His throat moves. “So did I half the time, and I lived in his damn shadow.”
That is the truth under all of it.
Not only Amelia’s loss.
His.
Legend had Mike and still went hungry.
Amelia didn’t have him and starved differently.
I place my hand on his chest, right over the patch. “You’re allowed to grieve what he failed to give you.”
His eyes close.
For one second, the president disappears.
There’s only the man I love, tired and wounded by a father who has been dead for years and still manages to disappoint him.
“I don’t know how to be a brother,” he says, so low only I hear it.
My heart aches for him. And it’s also bullshit. It’s complicated, but he’s been a brother to a woman under this roof. Becki’s not their blood, but sister all the same by obligation. Royal’s woman now. But once his. I don’t dare bring this up.
“You start by not making Amelia earn safety.”
His eyes open.
“She’s going to expect every kindness to turn into a bill,” I say. “Don’t become another man holding the balance due.”
His jaw flexes. “I don’t want anything from her.”
“I know. Make sure she knows.”
He looks toward the stairs.
“I looked at her,” he says, “and all I could think was, What trap is this?”
“That is the president.”
“Then I saw the photo.”
“That is the son.”
“And when she asked if she’d have to leave if she wasn’t his?”
His voice roughens.
I wait.
His gaze meets mine.
“I hated that she had to ask.”
“That is the brother.”
The word hits him.
Brother.