“Don’t think that because you’re now a billionaire you should just give up your hockey career,” his father had told him after the meeting with the attorneys. “You’ve spent far too much of your life training to just throw it all away.”
“Jesus,” Callan replied. “You can’t let that drop even now? Why would going from a millionaire to a billionaire make any difference as to whether I continue playing hockey? I could have retired years ago and never had to work another day in my life. Do you really think money matters to me at all right now when I just buried the most important person in my life?”
His father lifted his chin, leaving him looking down his nose at Callan. “Money may not be a concern, but I know you. Any excuse to quit hockey will do.”
“Is that so? Then why am I still fucking playing, for Christ’s sake? Most guys my age are retired.”
Callan’s mother had walked into the room then. “What on earth are you two discussing? I heard raised voices.”
“Nothing you haven’t heard a hundred times,” Callan said. “And I’m fucking over it.”
He had left the attorney’s office and headed straight for the airport with Christian without even telling his parents goodbye. The only good thing about the confrontation with his father was it got him steamed enough that he was able to forget his grief for a short while.
“Are you really a billionaire now?” Christian had asked when they were seated on the private plane and on their way home. He had been standing in the room with Callan and his father and overheard their conversation.
“I guess so.”
Not that it mattered to Callan. He would give every cent of his inheritance back to spend one more day with his grandfather.
That thought now had his throat closing and his eyes burning as he stood alone in his condo. He used his thumb and forefinger to rub away the sting. He’d shed copious amounts of tears since learning of G-Man’s death, most of them over his grave as they lowered his casket into the ground. The horrible sense of finality all but overwhelmed him.
No longer would he be able to just hop over to his grandfather’s place whenever he felt like it and share a drink with him while they watched Jeopardy! together.
No longer would G-Man be at every home game rooting him on from behind the team’s bench.
No longer would he get random texts from his grandfather with some terrible meme he’d found hilarious.
No longer would there be an opportunity for G-Man to meet someone Callan got serious about…to possibly one day hold a great-grandchild in his arms.
Fuck it, Callan thought, dropping his hand and letting the tears fall.
He set the carry-on on his coffee table. Also mentioned in his grandfather’s will was the collection of videos he recorded for Callan over the years. They were to go to Callan immediately upon his death, as they had no real monetary value. It was those videos that Callan had transported home in his carry-on.
He walked over to his bar and poured himself a glass of whiskey. The familiar scent of it reminded him of Roxy and the whiskey they’d shared the last time they’d seen each other. He’d gone home feeling like a kid with his first crush, Google-stalking her until he’d figured out the brokerage she worked for and how to connect with her. It had been his plan to give it a couple days before he reached out so he didn’t act like a giddy teenager who called her the very next day.
Then he’d gotten the call that had changed everything.
A knock drew his gaze to the front door. He walked over and looked through the peephole to find Javy standing on the other side.
He sighed and opened the door for his neighbor, not even bothering to wipe his face first. “I’m afraid I’m not going to be good company tonight, Jav.”
His friend produced a bottle of whiskey from behind his back. Callan’s favorite blend.
“I’ve been waitin’ for you to get back so we could toast G-Man,” Javy said, his accent heavy on the words.
Much like many of his friends, Javy had met Callan’s grandfather several times. Javy knew how important that relationship was to Callan. It meant a lot that he wanted to be a source of support.
Callan stood aside and let his friend enter. Just as at home in Callan’s condo as he was his own, Javy headed to the bar and poured himself his own glass of whiskey. Then he lifted his glass towards Callan.
“To G-Man.”
Callan couldn’t speak past the lingering pain in his throat, so he just tapped his glass to Javy’s and took a large swallow of the whiskey. It burned on its path down his throat to his nearly empty stomach. His appetite had abandoned him days ago.
“I ordered us a pizza,” Javy said as though he’d heard that thought. “Should be here any minute.”
It was a nice gesture even if the prospect of food did nothing for Callan. “Thanks. You want to sit down?”
“Sure.” Javy walked over to the family room and spotted the carry-on. “Were you gettin’ unpacked?”
“Sort of. Those are videos my grandfather recorded for me.”
“No shit? Well, cue one up, amigo. Let’s see what G-Man had to say.” He paused as he studied Callan, who hadn’t moved from his position next to the coffee table. “Unless you’d rather watch them alone. Then no hurt feelings on my end.”
“Actually, it might be easier to watch one of them with you. It’ll give me a sense of what I’m in for.”
“Perfecto.” Javy reached for the remote, already familiar with how Callan’s entertainment system worked.
Callan opened the carry-on and searched for a video. His grandfather had transitioned all the videos to DVD format, not trusting digital. There was a video for every one of Callan’s birthdays and other miscellaneous videos with labels indicating they contained footage of some of his games or their various trips together over the years. Deciding he might as well start with the very first video, he chose that one and put it into the DVD player.
His landline phone rang just as he sat down. Javy reached for it.
“Pizza,” he reminded Callan as he lifted the handset to buzz the delivery person through.
Ten minutes later, they were sitting with pizza-filled plates as the first video started playing. Javy had ordered the pizza from Callan’s favorite place with all of his favorite toppings, making it impossible for Callan to resist eating some of it. He chewed his first bite, suddenly ravenous, as a flurry of black and white snow blipped to the image of his grandfather sitting in his favorite outdoor deck chair in Houghs Neck.
“Damn,” Javy said around a bite of pizza. “Look how young G-Man is. You look just like him, man.”
That provoked the first genuine smile Callan had experienced since his grandfather’s death.
“Hi there, Callan,” his grandfather said into the camera that he had apparently set up on a tripod. “I’m your grandfather, though I hope by the time you watch this, you’ll already know that. You were born a little over a week ago. It took me that long to figure out how to use this damn thing.”
He leaned forward and tapped the camera, jiggling the angle so he was no longer perfectly centered. For some reason, that made Callan smile again.
“I probably shouldn’t be saying things like damn,” his grandfather continued. “But you’re a baby right now and don’t know what the hell I’m saying, so what does it matter?”