As Griffin made his way to the car, his vision blurred. He blinked back the hot tears stinging his eyes. Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! he commanded himself. His father had always told him men didn't cry—especially Graystone men. Once, when seven-year-old Griffin found his rabbit run over by a car and he wailed like a baby in the street, his father slapped him.

Not hard. It barely left a mark. But Griffin never forgot. He hadn't cried since, at least in front of his father. Needless to ...