3. Rick
Chapter three
Rick
I ’ve never felt so wrecked in my life.
I got Jace’s letter and had a good laugh. I thought it was Jace’s way of playing a joke on me, the same way he would have when he was alive. Did it also make me incredibly sad? Of course. Do I wish with every fiber of my being that he was here right now? Absolutely. I do. All the time. Did I take the part where he asked me to look after his sister seriously? I did. I was already starting to make plans to figure out how I could do that, but I never thought she’d take the darn letter literally and show up here.
In lightning-fast time, I might add.
She’s Jace’s half-sister, but she looks so much like him that it’s haunting. She has sandy hair, blue eyes, and a fine bone structure with high cheekbones. It looks different on her than it did on him, obviously. She’s beautiful. He was athletic and rugged. She’s tall and slim. He was tall and jacked. I wonder if they both look like their dad. They must because he’s the parent they share in common.
She lets out a gasp as she steps inside and takes in the place. It’s the gross, ultra-modern design I can’t stand. Then again, if it were any other design, I still wouldn’t be able to stand it because this was his house before it was mine. Glass railings, stairs that appear to float in mid-air, square everything, concrete floors, bare walls with an expensive painting or two here or there, furniture that looks like it’s made out of stone and cardboard and feels about as comfy to sit on. Floor-to-ceiling windows in spots, huge hanging light fixtures, and a metal sculpture in the corner of the huge living room that stands thirty feet tall, almost all the way to the lowest point of the ceiling.
“It was my grandpa’s.” I don’t have to explain this to her, but even Jace didn’t know this about me. I feel…naked.
No, correction. Jace knew just about all my secrets, and he did know my grandpa had money, but he didn’t know the extent of it. Even I barely knew. This wasn’t the house my grandpa had when I was little, which was when I became a burden that he seemed to regret for the rest of his life. He solved that by packing me up, shipping me off, and making sure I never came back home. And when I was old enough to make the decisions for myself, I never came back either.
This isn’t really a home. It’s just an empty shell that’s worth a couple of million dollars. And by a couple, I mean likely fifteen. Maybe more. The market keeps going up and up and up.
“He left it to me when he passed away.”
“Oh, I see. It’s really quite something to inherit. He was clearly a loaded old baked potato.”
Aspen is completely unapologetic for that, and my lips nearly twitch. I admire brutal honesty. She’s like Jace that way. He always told the truth, but he peppered it with humor whenever he could.
We might as well sit down here. I gesture at the two couches, and Aspen takes one. She plops down, grunts, and rearranges herself. I can tell she didn’t expect the couch to be so hard. I made the same mistake the first time I sat down. It was like falling onto a pile of bricks. Eighteen months later, my tailbone still feels bruised from that monstrosity.
She arranges her legs, one over the other. Her jeans are fancy and bleached out. They have patterns all over them, and the hems go from tight to flared out. Bell bottoms, I guess, but I don’t think they’re from the right era. They’re too modern. Boho, I suppose. Her top is adorable. It’s a short-sleeved T-shirt with a giant strawberry on it. Her purse is faux leather, the strap crossing over her torso, but I don’t let it draw my eyes there. Her hair, which sweeps down nearly to her waist, is a honeyed, sandy mess. With her matching sandy brows, flecks of ginger freckles dancing over her nose and cheeks, her full pink lips, baby blues, and altogether natural worshipper of great open skies earthiness about her, she looks like she’s always lived in California.
She looks young. That’s what she looks like.
Even though she’s dressed quite plainly for all intents and purposes, and her look is like a bohemian princess with zero cares in the world, I can see the dark shadows in the flash of her eyes as they sweep around the room. They finally land on the huge windows facing the street.
“If you don’t like the place, why don’t you just sell it and move somewhere else?”
She’s blunt. I do appreciate that. “I can’t. It was in the will that I can’t sell it for five years after inheriting it.” I have other money, so I could technically buy something else and rent out this one or let it stand empty. Maybe let it go to pot and show it the same amount of love my grandpa showed me for all I care.
“Hmm, that’s interesting. What other asshole clauses did he put in there?”
I sit down on the other couch. It’s equally as hard, so I perch with care. “I don’t know. Lots. He had investments, corporations, some of this, some of that…he put stipulations on all of it. It has been a lot of lawyer meetings.”
“Being rich sounds like a pain in the ass. You should just take it all and donate it.”
I’ve donated rather large chunks of whatever money I have been able to get my hands on because I feel the exact same thing. I refuse to laugh. I refuse to admit she’s right. I refuse to acknowledge just how much wealth I was left with. Honestly? It’s overwhelming. I find it a little bit obscene, and I’m half embarrassed by it. I’m not the kind of man who was ever cut out to live this way.
“Jace never was able to tell me much of anything about you.” Aspen loops a strand of hair around her finger. She plays with it for a few seconds before she lets her hand drop. She looks at me directly. “So? Who are you? I need it in the bullet form cheat study notes style.”
Maybe if I give her this, it will be good enough. She’ll decide this isn’t for her, that I’m not for her, and she’ll go back to wherever she can be happy. “I wasn’t much of anyone. I’m still not much of anyone. I like to be left alone, for the most part.” It’s not like I had a choice for most of my life. “You know what I did for a living. The same thing your brother did. I stopped a year and a half ago. My grandpa pulled strings and influenced some pretty high-up people to get me back here. He was sick, dying. He wanted me to be here for that last little bit.” One final punishment from a prick who never loved me, but I was his last bit of flesh and blood, and I guess that meant more to him than anything as he was getting ready to shuck off the old mortal coil. “So, I suppose I’m retired now.” Was that by choice? Fuck no. Do I miss being out there in the field every single day? Well, not every single day, and not every job. But some of it. Just some days. I’m always going to be that way. There is about four percent of me that is never going to be used to being domesticated.
“So you’re back to living in polite society.” Her brows shoot up. “You don’t strike me as someone who would be very good at it—mixing with other people who have money. I don’t think old money likes new money, but you’re like the worst of new money. You’re awkward at it, and it looks like you’re disdainful of it, which would drive anyone crazy. Plus, your manners are atrocious. You’re no good at faking it, and being rich seems like it’s all stuffy and fake. It’s probably all face injections, BBLs, and purse doggies.”
“Gah. What’s a BBL?” I have to ask. My curiosity gets the better of me before I can stop myself.
“A Brazilian butt lift,” she answers.
“Oh!” Oh, Jesus. “I don’t think I’ll be getting one of those anytime soon.”
She bursts into the softest, sweetest laughter. It’s nothing like Jace’s loud guffaw. I swear, that laugh of his just about got us killed a few times. I also swear I’d take a bullet just about anywhere that’s not fatal right now if I could just hear his laugh again.
“Did Jace know about this?”
“The butt lifts?”
“Yeah.” Her smile is like pure sunshine. The kind you never find in the city. No, it’s better. It’s more like the first breath you take after thinking you won’t be able to take another. My heart starts pounding for no reason I can even name except that all my internal danger tripwires are being stepped on, and alarm bells are pinging through my brain.
“No, he didn’t know anything about those. Or about this. When I left…I didn’t want to leave, but he knew enough. He just didn’t realize the extent of it. Neither did I, to be honest.” I’m being too honest right now. That’s what I’m doing. But then, I’m not talking about my life over there. All the years I spent doing shit that I can’t ever talk about. My life now is pretty much public knowledge. It’s not one big secret, and that has taken some getting used to.
Not having to watch my back every time I step out of the house.
The easy way society just crawls all over the place, invading every single corner and crevice. The laughter, the people, the houses, the traffic, the access to everything, the stores, the crowds, the living .
“If he had known,” Aspen says with a frown, studying me and seeing more than I’d like. “He would have been even more worried. He definitely would have had us both get our letters sooner.”
“Why would you say that?”
“Well, you’re clearly uncomfortable here. You might have all the money in the world, but it doesn’t make up for what a person needs most.”
I’m not going to fall off the couch right now. I’m fucking not . “And what’s that?”
“Friends. Love. Family. This house pretty much screams soulless loneliness. I’m sorry to say so because it’s super nice and everything, and I’m sure your grandpa was a good man—”
“My grandpa was the meanest son of a b you’d ever meet.”
“Oh. Um…” For a second, she doesn’t know what to do with that information, but then she nods tightly. “Yeah, well, I’m sorry for it.” She pats her purse, and then she flips open the top and takes out a piece of paper. With trembling hands, she unfolds it. “This was the last thing my brother wanted. He wanted us to get married. I don’t know why, but I don’t think it’s a joke. I have every intention of honoring his wish, even if we both think it’s the worst of terrible ideas. What’s a few weeks? We could get legally married to say we did and then get legally annulled. We could give it a shot for a period of time, and then we could just…I don’t know. Be long-distance friends or something. No offense, but you seem about as warm and loving as a cactus, and goodness knows I adore those plants, but they’re exceptionally prickly. I know you don’t want this, and I don’t want it either, but we’re both going to have to suck it up and just do it. Otherwise, I think we’ll live our whole lives haunted by the fact that we loved Jace, and we didn’t do him the honor and respect of following through with this.”
“You can’t just…will two people to get along, let alone get married.”
“I know that,” she says exasperatedly.
Does she? Yeah, her eyes are narrowed at me now. And she’s clutching the letter like it’s a lifeline, holding onto it for dear life.
I know that feeling. I know what she’s feeling. What she’s wishing.
Neither of us was with Jace when he died. We weren’t there. His body came back home, but she wouldn’t have gotten to see it. It was no doubt a closed casket, and who knows? They might have lied to his family about there even being a body. The casket could have been empty. Not saying that’s a thing, but…yeah. Either way, she didn’t get closure. I wasn’t with him. I wasn’t watching his back. I left. If I had stayed, he might still be alive. Instead, I was here, living this life I never wanted, and he was…he was there. It might have been brutal. They wouldn’t tell me. Me. Even after I gave up over a decade of my life for them. I don’t know how it happened. I just know it did.
It’s been a year, and I’m every bit as empty as the moment when I first heard those words.
Aspen grips the letter like it’s all she has left of her brother, and if she can just do this, then maybe…maybe it won’t hurt so much. Maybe she’ll have a part of Jace back. Maybe she can hold onto a part of him and never let go.
“I’m so sorry, Aspen, but whatever we do isn’t going to bring him back.”
Her eyes flash. Even when I’m trying not to be an asshole, I apparently still suck. “I know that! He’s dead. My brother is dead. I’m never going to see him again, and neither are you, which makes this even more important. He wrote this, planned it, wanted it for us. I think that’s something. So, real or not, I think we should at least attempt it. You don’t have to like me, and I don’t have to like you, but we could try for a few weeks, and then that’s that. At the very least, we could get to know each other and try to be friends, even if we’d be the least likely of friends that ever existed. Because that’s what Jace wanted. He wanted you to look after me. And me to look after you. He wanted neither one of us to be alone. If he thought we needed this, then I’m not going to say he was wrong.”
“Even if he was?”
A quick lighting strike in a sea of blue anger. This girl might look sweet and young and innocent, but she’s got the same fire driving her that her brother had. I bet she’s like an old rusty nail that works its way right through the sole of your boot until it stabs you through the foot. Hella persistent and stubborn. Something you never saw coming and impossible to just pluck out and forget about.
“He wasn’t wrong.” Her fingers clamp down so hard on the paper that it crinkles, and she looks down in surprise and horror and quickly smoothes it out against her chest.
“Are you sure it’s not a joke?”
“It’s not a joke!” She gives me the what in the ever-loving hell is wrong with you look. “He wouldn’t joke about something like this. I don’t care if there aren’t two people in the world less suited for each other. He wasn’t kidding.”
“Less suited.” I can work with that. “You’re right. We’re completely unsuited to each other. From what I know about you, you’re sweet, good, and kind. You’re the kind of sister who drops everything and wrecks her life just to honor her brother. You’re brave. Bold. You’re probably funny like him. You’re beautiful. And then there’s me. We’re just not…trust me. We would be a disaster together. It’ll be much better if we remain distant friends. You can add me to social media. I’ll create a profile just for you.”
“Fuck off,” she snarls, shocking me with her ferocity. “You’re not the only one who has social media. I might be younger than you, and I might be smaller than you, but I’m no less—”
“I’ll take care of you, I promise. That part, I’ll fulfill. I’ll give you some money right now. Then you can go off and live your life however you want. Do anything you want to do. Give some money to your parents and make sure they’re okay too. Jace’s mom as well. I just—”
“Jace’s mom and my parents were the recipients of his life insurance policy. They’re fine. Not rich, but fine. Anyway, what the nuts? He wanted something else for us besides money. If you think I’d accept that, then you’re a real poo pants.”
She tells me to fuck off with enough venom to stop my heart, and then she uses words like poo pants? God, who is this girl?
“No. I don’t accept,” she adds with finality.
Rusty Nail. That’s who she is.
I have this terrible, sinking feeling that if I don’t agree to this, she’ll never leave me alone. She’ll never stop hounding me and guilting me. God knows I already have enough guilt. Am I afraid of her? Fucking rights, I’m afraid of her. I’m afraid that even being around her will tarnish her shine. I’m afraid that all the messed up, ugly parts of me will come to the surface, and they’ll coat her like an oil spill. Like stepping into a pit of tar. They’ll go all over her nice, clean, pristine soul, and they’ll wreck her.
I might be this mostly harmless-looking dude who hides out in this house during the day and climbs the walls at night, caged in, but I’m so far from harmless. I’ve done things I can never talk about, but they’ll always be stained on my soul.
What’s worse? Two weeks of a fake marriage to fulfill Jace’s last hopes and wishes and then a very distant friendship, or having to put up with his little sister pestering me, guilting me, and hounding me until I lose what’s left of my mind?
I have enough guilt already. And enough regrets to fill up this house until the walls expand and burst.
If I could go back and stay instead of coming home, I would.
But I can’t. This is my reality now.
It doesn’t have to be Aspen’s present, and it doesn’t have to be her future. I can do this for Jace. I couldn’t save him, but I can honor this despite what I think about it. What I think doesn’t matter. Jace was the only real family I ever had. If he’d asked me to do this when he was alive, I would have promised him that I would. Never mind me. I’m nothing. I haven’t been anything or anyone worthy of much at all in a long time. I was good at one thing, and that’s over now.
But this?
I can do this for Aspen. What’s two weeks out of my life? Out of my time? I play nice for two weeks and then I never have to see her again. I’ll treat it like any other dangerous, fucked up mission I’ve been on. I have the skills to get through it. To survive it. I’ll do it because I have to, and then we’ll both be free, but especially her. She’ll be free of me, the obligation, the doubt, and the tormenting guilt. She’ll be okay. I’ll make sure she’s okay.
If I say no…well, it’s not an option. She won’t let me say no. Under all her sweetness, I think she’s built of steel defiance and more so honor .
“Two weeks?” She picked that number, not me.
She folds up the letter and places it very neatly back in an envelope that has already been worn all over the creases, down to frayed softness. When did she get the letter? Likely just a few days ago. Probably at the same time as I did. Yet it already looks like it’s a hundred years old.
When she looks back up at me, her eyes are shimmering with unshed tears. Please, not tears. I can’t deal with tears. They turn my insides into a dumpster fire-style wreck. “Two weeks,” she confirms, swallowing thickly, swallowing all of it back. “We get in, we do this, we get out alive. And then I’ll create whatever fake social media crap you want, or we can be pen pals.” She caresses the envelope in her lap again, touching it with so much love that it makes me feel winded. “If one letter has the power to change a whole life, maybe there’s something to that.”