Griffin snaps his fingers, head bobbing. “Stud service.”
“You two are idiots.”
“We’re just giving you shit,” Wilder says, his voice softening. “We know you always wanted a big family like the one you grew up with.”
“Somewhere along the way, those dreams just got lost,” Griffin adds.
My cheeks burn at the honesty, the rawness of it all. “I don’t even know where to start to get them back.”
He knocks his knuckles against mine. “One step at a time, brother. Just like in the Rangers—you face the tough shit one step at a time, and never alone.”
I rake a hand through my hair, my mind spinning.
Could I really do it?
They’re right—the house my dad and I built on Archer land was more than halfway done when I joined the military. I haven’t seen it in years, but with a lot of help, maybe I could pull it off. And if worst comes to worst, there are other houses on the farm.
I just have to get over my demons long enough to face the memories living in them.
Before I can say anything else, a text vibrates my phone across the table. The new social worker's name flashes, and my throat constricts.
Every thought, every emotion, narrows to a single pinpoint of dread.
Ethel Sorrenson: Hey. Sorry I’m not calling, but I’m in a meeting and wanted to update you. I just got word that Aurora’s being released into the custody of the temporary foster family within the hour.
My vision blurs, and it takes everything I have to breathe through the panic clawing at my chest. I knew this was coming—the nurses have been warning me all week.
Aurora’s better now, which is good. But it also means she’ll be with a new family, in a house with a fancy crib and a beautiful room just for her.
Not with me.
My fingers mash at the screen, and I’m surprised by the slight tremble.
Me: Can I still see her?
Ethel Sorrenson: I’m sorry, Mr. Archer, but no. It’s part of the Summit County DCFS rules. Once she’s placed, you won’t be able to see her again until the hearing, assuming it goes in your favor.
I see what she’s not saying. I need to get my shit together and fast.
And just like that, everything crashes in. The walls I’ve built between myself and Honey Bea Farm. The pain I’ve drowned in whiskey and tried to choke down. The ghosts I’ve ignored for too damn long.
None of it matters anymore.
Something bigger than me is at stake. Something more precious and innocent.
Peace, or maybe clarity, settles over me, edged with a new kind of resolve.
The guys are right. I have a place waiting for me. All I have to do is go home and claim it.
Chapter Fourteen
The Cult of Archer
The Heart Springs farmers market isn’t big, but it’s got a kind of small-town charm I’ve never experienced before. Each stall’s tucked between old brick shops and flower beds bursting with color. It’s nothing like the sterile city blocks I spent years walking, and a world away from the wild, weedy patch around my rental.
I pass a table of homemade soaps shaped like celebrities. Chuckling, I pull out my cell phone and snap a picture, then flip to my texts and send it to Abby.
Witchling: If that’s Daddy Pratt, I’ll take five.
