We breathed. “This isn’t—I can’t . . .” “No,” he whispered. “I don’t suppose you can.” “Mark,” I choked out, struggling for something, anything to say. “I’m coming—we’re coming back. Okay? We’re—” “Is that a promise?” “Yes.” “I don’t believe your promises anymore,” he said. “I haven’t for a very long time. Watch yourself, Gordo. Take care of my nephews.”
