Page 146 of The Wrong Brother

When she doesn’t have anything to say to that, I continue: “They never had to worry about you. You became a lawyer.”

“I worked hard.”

“I know you did.”

“You worked hard, too.”

“But I always needed fixing.” Emotion thickens my voice. “I was always the daughter who couldn’t quite get it right.”

“That’s not true.” There’s a desperate edge to her voice, and all of a sudden the weight of the phone feels like too much. I don’t want to have this conversation. I don’t want to face the fact that I’ve felt alone my whole life?—

Until recently.

Finally, Matty whispers, “Please come home.”

I close my eyes. “I can’t.”

“Why?”

Because I love him.

Because I’m carrying his child.

Because somewhere in the mountains behind me is the first place that has felt like home in years.

“I’ve made my choice. You can tell Mom and Dad I’m fine. I’ll reach out when I have time.” The words surprise even me with how certain they sound, even though there’s obviously a bitterness to them.

“Emma...”

“I have to go.”

“Please don’t hang up. Are you sure about?—”

I end the call. The screen goes black, and for several long seconds, I simply stand there, staring at my own reflection.

Somewhere during that conversation, something shifted. Not because Matty warned me away from Rus; although that fact is lodged like a thorn under my skin. My corporate lawyer sister shouldnotknow anything about the Bratva.

But it’s the fact that I’m not willing to walk away from this that sticks with me. That even in the face of my family’s criticism, I’m still choosing Rus—still choosing this child.

A pair of polished shoes stops beside me. I don’t look up even when Frank gently takes the phone from my hands and slips it into his coat pocket. Without saying a word, he opens his arms.

The gesture is so unexpectedly paternal that my composure finally breaks.

I step into the hug and try to ignore the hot pulse of tears behind my eyelids as he wraps me tight against his chest. One hand rests lightly against the back of my head.

“You all right?” he asks quietly.

I shake my head, throat feeling too thick to answer.

“I didn’t think so.”

For a long moment, neither of us speaks. Then Frank smiles sadly into my hair.

“For what it’s worth,” he murmurs, “I think you’ve finally stopped running.”

I close my eyes. He’s right, but it doesn’t break my heart any less.

Chapter 37