It was true enough that he’d harbored some seeds of resentment because Cam had raced off to Europe and Phillip had moved to Baltimore. It had happened so fast after their mother died, and he’d still been raw. Everything had changed before he could blink, and he’d stewed over that.

But even with that, he would never have turned his back on either of them if they’d needed him. And he knew they wouldn’t have turned their backs on him.

It seemed to him the most foolish and wasteful thing imaginable that Grace wouldn’t ask for help, and her father wouldn’t offer it.

He glanced at the big round clock nailed to the wall over the front doors. Phillip’s idea, Ethan remembered with a half grin. He’d figured they’d need to know how much time they were putting in, but as far as Ethan knew, Phillip was the only one who bothered to mark down the time.

It was nearly one, which meant Grace would be finishing up at the pub in about an hour. It wouldn’t hurt to load Seth in the truck and do a quick swing by Shiney’s. Just to . . . check on things.

Even as he started to rise, he heard the boy whimper in his sleep.

Pizza’s finally getting to him, Ethan thought with a shake of the head. But he supposed childhood wouldn’t be complete without its quota of bellyaches. He climbed down, rolling his shoulders to work out the kinks as he approached the sleeping boy.

He crouched beside Seth, laid a hand on his shoulders, and gave a gentle shake.

And the boy came up swinging.

The bunched fist caught Ethan squarely on the mouth and knocked his head back. The shock, more than the quick and bright pain, had him swearing. He blocked the next blow, then took Seth’s arm firmly. ‘‘Hold it.’’

‘‘Get your hands off me.’’ Wild, desperate, and still caught in the sticky grip of the dream, Seth flailed at the air. ‘‘Get your fucking hands off me.’’

Understanding came quickly. It was the look in Seth’s eyes—stark terror and vicious fury. He’d once felt both himself, along with a shuddering helplessness. He let go, lifted both of his hands palms out. ‘‘You were dreaming.’’ He said it quietly, without inflection, and listened to Seth’s ragged breathing echo on the air. ‘‘You fell asleep.’’

Seth kept his fists bunched. He didn’t remember falling asleep. He remembered curling up, listening to Ethan work. And the next thing he knew, he was back in one of those dark rooms, where the smells were sour and too human and the noises from the next room were too loud and too animal.

And one of the faceless men who used his mother’s bed had crept out and put hands on him again.