“There’re three units on this side and two larger ones on the other side.” I lead Stone to the bottom entrance lobby, which is nothing more than a locked foyer with wide-plank hardwood floors and the unit mailboxes. There’s a staircase that leads up one floor to the main hallway where the five units are accessed, as well as a refurbished freight elevator.
“The key to the condo opens the foyer door as well,” I explain.
I start toward the stairs, Odin at my side when Stone says, “You’re just going to take the dog into Brooks’s house?”
“Odin’s been in there many times before, and your brother never had a problem with it.”
“But maybe I do,” he grouses.
“Fine.” I shrug, because I don’t need to go inside with him. I toss the keys and nod up the stairs. “It’s unit four. Alarm code is 3985.”
Stone catches the keys easily and stares down at them. “Of course, he’d pick that number.”
“Pardon?”
He looks up at me, green-brown eyes turbulent. “It was our street address for our family home back in Ithaca—3985 Banks Street.”
I nod in understanding. “That’s right. I didn’t make the connection until now.”
“You know where we grew up?”
I smile, leaning against the wall, Odin at a patient sit beside me. “I went there after the funeral services.”
Stone’s eyes bug out of his head. “You were there?”
“Yes, and I went to your parents’ home after to offer my condolences.”
His voice is inordinately sharp. “I didn’t see you.”
“I don’t think you were noticing much that day. It was tough on everyone, but more so on you and your parents. I wouldn’t have expected you to remember me there.”
Our eyes lock, but I can’t read anything in his expression. His posture is stiff, and if I had to name an emotion emanating from him, it might be anger. But he gives away nothing as he moves past me and Odin up the staircase.
“Bring the keys back to my office when you’re done,” I call after him.
He doesn’t answer.
CHAPTER 8
Stone
This building is stunning, heavy on the industrial design. The brickwork continues inside, the staircase done in maple and black iron. At the top, the hallway’s been done in the same light maple with three doors on the left, which Harlow said were smaller units, and two on the right.
I walk down the hall. Unit four is the first on the right and sits an equal distance between two and three on the left.
Taking a breath, it hits me that I’m getting ready to see my brother for the first time in forever. He won’t physically be inside, but his spirit will be. There will be evidence as to the type of man he’d become while we were estranged these last few years.
If I take that step inside, it means I can no longer ignore our differences. I can’t continue to be angry with him for not doing more, for perpetuating the way the family dynamics had shifted to me becoming the outsider and to him taking all our parents’ attention and devotion.
It means I’m going to have to attempt to understand him.
Christ, this is hard as hell.
It takes some resolve, but I make myself open the door, thankful that Harlow didn’t come up with me. It really didn’t have anything to do with that damn dog, but more that I didn’t want her witnessing any potential vulnerability I might exhibit. Hell, just the hesitation in entering would have embarrassed me as she could never imagine the extent of our family dysfunction.
Or maybe she could.
I don’t know how close she and Brooks were, but she came to his funeral. She’s talked about him with clear grief in her expression. At first, I thought she was merely his attorney, but if she came to the burial service, I can only conclude they were together. Maybe just dating, maybe serious. She said Odin had been in his place many times, so they were lovers, for sure.
Not sure why that bothers me, but it does. Thus, I’m really glad she’s not here to go through the condo with me.
Once I disarm the security system, I take my first gander at what was a piece of my brother.
His home.
I’m shocked at how refined he’d become. Two years younger than me, he was only twenty-five when he died. He came into the league at twenty-one, an immature but driven hockey player with a solid work ethic. I was with the Eagles and he was with the Titans, and we often made news—brothers in the league was newsworthy.
Those were the days when we were still close, and we’d visit each other when we could during the season. If we played in the other’s city and the team stayed overnight, we’d crash at each other’s place and catch up. The year the Eagles won the Cup, Brooks came to every single playoff game to cheer me on.
That summer, Brooks and I went to Australia and New Zealand. Spent three weeks traveling around together, and it seemed that our perfect lives couldn’t get more perfect.
What I didn’t know then was that it could go downhill so fast.
That summer was the last good time I remember with Brooks. At the start of the next season, I got injured and started my struggle to stay within the professional ranks. Over the next four years, I was either recuperating from my injury, fighting to stay on the Eagles, or battling down in the minors for a shot to return to the pros. It was back and forth, another injury, and suddenly, my perfect world was as imperfect as it could be.
And that’s when Brooks and my parents left me behind.
My parents jumped ship immediately, only going to see Brooks play. They never came to one minor league game of mine.
Brooks’s abandonment came slower, and I might have helped perpetuate it. He’d reach out to check on me, but I’d often play it up that there were no problems. He’d think all was cool. I never really checked up on him, because I could see in the stats and on ESPN he was doing very well for himself.
Because I was in the minors and he was not, we didn’t have multiple visits a year in each other’s cities. The summers I was working, teaching hockey camps for extra cash while he and my parents traveled. It was gradual, but by this past year before Brooks died, we were almost completely estranged, other than the odd check-in call or text such as we had at Christmas. I hadn’t seen him in well over a year and my parents in even longer than that.
I was an island unto myself.
I shake my head, dispelling those morose, lonely memories, and take in Brooks’s home.
It shocks me at first, because it’s stunning, really. I hadn’t known he’d bought something. I knew when he joined the Titans, he started out in a really nice apartment that was just a one-bedroom. He said he’d hardly be there, so why bother with more space to clean up?
As if he’d ever clean up.
My brother was the perpetual slob from childhood to adulthood, the type who would let dirty dishes accumulate until he ran out and was forced to wash them. The type who would leave clothes lying around and a thick layer of dust on things.
His condo is pristine, nothing out of place. It’s beautifully done, with the light maple floors running throughout, some of the walls done in brick and others painted a grayish-blue with black, exposed ductwork running overhead. The living area is bright with lots of windows on both sides, the furniture is high-end but comfortable looking, and built-ins are tastefully filled with books and sculptures. The art on the wall is modern and plentiful with big canvases strategically placed to make it seem like you’re walking through a gallery.