Page 137 of Hard to Handle

Just like his wish was for the lawyer to give me the letter I hold in my hand. The one he dictated to him over two years ago.

I’m not sure what my fear is. Is it that this is the very last piece of Jonah I have left? That if I read it, then this is real and he’s truly gone? Is it because a small part of me feels guilty that I’m grateful he’s gone so he’s no longer in pain? Is it because I miss him and reading this will prove to me how goddamn much?

I shove the tears away and take a sip of beer. It’s the same cheap shit we drank all those summers ago, and I laugh because it still tastes like piss.

With a deep breath, I look at the letter.

Hunter,

There’s so much I’ve needed to say to you for so long, but I’ve known you wouldn’t listen. You’re a stubborn and determined little shit (yes, you’ll always be little to me, no matter how old we get) and would probably walk out of the room if I told you any of this.

If you’re getting this, I’m gone. Fucking sucks on both our parts. This wasn’t how our life was supposed to go. We were supposed to be old, grumpy men on that rickety dock at the lake when we kicked the bucket. We were supposed to be Stanley Cup winners with kids of our own. Ones we’d teach how to play hockey if they wanted to. We’d argue over whose grandkids were the cutest before we’d fill them up on sugar and send them home. We’d have wives who were best friends.

We would have lived our lives to the fullest and without regret.

I no longer can, but I need you to promise me that you will. That you’ll live for you. Every second. Every minute. Every day. Every year.

To do that, you need to hear this: what happened to me wasn’t your fault. I’ve had a lot of years to think about this and plenty of time to play out all the scenarios that could have happened that day. Bottom line is, I’m at fault.

I drank. I got behind the wheel. I killed that woman. I did this to myself.

And I’d do it all over again if that meant protecting it from happening to you. That’s the job of a big brother. Even now, I want to protect you. And the only way I can do that is by telling you I never blamed you, and the accident was not your fault.

I should have told Dad to go to hell that day, and that you were going to junior prom with us. I should have stood up for you—that time and so many other times—but I didn’t. I failed you.

I’ve come to terms with that, and I hope one day you can forgive me for it.

I couldn’t have asked for a better brother. You sat by silently while Dad put me on a pedestal when you were just as skilled and talented as I was. You cheered me on while being slighted. I see that now. Time has given me that opportunity to realize how wrong that was. I’m sorry. You are every bit as good as I could have been. I watch you playing now on the TV, and I’m so damn proud of you.

It’s more than hockey though. It’s about you. About how you’ve tried so hard to live for both of us. How you’ve made sure to include me in every step. How you’ve called and talked for hours when I know you had so many other things to do.

So what happens now, Hunter? I know you’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss you.

You live.

For you.

Without regret.

And every once in a while, go to that dock, crack open that cheap, shitty beer, and take a sip for me.

You were the one true thing I held on to all these years.

You were the one who kept me going.

You were my inspiration.

I love you.

Jonah

I hang my head as the sobs hit me. As the words my brother wrote crack every last chain of guilt I’ve grown so damn used to wearing.

It’s just like him to know what I need to hear.

It’s just like him to know that I’m struggling with how to move on in a world without him, and how to throw me a lifeline.

It’s just like him to have one final say so there’s no doubt in my mind how he felt about me.