Page 4 of Commit

“Mom’s dead.” I stand up straighter. Kenzo and Atlas jump up to stand with me when they see the tension in my body.

“What happened?”

“Hit and run. I don’t know anything else yet. I’m waiting for the cops to come tell us more, but?—”

“Where are you?” I bark.

“Mercy Central. You don’t need to?—”

“I’m on my way.” I hang up before he can say anything else.

“What’s going on?” Kenzo is the first to ask.

I look up at them both as I slide my phone back into my pocket, realizing just how little they really know about me.

“That was my son. Their mother is dead. I’m heading to Mercy Central to meet them.”

“Their?” Atlas asks.

“Yeah, my sons. Landon and Abbot.”

“How the fuck did we not know you had kids?” Kenzo asks as he slips his jacket on and heads for the door. “Are you two coming or what?”

“Kenzo,” Atlas calls.

He turns to look at him before his eyes move to me and then back to Atlas.

“What?”

“There’s a reason we didn’t know Pete had kids, and I’m guessing his sons know nothing about us,” Atlas replies. Kenzo stands there for a moment before he nods and steps away from the door.

“It’s nothing personal, Kenzo. My boys don’t have much to do with me, and nobody knows about them. You know what I do. You know it would only take one slip-up for them to become targets.”

“I know, but things aren’t the same now. You’re not the lone wolf you used to be. With me and Atlas at your back, people would be insane to mess with you.”

“He’s right. You think I’d let anything happen to Iris?” Atlas crosses his arms over his chest.

“Not for a second. And I know that when Kenzo’s son gets here, Kenzo will do everything in his power to keep him safe too. But it’s a little different for me. For one, my boys aren’t likely to be taken for ransom or held as leverage. I’m a hitman. We play by different rules. I wouldn’t even know my sons were targets until they had bullet holes in their foreheads. Now, like you said, things are different. But the damage is already done, at least to our relationship. I was never a father to them. I couldn’t be. I made sure financially they were set for life, but beyond that, I was just the guy who broke their mother’s heart and walked away.”

“How old are they?”

“Landon’s twenty-eight, and Abbot’s seventeen.”

“Old enough to understand that nothing is black and white. It’s up to you. But just know we’re there if you need us.”

“I think I should handle this alone. They’re grieving, and I won’t take advantage of that. There will be time later to tell them, if necessary.”

“Take the Jag.” Atlas tosses me the keys.

“I’ll get one of the guys to pick it up from my place later,” I tell him before heading out.

I jog down to the underground garage and climb into the Jag, which is my usual car of choice when I chauffeur Atlas around.

I drive to the hospital on autopilot, my mind going in a dozen different directions. Regret leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. It’s hard to think about how different my life would be if I had taken a different direction.

Maybe I’d be living in the suburbs in a house with a white picket fence, working a nine-to-five job, and coaching Little League on the weekends.

I grimace. The all-American dream has never appealed to me. I was never one for conforming, which is odd for a soldier.