Rhett

“Have you been checking your calendar?” Allison dumps a stack of mail and paperwork on my counter the next morning. “I put some new appointments on there. Just want to make sure you’re seeing them.”

“Of course,” I lie. It’s the off season. I rarely check that shit.

“Good, so you saw the mandatory team meeting next Friday?” she asks. “Ten o’clock. Do not miss it. I’m sure you’re well aware, but your contract requires you to attend all team meetings.”

Coach and his fucking meetings. He’ll call one over the dumbest shit. I think he just likes to hear himself talk, and he gets bored when he’s not occupied with a rigorous regular season schedule.

“Also,” she says, rifling through the mail. She pulls out three envelopes with Greenbrier Law Firm in the upper left hand corner. “This attorney’s been trying to reach you for weeks.”

“The one who keeps calling about Bryce?”

“Yes, that’s the one. You need to get back to him. They’re starting to send letters now.” She pulls one from the stack that’s thicker than the others. “This is the newest one. I think you should open it. I’m running out of excuses as to why you’re not getting back to them.”

“I’ll get to it later.” I toss it aside.

Allison sighs. She knows me too well.

“I will. I promise,” I say.

“When?”

“Soon.”

“Soon?” she asks.

“Soon as you leave.” I flash a teasing smirk. Ayla’s coming over any minute now, and we’re going to take the Hampton’s Jitney to Montauk to stay in some private beach house for the weekend—her idea of course.

“Rhett, please,” she says. “What if it’s important?”

“I’d really prefer not to concern myself with anything remotely related to Bryce Renner,” I declare. “Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“I don’t think they’d call every other day or send you several letters in the mail if it wasn’t something that could wait.”

“Allison, you’re killing me here.” I retrieve the letter from where it landed and flick it between my fingers. “I’ll open it right now.”

I tear at the paper, glancing over at her.

“You happy now?” I ask.

She nods, watching. Glad at least one of us cares enough to be curious.

There’s a letter inside and another envelope with my name scribbled in Bryce’s handwriting. Unfolding the first piece of paper, my eyes skim across the words.

Dear Mr. Carson,

We’ve been trying to reach you for weeks in regards to the estate of Bryce J. Renner as you have been named a beneficiary. Please contact my office at your earliest convenience so we can ensure a timely distribution of your portion of the Renner trust.

V/r,

Liam Greenbrier

Attorney at Law

Encl: Copy of Personal Letter from Client to Beneficiary

Tossing Liam’s note aside, I grab the envelope with Bryce’s handwriting and hesitate before ripping it open. All I want to do is move on from all of this. The sooner I read his stupid letter and meet with his attorney, the sooner I can move on with my life.

Rhett,

If you’re reading this letter, it means I’m gone. And it also means I failed you as a best friend and never had the balls to tell you in person. You were like a brother to me, the only true friend I ever knew. You were the only person who put up with my shit and stuck around anyway, and I repaid you by being a selfish bastard who secretly resented living in your shadow.

You did everything better than me ... hockey, women, friendship, life ... the list goes on.

The truth is, I didn’t deserve your friendship.

I’ve betrayed you. I’ve lied to you. I’ve done things I’ll never forgive myself for, and I wish I had a compelling reason for all of it, but I don’t.

So I’m leaving you forty percent of my estate. It’s yours, brother. Do with it what you want. If you want to give it all away, go for it. If you want to wipe your ass with it as a giant “fuck you” to me? By all means. I know money can’t change what I did in this lifetime, but you’re the closest thing to a brother I ever knew, and you weren’t only like family to me—you were family to me.

I’m sorry.

Bryce

PS—I have a half-sister. I never told you about her for reasons I won’t get into in this letter. She’s also getting forty percent of my estate. Just an FYI in case you’re wondering who the hell she is when you see my will. Her name is Ayla Caldwell, and last I knew, she was living in Los Angeles.

I’m clutching the paper so hard, it shakes. The letters on the page blur and my vision goes black.

Her name is Ayla Caldwell…

“Rhett?” Allison’s voice squeaks from behind me. “Everything okay?”

I don’t answer.

I can’t speak—I physically cannot speak.

My jaw clenches tight, and I let the letter fall.

“Rhett. You’re scaring me,” Allison says with a nervous laugh. “What’s going on?”

Lifting my hand to my temple, I draw in a long breath.

“Allison, I need you to leave,” I say. “Just… give me space. Please.”

She gathers her papers and bags and scurries out the door which bangs against the frame but doesn’t shut.

Goddamn it.

My fist throbs a moment later. I glance down and see that I’m bleeding, and when I look up, I realize I’ve punched a hole in the wall.

“Hey, your door was open.” I turn around to see Ayla standing in my doorway dressed for our trip, her suitcase by her side. “Everything okay?”

“No,” I seethe. “Everything is not fucking okay.”

Her face falls when she sees mine, and her body tenses.

She knows.

She fucking knows.

And she’s known all along.

That’s the clincher.

“Rhett.” Her voice is broken, and she takes a tentative step in my direction. “I was going to tell you.”

“When?” My voices booms, startling her. “When?!”

“Soon,” she says, her hand on her chest. Her mouth is stuck open, like she’s searching for the right words to say, but nothing she says is going to change any of this.

“You betrayed me.” The words are grit and sandpaper on my tongue, and they taste bitter, sour. This is worse than a punch to the stomach. This is kicking me when I’m already down.

“I know.” Ayla hangs her head, eyes shutting gently.

“How could you?” I grab the letter from the floor, crumpling it in my hands and shoving it at her. “You knew what happened. You don’t think at some point you probably should’ve mentioned I was fucking Bryce’s sister?”

“I tried to tell you, early on.”

“Clearly you didn’t try hard enough.”

“You shut down the conversation. Every time.” She lifts a pointed finger in the air.

“So this is my fault?!” I release an incredulous laugh. “You’re out of your goddamned mind if you think for one second that you can justify what you did.”

“I liked you,” she says, moving closer. “A lot. I didn’t want to lose you. I was going to tell you. I swear to God I was going to tell you. I just needed more time. I wanted to prove that my feelings for you were genuine, so that when I told you who I was, maybe you’d be able to forgive me.”

“You’re delusional if you think I can forgive this.”

“Rhett.” Her eyes water, and her voice is breathless. “I’m so sorry.”

“Get the fuck out.” I rest my hands on my hips, and I have to force myself to look at her. “I never want to see you again.”