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Kindle Notes & Highlights
BCA agent Harry Steinbeck lived his life by three principles: Insight adheres to structure. Structure provides safety. Safety requires you let no one in.
the wall he’d built between his worlds was made of tissue paper. He’d thought he could keep neat TV-tray compartments for the Before and the After,
he could keep his meat separate from his potatoes. But now, here he was, back in Duluth, the tray smashed.
nothing disappeared without a trace.
When you went home, you came back to the person you used to be, for better or worse.
Everyone murmuring the same words. It sounded like wind through golden grass, scratching an itch right behind his heart.
Trauma did that to a person, no matter how long ago it had happened. Centered the eight ball of their ugliest fear and turned every sight, sound, and smell into a potential cue.
Not unafraid. Rather, bent to the shape of their fear.
“But what does family mean if we have to hurt each other so bad to save it?”
Maybe that’s what family was. Not the people you’d been born to but the people you’d do the right thing for no matter what it cost you. The people you’d risk everything to protect.
Coincidences, the weight we carry, what draws us to people. The way we lie to ourselves that shared secrets are the same thing as love.
