“As you might expect from Kurt, there’s an order for his will, and I’m following it.” Harrison returned to the letter. “Okay, here we go.” He paused, drawing in a breath. “Boys, I grew up believing that if I did all the right things—got good grades, showed up on time, and worked hard—I’d earn a life free of hardship. Unfortunately, life doesn’t work that way. It never gets easier, and the hits keep on coming. In the end—and that’s where I am now, at the end of my life—I’m sure of two things: the only reward for living by a code of honor is peace of mind. And let me tell you—it’s a good one. The other is that I’m sitting here in my office on my thousands of acres of land, my bank accounts stuffed with money, and my shelves packed with awards—and none of it matters. Because I will die alone.”
Once, a defender had slammed Declan into the boards so hard it had knocked the wind out of him. That’s what this feels like.
“He didn’t have to die alone.” Declan got to his feet, paced to the window. Dammit, Kurt. “I would have come home.” He whipped around. “Why didn’t he say anything?”
All eyes were on him, filled with surprise and concern. But no one answered because what could they say? That’s just how Kurt was.
“Sorry.” Declan returned to his seat. “Go on.”
The lawyer nodded and turned back to the letter. “It was a shit thing that happened to you ten years ago. Especially you, Booker.” Harrison glanced up to catch the man’s reaction, but other than a tightening of his jaw, Booker remained impassive. “And I’m going to wager none of you has found the type of camaraderie in all the years since you last saw each other. Now, regardless of where you are in life—and believe me, I know, I’ve been watching—you need to forgive each other. I bought the Renegades so we could all be together, and it didn’t pan out. But now that I’m gone, I want you to use it to mend your friendship. You won’t regret it.” Harrison stopped reading.
The worst thing about death was the sense of helplessness. It was not being able to see, touch, or hear the person ever again. It was not having the chance to say goodbye.
He hated that Kurt had died alone. He would’ve…fuck, he’d have given up everything to be here with him.
With each man lost in his own thoughts, the room remained silent.
Until Harrison cleared his throat and continued reading the letter. “I’m proud of all of you. Things didn’t go the way you’d expected, but you all made good lives for yourselves. I’d hoped to meet your wives, hold your babies, and sit with you and have a beer when your troubles got too deep. That’s not going to happen now, but there’s one thing I can do and that’s try to bring you together again. Yours, Kurt.”
Declan struggled to swallow past the hard knot of pain in his throat.
…meet your wives, hold your babies…have a beer when your troubles got too deep.
He lowered his head, blinking back tears that blurred his vision. He would’ve liked that. He’d expected that.
“I’m just going to put it out there,” Jaime said. “I want everything he talked about, so I’m in. And I hope you guys are, too.”
When no one responded, Harrison said, “Well, we won’t be signing any documents today. I’ll reach out to each of you in thirty days.”
As the others got up, Jaime said, “Guys, come to the ranch tomorrow night for a barbecue. We can talk about it then.”
“I’m only in town for the funeral,” Booker said. “But I don’t want the team, so it’s cool.” He turned to look Jaime right in the eyes.
Tension snapped through the room like a live wire.
If Booker said anything to worsen Jaime’s guilt, Declan would intervene. They’d been eighteen. They’d had a history of doing stupid shit.
Instead, though, Booker said, “We’re cool.”
Color flooded Jaime’s cheeks, and he practically slumped in relief. “Thanks.” It came out a gruff whisper.
“I’ve got a flight tomorrow, too,” Cole said. “But I can push it back.” He gave Booker a look that said So can you.
In the past, Booker had made snap decisions. He’d always been confident, knew his place in the world. But this time, he seemed to waver.
“We’ll all be there.” Declan glanced at the door. “Now, let’s get out of here, so Harrison can talk to Kurt’s daughter.” He figured every second that passed deepened her sense of rejection. And that just wasn’t right. When he started out, the others followed.
“Declan,” the lawyer called. “Hang on. I’m going to need you to stay.”
“Me?” His pulse pounded. “What for?”
“And please call Seraphina in.”
“Shouldn’t you talk to her alone?” Declan didn’t think she’d want some stranger listening in.
“You’re part of it.”
“Part of what?”
Harrison tipped his chin to the waiting room. “I need to speak with both of you.”
Declan couldn’t think of a single thing tying him to Kurt’s daughter, but he was curious as hell. So, while his old friends headed out, his attention was fixed on the gorgeous, elegant woman. She was doing her damnedest to maintain her regal demeanor—straight spine, chin tilted—but her eyes—those fucking bright blue eyes that saw and assessed everything as if she were a mouse in a roomful of cats—revealed pain and fear.
She was a fish out of water if he’d ever seen one. “Harrison wants to talk to you.”
She rose out of the chair like a queen. “Thank you.” Hefting a black leather purse decorated with silver studs, she headed back into the office.
Once they took their seats, the lawyer said, “Declan, this is Seraphina Crutchley, Kurt’s daughter. Seraphina, this is Declan Cadell—”
“One of Kurt’s hockey boys. Yes, I figured that out.”
He didn’t like the way she’d diminished the relationship, especially since she was the one who’d refused to come out for her custodial visits. She’d broken Kurt’s heart, so why would she be resentful that he’d formed the Mountain West Elite Hockey Club? What did it matter how he’d spent his time?
“What, exactly, do the two of us have in common?” Her eyes went wide. “Oh, don’t tell me he’s my long-lost half-brother?”
“What?” Declan said. “No.”
“No,” the lawyer said. “But there’s a codicil to the will, and it involves the two of you.”
“I merit a codicil?” Underneath that snarky tone, Seraphina’s voice broke. “That’s better than nothing, right?”
“Yes. Your father”—he cut a look to Declan—“Kurt is bequeathing one of you his ranch.”
“One of us?” She dropped her purse to the floor, and a water bottle rolled out.
Declan didn’t think he could stand much more of this. Watching her dodge one hit after another from her own father…what had Kurt been thinking? He’d never known Kurt to be a vengeful man. He’d never held grudges.
“That’s correct.” It clearly pained the lawyer to say it.