« Maisie, we’re leaving. »
He tried to push me away.
« His daughter? »
I slammed on the brakes.
« No. »
His face tightened. « Please, sweetheart. Please. »
« You don’t get to say something like that and remove me from the conversation. »
The biker stood across our quilt table in a leather vest, faded tattoos showing. A minute earlier, I’d thought he might threaten Grandpa. Now he looked close to tears.
« Please, sweetheart. Please. »
« My name is Cole, » he said. « Hannah was the person I loved most. »
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