Derek pressed on, realizing how quickly this room could ignite thanks to ourhistory.“Gordon left everything to both of you.”
I leaned back in my chair. He watched me, no doubt waiting for a fiery reaction. Most family members would hit the roof if they didn’t inherit it all, but I didn’twantany relics of my painful past.
Brenna leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table, her caramel blond hair momentarily rushing into her face with the movement. “I don’t understand.”
Derek cleared his throat. His gaze shifted between Brenna and me. “Gordon left his house and his business to the two of you. After settling his affairs, there wasn’t any cash left, though it would have been divided evenly as well.”
His affairs.Best euphemism for gambling debt I’d ever heard.
Courtside Café had belonged to both of my parents until the divorce. Mom relinquished her rights to it when she couldn’t stand to be in Middlebury any longer. Instead of selling it, he ran it alone. Maybe out of some misplaced idea that she would come back to him, though he never admitted it.
“Tobothof us?” Brenna repeated, staring into the distance.
I wanted to ask what she thought my father left to her during our walk this morning, but then I stuck my foot in my mouth. Clearly, she hadn’t anticipated this outcome.
“Why would he do this?” she asked, looking to Derek for an answer.
I laughed humorlessly. “Because he’s an ass.”
My dad knew he was the reason my relationship with Brenna ended. He hadn’t understood how we hadn’t reconciled over the years, as if repairing a fractured relationship was so easy. With his multiple divorces, he should have known better than anyone.
Sometimes I thought he used my relationship with Brenna as a proxy for my relationship with him—something else irreparably ruined because of his selfish actions. And now, he had the last laugh, forcing his wishes on us in death after I’d ignored his prodding while he was alive.
“Nathan,” Brenna hissed, an action reminiscent of when we’d been friends.
Derek and Tiffany looked at each other, probably wishing a hole would open beneath our feet to free them from this situation.
“Just because he’s dead,” I said finally, “it doesn’t make it any less true.”
I swallowed when Brenna turned her stare on me, unaccustomed to the full weight of her attention.
“What makes him an ass? That he didn’t leave everything to you? Or that he left something to me?”
That he tethered us together, reminding me of what I lost and can never have again.
I ignored the question and turned to Derek. “Can I sign everything over to her?”
Brenna flinched. “It’s…yourchildhood home,yourfamily’s business.”
“I don’t have a lot of good memories there,” I said quietly. More accurately, every good memory was tainted and painful. Before Brenna could say anything more, I told Derek, “Just give her the house and the business.”
The words pained me. I could use the money from selling them. Minor league pay paled in comparison to the major leagues, and my wages during the season funded my year-round life. I also didn’t know how many seasons my arm had left. I’d been ignoring the real possibility of a torn labrum, which for pitchers was more than likely a career ender. When I’d strained it as a kid, physical therapy healed me. But this was worse. I’d been reticent to admit to myself that my baseball career could end because I didn’t have a backup plan. This inheritance could’ve been a backup plan.
But I needed a clean break from her.
Derek sighed, sneaking a glance at Brenna. “The terms of the will are forfeit unless both of you remain owners.”
“And if we don’t?” Brenna asked.
“The house and business will be auctioned and proceeds will go to charity.”
“Can we sell the house and the business together?” Brenna asked.
Derek had become Brenna’s protector in high school when her life was turned upside down. I knew he’d use this as an excuse to take up that mantle again, regardless of the ring on her finger. She broke his heart at graduation, and here he was, willing to hand it back to her.
That had always been Brenna’s power. Peoplewantedto tell her their stories, their deepest secrets, things they never admitted to anyone. Because she cared, even about strangers. She didn’t anxiously wait to turn conversations back to her. She liked to listen to people’s problems, to help them. She putthem at ease, made them comfortable enough to open up to her. Ironic, since she rarely opened up to anyone.
“You can’t sell until April,” Derek said.
