Chapter 1 #2
Honestly, I’m halfway convinced I’m still on the couch in my brother’s ICU room, dreaming.
Tristan, with all his angles, light, and shadow could easily be an image from a painting I’ve studied, and Haskell with his babyface in his ill-fitting suit and thick glasses is, more or less, a caricature.
Maybe none of this is real. As my fingertips tingle, the whole scene takes on a weird quality of unreality.
“How’s Connor doing? Is there any news?” the lawyer asks.
Tristan’s gaze bores into the side of my face.
I try to focus on Haskell, but he’s blurring.
Not from tears, but more from the kind of anxiety I associate with impending doom.
With my free hand, I reach for my t-shirt collar and give it a tug but find it loose and not choking me like it seems. “He’s still in a coma. ”
Tristan exhales audibly.
“Have you been sleeping here at the hospital?” the lawyer asks.
“I just got in last night.”
“Are the doctors optimistic, or…?”
I turn to Tristan as I say, “They said they’ll know more when he wakes up.” Doctors, like lawyers, are very good at vague, sweeping statements like sole heir and critical but stable.
Tristan nods, his Adam’s apple bobbing in the column of his throat.
Haskell speaks. “We’re pulling for him. This has been pretty shocking, all of it. Tragic.”
Tragic for sure.
Tristan lets my hand go so he can wipe the few tears that have fallen.
Knowing he’s way more concerned about Connor than I’ve allowed myself to be yet, I give his shoulder a light squeeze.
He did me a favor coming over here. Not only is his presence grounding me in the facts of the situation, but it’s also distracting me from the potential enormity of it.
Haskell reaches into the front pocket of his briefcase and takes out four keys on a tagged key ring.
Two are car fobs, two are standard keys.
Immediately I recognize my old address scrawled in bold, black ink on one of the white tags attached to a silver key.
Pressure forms at the base of my throat.
I yank the collar of my t-shirt again. It still doesn’t help.
“Maybe today you can have a better night’s sleep. ” He pushes the keys toward me.
I stare down at them. “I don’t think I want those.”
“They’re rightfully yours, but you’re certainly not obligated to use them.”
Tristan looks at the keys, then at me.
“I got the house too?”
This is when Haskell finally realizes he needs to go much slower with me.
Took him long enough. “You got everything, Archer. It’s a very, very large inheritance.
I’ll be happy to go over it with you once your brother’s out of the hospital, but maybe today, with all that’s happened, isn’t the right time. ”
“How large?”
He clears his throat, apprehensive. He’s getting that vibe off me, probably. It’s been many years since I’ve had a full frontal panic attack, but I can feel it coming. “In total, your father’s net worth is about eleven billion dollars.”
The unbelievable amount hits me like a high speed train. I cough. “What?”
“But more importantly,” he adds, and I blink in terror—more importantly?
“He wanted you to act as Connor’s guardian.”
The gears screech in my head as the world comes to a complete stop.
“What?” My mouth goes bone dry. “Me? Why me?”
“I have no way of knowing that, but—”
“Archer—” Tristan says with a pressure on my arm too gentle to pull my focus from Haskell.
Leaning closer so as not to yell, I ask the lawyer, “What am I supposed to do with him?”
“I don't know how to answer that, but—”
“Well, that’s not very helpful, Phil.” Huge parts of my brain are shutting down. Heavy iron doors slamming shut.
Tristan squeezes my arm. “Archer.”
I look at him. His lips part to say something else when Haskell plows forward with his attack on my life. “It’s a lot. I know. Your father was very clear, however—”
“My father never even knew me. I haven’t seen or heard from those people in more than six years.” Despite the rising volume of my voice, Tristan doesn’t startle away. His grip on my arm changes to a steady pressure with a flat palm.
Raising both his hands in the universal calm down gesture, Haskell nods with understanding. “Let’s just take this one step at a time. It’s not as catastrophic as it sounds.”
“It isn’t,” Tristan says. “Connor turned eighteen last November.”
The lawyer sighs with relief. “Exactly. I just thought it was important you knew your father’s wishes, as you’re now your brother’s nearest living relative, and he’s—as you know—incapable of making his own decisions at the present time.”
There are no words I can think of to illustrate the enormity of my relief besides a truly heartfelt Thank God. Settling back in my seat, I mumble instead, “You should have led with that. Sorry for…” I glance at Tristan who’s looking intently back at me. I don’t know what else to say.
“Understood. All I need right now is for you to fill out this form.” He hands me a single piece of paper and a pen. “Obviously there’s more paperwork involved, but this will get the ball rolling. This form allows us to begin the process of transferring accounts into your name.”
“What if I just walk away? From all of this?”
“Archer.” It’s a hushed whisper from Tristan as his hand drops from my arm.
“Look,” Haskell says. “I imagine this type of windfall can seem more burden than blessing, but if I might offer some advice?”
“Do you actually have any?” My foot taps restlessly as I lean forward to fill out his paperwork.
“Take some time to think about it. You don’t have to decide anything today. Today, your brother needs you.”
“My brother’s gonna wake up and not even recognize me.” The words are harsh and bitter, full of the enormous resentment I carry around like steamer trunks.
“You’ve been gone a long time,” he says.
“I shouldn’t have picked up your call,” I mumble, mostly to myself.
“And miss this weather we’re having?” he asks as he blithely begins to gather his things.
“How’d you find me anyway?”
“A woman by the name of Helen Miles.”
I jerk my head up. “Excuse me?” Her name is another train, but this one hits me square in the chest. I stare at the lawyer, waiting for him to say a single thing that aligns with my own version of reality.
“She contacted us with your phone number shortly after the accident.”
How the hell?
“Who’s Helen Miles?” Tristan asks.
“A woman I used to know.” As I re-focus on the paper in front of me, Haskell and Tristan wait patiently for me to fill in the blanks. “I don’t know my checking account number.” Finished, I push the form back over to him.
“You can email it to me.” He presents me with a file folder. “This is your copy of the will, and you have my card. Call if you have any questions at all.”
“I don’t know why I would. You don't seem to have any answers.”
“I'll work on that,” he says, a wry smile on his sweaty face.
As he makes his way to the exit, I turn back to Tristan who’s staring after the lawyer with a blank expression, his bitten lips slightly parted, looking as shellshocked as I feel. “So how’s your morning going?” I ask.
A version of a laugh bursts out of him, and a tight grin forms on my face.
“Jesus, I’m sorry.” He lifts a hand to cover his mouth.
“Don’t be. Thanks for the moral support.”
“You’re welcome. They wouldn’t let me in to see Connor, so I was just out here, and I saw you—”
“They wouldn’t let you see him?”
“No. They said family only, and…” He gulps and shakes his head.
“I’ll get them to let you in. You’re probably more like his family than I am.”
“No,” he says. “He’d want you to be there. You should be there. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened.”
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“Are you…um…doing all right?” he asks.
I nod, turning my attention back to the napkin on the table. My hand, still holding the pen, quickly sketches a still-life of Haskell’s coffee cup.
“Where’ve you been?” Tristan’s voice is soft, but the question is fully loaded.
“Seattle.”
“All this time?”
“All this time,” I say, the last six years feeling both like an eternity and a heartbeat.
“How did that person know where to find you?”
“Helen? I have no idea.”
“Well…welcome home.”
I give him a grim smile before I sketch the keys, too. The boldly scrawled address reads like a threat. “So…a divorce, huh?”
“It’s a long story. Connor should probably be the one to tell it.”
“Who left?” I ask.
“Your dad left.”
Nodding my head like I understand any of this, I hand Tristan the pen. “Can you write down your number for me?”
Startled, he breathes in sharply, his eyes blinking rapidly.
I attempt to clarify lest he think I have some creepy ulterior motive. “So I can text you when Connor wakes up.”
“Oh. Yeah.” His shoulders relax. “You want me to write it on that?” He points at my drawing.
I move it across the table toward him.
Pushing his hair away from his face only to have it fall back into it again, he leans down to write. He hands me the napkin when he’s done.
I glance down at it. Tristan Chase.
When I look up, I catch him staring at me again, and something leaps in my stomach.
My lungs tighten up. The forest is wildly visible now.
Attractive is probably too mild a word for Tristan Chase.
He’s extremely beautiful, and the last time I found a man half this beautiful, I confirmed a lot of suspicions I had about myself.
He’s also my brother’s friend, which means he’s probably just this side of legal and entirely off limits. I need to stop noticing what he looks like, but it’s hard when someone looks like that.
“Can I have yours, too?” he asks.
I tear a scrap off the napkin which has already been through so much this morning with Tristan’s tears and my clenching fist. He gives the pen back to me, and I write down my cell number. When I hand it to him, it trembles in his fingers enough for me to notice.
“It was nice to meet you,” I say.
As he stands, he gives me the saddest fucking smile I’ve ever seen. “When you see someone after a long time, it’s more polite to say it was nice to see you again. Even if you don’t remember him.”