He’d pushed his family away, sued them for his inheritance just to tighten the bolts on the coffin of their relationship, had crashed his brother’s wedding when he’d been feeling sentimental, then had punched Nick in the face to make it worse. But oh, how he’d panicked when Cooper’s plane had gone down. Instead of showing his face to Coop, Ace had found his brother’s woman and attempted to kiss her. Was it all a show? Or was there some part of him that was truly the monster he’d wanted his family to believe he was?
Last year, his closest brother, Nick, had gone down during a Coast Guard rescue. Ace had been there for that, too, though no one had seen him that time. He’d managed to sneak into his brother’s room while he was out cold, recovering. It was the first time in years Ace had felt the urge to cry.
But even if he could explain it all to his family, did he want to? Did he know how to? He didn’t know who he was anymore, let alone how to describe himself. That didn’t really matter, though, because he’d soon find out. The case would be over, and he had nowhere else to go—no friends, no lover, nobody.
Pulling himself back into the present, Ace composed his features, easily slipping into the role of a dirtbag with coldhearted precision. Soon, very soon, it would begin . . . and end. And then he would be going home.
quo;d pushed his family away, sued them for his inheritance just to tighten the bolts on the coffin of their relationship, had crashed his brother’s wedding when he’d been feeling sentimental, then had punched Nick in the face to make it worse. But oh, how he’d panicked when Cooper’s plane had gone down. Instead of showing his face to Coop, Ace had found his brother’s woman and attempted to kiss her. Was it all a show? Or was there some part of him that was truly the monster he’d wanted his family to believe he was?
Last year, his closest brother, Nick, had gone down during a Coast Guard rescue. Ace had been there for that, too, though no one had seen him that time. He’d managed to sneak into his brother’s room while he was out cold, recovering. It was the first time in years Ace had felt the urge to cry.
But even if he could explain it all to his family, did he want to? Did he know how to? He didn’t know who he was anymore, let alone how to describe himself. That didn’t really matter, though, because he’d soon find out. The case would be over, and he had nowhere else to go—no friends, no lover, nobody.
Pulling himself back into the present, Ace composed his features, easily slipping into the role of a dirtbag with coldhearted precision. Soon, very soon, it would begin . . . and end. And then he would be going home.