Given that it was dusk, Evan was clearly staying on with the old man at the farmhouse. He and Tara both are, Hank realized. His blood pumped hard in his veins, making his temples pound like dueling bass drums. He yanked another beer from the six-pack and started chugging. “So he’s gonna take the kids from me now too, huh?” he hissed. “Oh, I don’t think so!” The recent time he’d spent with the old man—and any progress they’d made during it—was instantly erased. Ain’t no way in hell I’m gonna sit for it! he told himself. An hour later, Hank was nearly passed out in his worn recliner. Elle had tolerated the same scene a thousand times. But this time something’s different, she thought. On her way to check on Lila, she’d recognized a deep pain in her husband’s sapphire eyes. “What’s wrong, Hank?” she asked. At first, he just shook his head but she could tell he wanted to talk. She took a seat beside him and asked again. “Well, I can see that something’s eating at you.
