Chapter 8
‘Where’s Logan?’ my half-brother, Connor, asked the second I walked through the front door of the weatherboard house I’d grown up in, craning his neck to see around me from his position on the couch. He held up a stubby cooler with a nude woman’s torso on the front. ‘I’ve got a cold one ready for him.’
‘He’s not coming.’ I sidestepped his outstretched feet. ‘You’ll have to drink his.’
I stopped in front of Dad’s armchair and held out his present. ‘Happy birthday, Dad,’ I said as I waited for him to take his eyes off the TV and acknowledge me.
He grunted, tilting his head to one side for the obligatory birthday kiss. On the cheek, of course, Robert Morgan never kissed anyone on the lips other than his current wife and never in public view. He put his stubby cooler down on the
