“What you drop, another one of us will pick up,” my dad says.
“Hunter?” I ask, confused but hopeful.
“He means his client. You once told me I could only have one or the other with you, and, Dekker, you sure as hell know which one I’m going to pick.”
“Me?” I ask, an incredulity in my voice as my world comes full circle.
“Did you not just hear anything I said?” He laughs. “Of course, you.” He gives me a chaste kiss on the lips. “And then him.”
He squeezes my hand as he stares at me, and I don’t care that my father’s there watching—I wouldn’t care if the whole world was—because when Hunter looks at me, everything else is just background noise.
“I’ll be in my office,” my father says, leaving us alone.
“’Kay,” Hunter says, but his eyes never leave mine.
“You sure you want to do this?”
“Do what?” he asks.
“This. Me. Us. KSM,” I say with a nervous laugh, “because this is your only chance to bail. You know us Kincades, we never walk away from negotiations.”
“Lucky for me, because I already let you walk away once, and I’m sure as hell not making that mistake again.”
He leans in and kisses me with a kiss that’s equal parts emotion and heat. But when he pulls back, the look in his eyes is one hundred percent emotion.
“What?” I ask softly.
“Just trying to fathom how you’re here. How I’m here. How life happens.”
“Skill. Stick. Finesse, Maddox.”
He throws his head back and laughs.
And it’s the best sound in the world.
EPILOGUE—1
HUNTER
6 months later
I ABSENTLY TOY WITH THE edges of the letter. It’s light, but the weight of it staggers me.
Unable to bring myself to look at the words typed on the page yet, I sit on the old dock and watch the lake sparkling in the sun before me.
“We’ll own a cabin here someday,” I say to Jonah. He looked over at me and skipped a rock across its surface. We both count as it dances five times on top of the water before sinking.
“Maybe.” He leans back on his elbows and holds his face to the sun. “We might own a cabin and come here with our families. We might not. But this is where I want to die someday.”
“Dude. That’s fucked.” I laugh. “Why do you have to get all morbid and shit? We’re sixteen. Let’s not think about that yet.” I lift the beer we’d swiped from the cabin’s fridge and take a drink.
I still think it tastes like piss, but I’m trying to acquire the taste.
And not get caught.
We’d be dead if we got caught.
“It’s life, little brother. We live. We die. The earth moves on.”
“You should drink that beer before Mom and Dad get back from the store or we’re going to practice that theory when Dad finds us.”
He laughs and takes a sip. I’m relieved to see his wince and that he doesn’t like it much either. But guys like beer, so we’ll figure out how to like it.
“Just think about it, though. What better place to be when you die? You’re surrounded by everything that we love here.”
“I guess.”
“Right here on this dock. That’s where I want to kick the old bucket.”
My eyes blur from the memory.
My chest aches in a way I never thought possible.
My life missing a piece I have to figure out how to navigate without.
God, I miss you, Jonah.
My thoughts are filled with a million memories about this place. About that conversation. One I had completely forgotten until Jonah died and his lawyer told us his wishes were for some of his ashes to be spread here.
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.