As they reached the office building, Jaime asked, “How long are you in town?”
“I head back tomorrow.” Training camp started mid-September—so in twelve weeks—and the coaches met over the summer to watch tape and pinpoint the weaknesses on the team and to onboard new players.
Jaime laughed. “You haven’t changed a bit, man. Gotta get you drunk tonight, then maybe you’ll talk.” As they reached the building, he stepped ahead and opened the door.
Declan had lived in big cities for a long time now, so everything in Calamity looked squat in comparison. No skyscrapers, no gleaming tinted-window office buildings. Just a lot of green space, boutiques, and cowboy bars and restaurants.
Once inside the air-conditioned office, Jaime headed for the reception desk. “Jaime Dupree and Declan Cadell. Harrison asked to see us.”
The elderly receptionist gave them a compassionate smile. “He’s expecting you. Go on in.”
Declan entered first, coming to a hard stop when he saw the fancy woman from the chapel sitting by herself in a corner of the spacious office. Booker and Cole—the rest of their foursome—sat in chairs facing the desk, scrolling through their phones. Acting like strangers.
Well, that sucked.
The woman had to be Kurt’s daughter. It made sense she’d be here. But why the four of us?
The attorney glanced up from his paperwork. “Ah, wonderful. Everyone’s here.” He gestured to the empty chairs.
Declan nodded to the men who’d once been his best friends in the world. Both stood and each brought him in for swift hugs and back thumps. He noticed Booker didn’t do the same to Jaime.
Once they all took their seats, Booker said, “All right, so what’s up? What are we all doing here?”
“I’m Harrison Goodman, Kurt’s attorney, and as the executor of his will, I’ll be guiding the estate through the probate process.” Gathering a pile of papers, he got up and came around the big desk.
The woman watched him, growing more anxious as he moved down the row of former hockey players, handing out documents. When he reached the last chair, the one closest to her, she lifted her arm, but the lawyer had nothing left and returned to his seat.
It was just a flash. If Declan hadn’t been curious about her, he would’ve missed it. But he caught the deep stab of rejection that pinched her features. In the next moment, her shoulders went back, her chin tilted, and she turned her gaze to the window.
He wanted to dislike the princess who’d cut her dad out of her life, but he’d just caught a glimpse of the fragile, wounded girl beneath the snooty exterior.
Ah, hell.
He wanted to let her know that Harrison was just getting the small stuff out of the way. That the bulk of Kurt’s estate would obviously go to her. He had no other family.
But she’d figure it out soon enough.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll take a look, you’ll see Kurt has given each of you an equal one-quarter ownership of the Wyoming Renegades hockey team.”
Energy electrified the room. Booker shifted back in his chair, Cole jerked, dropping the papers perched on his knee, and Jaime lit up like a box of firecrackers.
“You serious?” Jaime asked.
Harrison nodded. “Now, there are some stipulations. If you choose not to take ownership, the quarter rights cannot be sold or traded. So, if one of you doesn’t want the team, ownership goes to the remaining three. If two of you don’t want the team, then it’s shared by the other two.”
“And if no one wants it?” Booker asked.
Harrison cut a look to the woman. “It goes to his daughter. And if she doesn’t want it, the team is sold, and the money goes to charity.”
The lawyer rolled out a bunch of legalese, but Declan tuned him out because he wasn’t sure how he felt about the gift. It was generous, no question. Yet, for some reason, he was disappointed.
He almost laughed out loud when he realized he’d have been happier with a potato masher than an NHL hockey team. But he guessed if he’d gotten anything, he’d have liked it to be personal. A letter, even. Something that acknowledged him personally.
That proved he meant as much to Kurt as Kurt had to him.
But that was ridiculous. The man had mentored all four of them.
He couldn’t believe he was thinking about shit like this when Kurt was dead. Damn, he couldn’t wrap his head around it. He’d only been fifty-two. Healthy as could be.
Or so he’d thought.
So, maybe Declan couldn’t focus on an inheritance until he’d processed the tremendous loss. Maybe then, he’d be excited about owning a team.
“I’m in, man.” Jaime’s voice broke through his thoughts. “Totally.”
Cole, the league’s hottest player and renowned playboy, reached down to collect the papers. “I can’t own a team while I’m playing.”
“Can he?” Jaime asked.
“It’s something we’ll have to look into.” The attorney looked to Booker for an answer.
“I’m good, thanks. It’s a conflict of interest with my job.” He reached for the arm rests, as if about to get up. “Is that it?”
Everyone turned to him, a little surprised that he’d rush out of here. But Declan understood. Thanks to Jaime, Booker’s hockey career had crashed and burned before he’d even shown up for training camp.
“Not just yet.” Harrison gathered a stack of papers and tapped them on the desk to align them evenly. “I’d like to stress that no one has to make any decisions right now. The stated beneficiaries will receive a copy of the will within thirty days of Kurt’s death, so you’ve got some time to think it over. I only called the meeting because I saw you’re all in town for the funeral.”
“Pardon?” the woman called in a very posh British accent. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but am I here for a reason? If not….” She gestured to the door.
“Yes, you are. I just need to finish up with them.” Harrison held up a finger. “I’d like to read a letter Kurt wrote.”
A strange energy passed through the room. It almost felt like the awakening of the old bond between the foursome, a thread of connection pulling taut as they waited to hear from the man who’d meant so much to them.
The lawyer pulled out a sheet of paper and cleared his throat. “Boys—”
“You’ve got to be joking.” Clothing rustled, and the woman stood. “If he wrote them a letter, then he knew he was dying.”
The attorney looked chastised. “He had some notice, yes.”
“He knew he was dying and didn’t think to reach out to his only child? Are you kidding me? Okay.” She let out a huff of breath. “Well, I won’t intrude on his love letter to his precious hockey boys. I’ll wait in the reception room.” She strode out, leaving a trail of expensive perfume in her wake.
Declan didn’t know her. Only that she’d refused to come out here to see her dad, and eventually the relationship had faded into nothing. He wanted to assume she was a spoiled princess here to grab a hefty inheritance. Instead, he could see her hurt, and it rustled up emotions unfamiliar to him. Tenderness, concern…the need to protect her. “We can do this later,” he said. “Why don’t you handle her part of the estate? We should be the ones waiting.”