it gave access to the roof, and to the drainpipe on the far side of the house that Jordan shimmied down to escape. 

The room was small, and he often hit his head on the slanted ceiling, but it was generally left alone, which suited him just fine. A bed was shoved in one corner. A desk on the other side was laden with pencils and bits of charcoal and his thick sketchbook. The walls bore the evidence of his artwork, covered in all the sketches he’d done over the years, everything from portraits of his family to doodles of the Lochridge skyline to detailed drawings of the ravens that sometimes perched on the roof. 

It was his space, and his alone. 

And he liked it that way.

There was a knock on the door. It opened before Jordan could answer it, and Declan poked his head through, his dark green eyes narrowing on Jordan. “What have you been up to?”

“Get out,” Jordan said flatly.

Declan threw open the door and sauntered into the room, a glass of whiskey dangling from his fingers despite the early hour. Mateo frowned as he followed him in, taking in Jordan’s clothes with a concerned look. Apparently he hadn’t been as slick as he thought when he ran past the kitchen doorway.

“Interrogations?” Mateo asked, shutting the door behind him.

Jordan lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “Pa’s orders.”

Mateo leaned against the wall, disturbing the sketches pinned there. “He can’t keep making you do that.”

“Yes, he can.”

“He shouldn’t.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Declan’s eyes darted between them, looking for a chance to insert himself into the conversation. “But did you find out anything?”

He peeled off his shirt with a wince. “Rook has been paying off sailors to refuse to work with us. And Harvey just killed some of our men on the border. Pa’s handling that now.” Declan let out a low string of curses, and Mateo looked inclined to do the same. Jordan chucked his stained shirt into the corner of the room. “He’s in a mood.”

“So are you,” Declan muttered.

Mateo huffed a laugh, earning a grin of approval from Dec. The two of them couldn’t be more different. Declan was loud and bawdy, with messy blond hair and green eyes that glinted with mischief. Mateo’s darker skin and hair were accompanied by a calm and collected demeanor that made him the most level-headed out of the three. Jordan was somewhere in between, dancing over the line between calm and chaotic on a daily basis.

And judging by the look Mateo was giving him, he had settled on chaotic today.

“We’re supposed to go to the Harbor tomorrow and figure out how much Rook has been paying the sailors.” Jordan tugged on a fresh shirt as he elbowed past Dec and Mateo. They trailed him to the bathroom on the second floor. “If Harvey is there, I’m abandoning the mission. We should really be taking this to the sheriff but Pa doesn’t think we have enough evidence for Schode to do anything.”

Mateo’s mouth twisted as Jordan splashed water on his face. “That’s not how it should be done.”

Jordan slicked his hair back. “You’re telling me.”

He shut off the water, his face and hands now clean, his hair dripping wet. “Maybe after we poke around the Harbor,” Mateo mused, leading the way downstairs, “we can go to Schode ourselves. Pa won’t find out until it’s too late to stop it.”

Declan frowned. “If we go to the sheriff ourselves—”

“Go to the sheriff about what?”

Jordan, Dec, and Mateo whirled to see Lana standing in the doorway to her bedroom. She and Jordan had the same light brown hair, but while Jordan’s eyes were brown, hers were the same storm-gray Mateo and their father had.

Lana blinked at them. “What are you going to the sheriff about? What did the Roses do this time?”

Jordan flashed Dec a look, a silent warning not to say anything. Lana’s question was innocent. She was only twelve years old; Jordan had begun to worry about her more and more, hoping his father would spare her from the harsh reality of the feud for as long as possible. Marcus Rook had his daughter doing his dirty work at a much younger age. Jordan himself had been going to business dealings since he was eight. Most of the Daelik family was crooked and prone to violence, but Lana was sweet, innocent, her nose always buried in a romance novel like the one currently tucked under her arm. He was determined to keep her as far away from the inner workings of the gang for as long as he could.

Which is why he plastered a smile on his face and said, “Nothing. Just a little disagreement.”

Lana’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you need the sheriff involved, then?”

“To keep it from being a big disagreement,” Declan drawled, slinging an arm over Lana’s shoulders. “There’s no reason to worry, Lanabug.”

She scowled. “Stop calling me that!”

Jordan sidled up to her other side. “Never, Lanabug.”

She pinched his arm. He pinched her right back, and she squealed, shaking off Declan’s arm and darting down the hall. Jordan grinned and gave chase, squishing her into a hug so tight it could have cracked a rib.

“Stop it!” she cried, but laughter traced the words.

Jordan finally released her. “I’ll stop calling you Lanabug the day you get bigger than me.”

“But you’re always going to be bigger than me,” she whined.

He gave her a light shove. “That’s the point.” His eyes fell to the book tucked under her arm. “What are you reading?”

She held it out of his grasp. “None of your business.”

He lunged for it. “Let me see it!”

“No! It’s not like you could read it, anyway!”

“Hey!”

Lana hit him with the book and darted into her room before he could retaliate. Jordan smiled after her before turning back to Dec and Mateo.

“We’ll talk about it tomorrow,” he murmured, quiet enough that Lana couldn’t overhear. 

Dec nodded, drained the last of his whiskey, and sauntered downstairs for a refill. It was then that Jordan remembered his father saying Declan wasn’t supposed to be drinking tonight.

Mateo must have read it on his face, because he raised both brows and said, “Good luck getting him to stop. You’re not the only one in a mood.”

“What’s he upset about?”

“He and Dan got into an argument.” His mouth twisted. “I was trying to study in my room and all I hear is them two screaming at each other in the kitchen.”

Jordan tugged at the collar of his shirt. Declan and his father had never been on good terms. It was bad when they were kids, but recently, he thought they were doing better.

Apparently, he thought wrong. “What about?”

“Dec hasn’t been very forthcoming on the details.”

That was his cue not to press the matter any further. He scrubbed a hand over his face. “This is a great day.”

Mateo snorted at the sarcasm. “Amen.”

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