“I have a rare genetic disorder. It’s called Voneric’s Disease. It remains dormant until late in life. Unless triggered by trauma.” “The whack to your head. Your old man triggered it.” “Yes. Every day I live with the risk that it will seize up my heart and I’ll go into cardiac arrest.” “If it’s genetic, does that mean your brother has it, too?” “Had,” I corrected. His brows flickered, and he shifted where he sat on the cot. “He’s no longer alive.”
