“What will help,” Mr. Dumelin growls as he stands and slams his palms on my desk, “is for you to get your pretty ass in gear and tell me what I need to know.”
It’s no surprise that at this point in the conversation, Odin decides to have his say. He lunges to his feet, hackles raised, his lips peeled so far back, he’s all gums and teeth. This is a far different Odin from the dog that gave Stone a bit of a warning when he stormed into my office.
This Odin is prepared to attack at a moment’s notice, and I’m not sure I can restrain him.
Luckily, his presence is enough to penetrate Mr. Dumelin’s thick skull as he immediately scrambles back, his ass slamming into the chair he just vacated. Arms outstretched, he says in a quavering voice, “You better get control of that dog.”
“And you better get out of my office, Mr. Dumelin. You are no longer welcome here, and the next time you step foot on my property, I’ll call the police to escort you off.” I reach a hand out to stroke Odin’s back. “Or maybe I’ll just let my dog take a piece of you.”
I fully understand now when Brooks used to tell me his father was a master manipulator as I witness the change come over his expression. Mr. Dumelin offers a chagrined smile, ducks his head, and holds out his palms. “Now, wait a minute… we got off on the wrong foot. I’ve just been so devastated since Brooks died, and now my only other son has forsaken me. He won’t return my calls when all I want to do is check in on him.”
I know, without a doubt, this is a lie. I saw just how worried Stone’s father was for his only remaining son at the funeral. He wanted nothing to do with him. The man was too busy preening for the TV cameras to be so much as bothered with comforting his own family.
Hell, I actually shook the man’s hand and expressed my condolences, and I don’t even think he recognizes me. He barely spared me a glance that day as well, instead focused on someone behind me that he was pandering to with fake tears.
“You really need to leave,” I say politely, standing from my desk to indicate the conversation is over. “I sent you the details of how and when you’ll receive your portion of the estate. If you believe something is wrong, you may hire your own attorney to help you figure it out.”
Mr. Dumelin stands and practically whines. “Brooks would want you to help me.”
Something inside me snaps, that this man would dare to even suggest he knew his son well enough to know what he would’ve desired. “You know nothing of what Brooks wanted,” I say softly, but my voice is laced with ice. “You didn’t know him at all.”
Eyes flaring with shock, Mr. Dumelin opens his mouth, but I cut him off, rounding my desk. “You never once tried to be a true support to your son.”
I walk up to him, stand toe-to-toe. “You merely jumped on his coattails and wrapped your arms around his throat hard to hang on. You rode his star because it made you feel good, and you never offered him anything in return.”
Mr. Dumelin’s mouth opens and closes, like a fish out of water gasping for oxygen.
And while I don’t know exactly how Stone feels about his father, I know how Brooks felt about the way their father treated Stone. “And while you were so obsessed with your son playing in the big leagues, you forgot all about your other son who was struggling down below in the minors. And now that he’s got stardom again, and the bulk of Brooks’s estate, I imagine it’s only a matter of time before you try to hop on that train, if you haven’t tried already.”
The man finally seems to get his wits because he draws himself up and glares at me in outrage. “How dare you talk to me like that! How dare you assume those things when you know nothing of my son.”
“I know your sons better than you do,” I hiss.
“We’ll see about that.” Mr. Dumelin brushes past me, casts a wary glance at Odin standing there, and heads to my door. Glancing back, he growls, “You’ll be hearing from my attorney. And I’ll be lodging a complaint against you for unethical behavior. And I’m calling animal control on that dangerous mutt.”
I smile pleasantly at the man. “Have a good day, Mr. Dumelin. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass on your way out.”
The door slams so hard, my law degrees on the wall rattle.
CHAPTER 12
Stone
I turn onto my left side, tucking my hand under my pillow. The nightstand clock says it’s almost four a.m., and I haven’t been able to sleep yet. I’ve dozed a few times, brief snatches where I almost go under, but then my thoughts wake me back up. I never sleep well on the road, and this is a four-day trip, given we’re playing both New York teams.
I should’ve gone out with the team to celebrate. I played fucking amazing tonight against the New York Phantoms, racking up a goal and an assist, and still… I feel like a fraud.
Like I don’t belong.
Which is why I passed on celebratory drinks and came straight to my room. This trip, I’m sharing hotel accommodations with Coen Highsmith. Team Services has us rotating through road roommates in an attempt to speed up the process of us getting to know one another. I roomed with Gage in Phoenix, and I’d prefer that because at least he doesn’t attempt to force conversation.
Coen’s not bad either. He’s still out partying—or most likely, with a woman—so I’ve had the room all to myself tonight. I enjoyed watching sports highlights, then caught Fight Club on TV. I surfed my phone, deleted emails and voicemails from my dad, and even thought a few times of reaching out to Harlow to check on the status of moving Brooks’s money and investment accounts into my name. I want to get my parents paid their share so I can be left in peace.
I didn’t, though. She gave me her cell phone number before I left her St. Patrick’s Day get-together and told me to call if I needed anything while I was out of town. She even offered to get my mail for me, but I wasn’t ready to ask her for anything.
In the last four days, I’ve been thinking a lot about her. She’s more than just a trustee, and she’s more than just a friendly neighbor. She’s probably the person who knew my brother best, and knowing that has all kinds of curiosities plaguing me.
More than anything, I have a feeling she was someone my brother counted on. Perhaps the one person who gave him unconditional support. She knew he was gay… a very tightly held secret, apparently, and I can’t imagine how lonely he must have been holding on to it.
There’s something special about Harlow Alston, and part of me wonders if I’m so lonely myself that maybe—
Nope. I stop my thoughts right there. I don’t need a close friend or someone I can count on. My family alone has proven those things are built on glass bridges, ready to break at any moment. Brooks might have needed a Harlow Alston in his life, but I don’t. I’m fine just the way things are.
Just like I’m fine leaving Brooks’s journals alone in his closet. I’m not ready to get to know my brother again. I’m afraid it’s going to make me feel even worse about stepping into his shoes and his life, all at the expense of his own. I know without a doubt it’s going to make me feel regretful for not attempting to patch things up with him, and I’m not sure I can handle one more negative emotion about my brother’s death without it consuming me.