Breathing hard, Brady fell back against the wall and braced his hands on his knees. He wrestled the frenzied emotion back into a box and locked it tight. The extrication felt like a surgery that hadn’t healed. That never would. He used the raw ache to center himself.
Finally, he raised his gaze to Marco, whose eyes held no reproach, no censure, only an understanding born of a lifetime of being on the front lines of Brady’s life.
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