And that’s the way every child’s life should be.

LOGAN

The place smelled like piss.

Brighton House was the top facility for elder care in Boston.

And it still smelled like piss.

I hated coming here and hated not, in equal measure.

Gramps didn’t really have to be here, but after his last fall, my uncle insisted on it. Uncle Hunter is my father’s older brother. He was the one who’d been able to stay away. He went to college, and then made his own way, free and clear of his Blue Hill Gang ties. My father had done the same. That is, until my stupidity drew him in. I was the only reason he was pulled into a world my grandfather didn’t want him to be a part of. And I lived with that guilt every day.

Gramps didn’t try to stop it, though.

He couldn’t.

Rules were rules.

A life for a life—dead or alive.

I wasn’t there for the conversation my father had with Killian, but I was certain it went something like it’s either him or me.

Maybe that was why Gramps didn’t try harder to fight it.

Nobody could have seen what was coming. That Patrick owning my father would bring my grandfather down. Looking back now, it seems so obvious. Once Patrick had my father, Gramps was under his thumb. With the tables turned, Patrick moved quickly, merging the smaller Dorchester Heights Gang with the infamous Blue Hill Gang. That’s when he unofficially began running things. Gramps was the boss by declaration, but everyone knew Patrick made the decisions.

I stood in the doorway to Gramps’s room and just watched him for a few minutes. His mind was sharper than a tack. But sadly, it was his body that was giving out. After years of fighting, I don’t know how many gunshot wounds, and myriad broken bones, he had a hard time getting around.

Dark eyes glanced over.

I gave him a nod. “Hey Gramps, how’s it going?”

The old man tore himself away from his crossword puzzle. “Logan, back so soon?”

I walked in and took a seat on his bed. “Yeah, I guess I missed you.”

Gramps looked more than delighted to see me. “Buttering me up?”

With a shake of my head, I just grinned at him.

He shifted in his favorite chair as if he couldn’t get comfortable. “No matter—that’s always good for an old man to hear.”

“You okay?”

He nodded. “Just been sitting too long today.”

I smiled at him. Old age had a way of softening even the hardest of men. And Killian McPherson was one of the hardest.

When he was on the street, that is.

When he was with me, he was just the man who wanted to make sure I knew how to take care of myself. Since Uncle Hunter never married and my father never remarried, I was his only grandchild, and he hated that the guys referred to me as the Silver Spoon. A few suffered broken bones as soon as those two words escaped their lips in his presence. He didn’t mind my trust fund ties, but he wanted me to fit in both of the worlds I was raised in. He was all for cotillion and mixing with New York City’s high society, but he also wanted me to learn the ropes of Boston, more specifically those of the Blue Hill Gang.

My parents believed they could shelter me from the latter; he knew that wasn’t possible. So he took it on himself to teach me what I needed to know. He’d tell my parents he was taking me for ice cream and we’d go to watch a fight instead. He’d tell them he was bringing me to a Red Sox game and we’d sit with one of his bookies while he’d show me the ropes of illegal gambling. He’d tell my parents we were going camping and we’d spend the weekend sparring. He taught me how to shoot, to fight, and to take care of myself.

At the time, I was young and I didn’t know any differently. I looked up to him. I liked to be with him. Thought of him as my hero. Looking at him now, I know he’s done bad things but he’s always loved me. He’d do anything to protect me.

The truth of the matter is Grandpa Ryan might have taught me to be book wise, and Gramps McPherson might have taught me to be street wise, but both are skills I’ve never underestimated. And honestly, both worlds are ruthless in different ways. Grandpa Ryan uses money to get what he wants, whereas Gramps McPherson used to use muscle. Psychoanalyzing their worlds wasn’t going to change anything. The bottom line was that after everything I’d done in my life, and the trouble I’d caused my family, I now walked on the right side of the law and wanted to stay as close to it as I could.

Shaking off these thoughts, I rubbed my palms on my pants. “I need to talk to you.”

He put the newspaper on the table and tucked the pencil behind his ear. “I’ve seen that look only twice before in my life.”

I bunched my brows.

What the hell was he talking about?

“Once when I looked in the mirror after the first time I met my Millie, and again when your father came home from college with your mother at his side.”

Okay, so maybe his mind was going.

My huff of laughter wasn’t deliberate. “I’m not in love, Gramps. You know me better than that.”

He eased forward with a groan. Moving around was difficult on him. “Pull that chair over here and sit closer.”

The look in his eyes told me I’d better do as he said.

Once I was sitting directly in front of him, he placed his hand on my knee. “I’ve taught you many things, Logan, but I think I neglected to teach you that you don’t decide when you fall in love. Love decides that for you.”

I lowered my head and raised my eyes. “What’s the matter, old man, got chicks on the brain? Don’t tell me the cute blonde who gives the hand jobs while she bathes you has been standing you up?”

Gramps gave me a wicked laugh. “Think I’d still be here if that were the case? She makes her rounds, don’t worry.”

I couldn’t help my smirk. There was the guy I was used to.

“I assume you’re not here to ask me about the birds and the bees, so cut the shit and tell me what you are here for.”

I gave him a hesitant nod.

“Go on.”

“There’s this girl.” I cringed at the first words that left my lips.

He slapped his hand on my leg and smiled like a motherfucker.

I held my hands up. “Wait—it’s not what you’re thinking.”

Gramps had triumph in his eyes as he eased himself back, looking very proud. “It never is, my boy, it never is.”

I scooted my chair back and rested my forearms on my thighs. “Let me start again. Patrick had my father go on a drug warning last night.”

As soon as I said the words, I felt the temperature in the room drop, and it had nothing to do with the thermostat. The old man’s eyes darkened as the playfulness I’d just seen evaporated into the hard man from the street. Faster than sin, he took the pencil from behind his ear and plunged it into the chair cushion. Some kind of animalistic growl left his throat, and then he brought himself to his feet. “That wasn’t how we left things. Take me to see Patrick,” he barked.

Looking into his dark eyes had me jumping up. “That’s only going to stir shit up and you know it.”

“Now!” he demanded.

“Talk to me first. Listen to what I have to say,” I pleaded.

His disposition didn’t change and his scowl remained.

Worried things would only get worse, I reasoned with him. “Please, this isn’t about your son. I’ll take care of him. He’ll be fine. I’m here because I need some advice. Some insight. Or innocent people are going to end up hurt or, worse, dead.”

Gramps reluctantly sat on the edge of his bed. “Go on.”

I told him everything that I knew that had taken place so far between Patrick, O’Shea, and Elle, which wasn’t much. Even about how much Elle looked like Emily. I kept my voice even, but it broke more than a few times. Finally, I shared my plan to bail out O’Shea out if I had to.