I roam the place slowly, running my hand over furniture, picking up framed photos to try to get insight into his life. Many of the photos are of him and his friends on the Titans. Always smiling, always having fun.
Brooks was what many professional players are when they’re young and just starting out—brash, cocky, and always eager to have a good time. Hell, I was that way too. Brooks liked to party, always seemed to have one or two ladies on his arm when we were all out together, and was one of those guys who seemed to get more jovial the more he drank.
He was a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, and I just now realize that I miss that. I had for so long refused myself the ability to confront the things I’d lost that it robs me of my breath for a moment.
There are some photos of Brooks with Harlow. Often within a group of other people, but they have their arms around each other’s waists. They made a beautiful couple.
There are even photos with Brooks and that damn dog Odin.
As I take it all in, a few things become clear. There are no photos of me anywhere in his house. There are also no photos of our parents. And there seem to be no photos that I’d gauge to be older than a year or two. Maybe with purchasing this place, he decided to fill it with only new memories and not old, and that seems to hold with the fact that he had no qualms with leaving me behind as his star rose and mine fell.
Now the anger starts, and it fills me up with a tarry blackness deep in my chest. I try to push it away, but bitterness has become a way of life for so long, it’s difficult. This place isn’t just Brooks’s home, it’s a mausoleum of his life without me, and I know I could never live here.
I decide to check out the upstairs and climb the freestanding staircase upward. The two guest rooms are large and tastefully decorated, a bathroom in between. Back downstairs, I find the master is spacious and has a brick accent wall behind the massive bed—the other walls are in that same grayish-blue as downstairs. The furnishings are modern and contemporary, tasteful art graces the walls, and my eyes spy one lonely, framed photograph on the dresser.
I walk up to it, a lump forming in my throat.
It’s of me and Brooks after the Eagles won the Cup. I’m still in my gear, sweaty and grinning like a fool. He’s beside me, our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and he’s grinning just as wide. I have no clue who took the photo. Probably my mom, but I don’t even remember that moment. Winning the Cup was a blur.
But Brooks chose to frame that photo to commemorate days gone by, perhaps as a shrine to our relationship before it died.
Fuck.
Fuck him and the feelings.
♦
I trudge back to Harlow’s law office, knocking snow off my boots before entering the foyer. I stomp more off on the thick mat just inside and shrug out of my coat before entering the reception area.
Bonita is at her desk and looks up at me pleasantly. “Finished with your walk-through?”
I nod, moving to her desk and handing over the keys.
She looks disappointed as she takes them. “You’re not going to keep the condo? I thought for sure you’d want it.”
“I do,” I reply. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she smiles. “I don’t own it yet, though, so I figured I’d turn the keys back in until Harlow has to do whatever paperwork.”
“I’m pretty sure you can move in immediately,” Bonita says, then nods at Harlow’s office door. “But why don’t you go in and let her know. There are documents you need to sign.”
I start to pivot away, but the jangle of keys grabs my attention. She holds them out to me. “You’ll need these.”
I accept the keys to Brooks’s condo.
No, my condo.
Well, our condo. I think Brooks’s ghost will be there for some time to come. Maybe permanently.
Harlow’s head pops up as I enter. Odin’s does the same, and he emits a low growl.
Stupid dog.
“Odin,” Harlow says, warning in her tone. He looks up at her, eyes innocent, and his tongue falls out the side of his mouth.
She’s utterly charmed and scratches his head, and I realize how devious that dog is. I’d say I have to make sure I never turn my back on him, but truth is, after this meeting, I won’t ever see him or Harlow again.
I sit down in the chair I’d used earlier. “I’ll take the condo. What do I need to do?”
Harlow smiles, genuinely pleased. “I think that’s awesome. I know it would make Brooks happy.”
I hold my tongue because I’m not doing this to make him happy. He’s dead.
She grabs a folder and pulls out documents. “I have some stuff for you to sign to transfer ownership. You can move in immediately, of course. You’ll need to decide what to do with the Potter County house. It’s really a gorgeous, upscale cabin. Your brother spent a lot of time there in the summers, fishing and hiking.”
I struggle to keep my expression placid.
Hiking and fishing? I didn’t even know Brooks liked to do those things.
“Have you been to the cabin?” I ask her. “Is it a good investment?”
“I’ve been there a few times,” she says, her smile going soft and fond. Maybe she’s remembering romantic times with my brother, and that’s not something I want to think about.
“I don’t get it,” I say, before she can answer my question about investment potential. My tone is slightly accusatory.
Harlow scowls. “Get what?”
“You and my brother.” I think about that condo and how it wasn’t like him at all. I think she might have had a hand in helping him with it. “I mean, that condo wasn’t his taste at all. It was so neat and nicely decorated, things he never really cared about. And you—”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you.” I wave my hand in a flourish to indicate her, the dog, the office. “You’re educated. Successful by all appearances. Brooks never gravitated to that. Never wanted to settle down. He was more apt to have a puck bunny on each arm than play house with a businesswoman. You don’t seem his type.”
Harlow’s eyes flare slightly before they get a warm burn of what I think might be empathy. I don’t like it. I feel like I’ve miscalculated something.
“I think you’re very keen in some observations, but others, not so much. I am absolutely not your brother’s type. We were just incredibly close friends.”
“So you and he weren’t…?”
She shakes her head, a long lock of dark red hair falling loose from her ponytail. She brushes it back, tucks it behind her ear. “I know this is going to be a bit of a shock, but when I tell you I wasn’t Brooks’s type, I mean, he wasn’t into women.”
I hear what she’s saying, but I’m not sure I understand.
She clarifies. “Brooks was gay.”
“No fucking way,” I murmur, shaking my head. “I would have known.”
“Would you?” Her pointed expression makes it clear I wasn’t a part of Brooks’s life for a long time. I didn’t know things.
“I’ve known him his entire life,” I growl in disbelief. “We may have been estranged the last few years, but I would have known. He would have told me.”
“Your brother struggled with it since he was eleven,” she says, and her tone is so sure and level, I know she’s telling me the truth right from Brooks’s mouth. “He was afraid of your dad. Couldn’t come out to him. As he got older, that fear increased. I hadn’t met your father until the funeral, but Brooks said he was strict… intolerant.”