Chapter 4

If he’s surprised I’m sitting so close to his corner, he doesn’t let it on. He just plops his ass down next to me with another grunt and shuffles around a little until his shoulder brushes against mine. I expect him to move, but he doesn’t. The gesture makes me turn my head away and swallow.

It’s so like my father. When I was younger, I thought the gruff exterior and the lack of any overt emotions meant Frederick Sullivan Winslow was a cold and unloving person, but I’ve since come to realize I couldn’t have been more wrong.