CHAPTER 29 Ford Bradley
Ransacking
It’s drizzling in Chicago when we land. It’s often gray here. I heard on the radio once that nearly half the days of the year are cloudy. I guess that’s why when I was drafted by a team in the Sunshine State, I was ready to pack my bags and get the fuck out of here.
I love Chicago. It’s home, and a part of me will always feel that way. But with more of my family members in Vegas now than here, and after having lived the last seven years in Tampa, it’s really not home anymore.
Still, as the car we took from the airport pulls up to the mansion for the second time in the last two months, I can’t help but let the nostalgia wash over me.
My mother wasn’t around much when we were kids. She hired a nanny who took care of us, and that nanny had a helper when our brood expanded. Mom was always off at some charity event or gala opening, some premiere or launch, or even just an event at the country club.
She worked hard to be something I’m not sure she ever was, and I can’t help but wonder how the people in her social circle really felt about her.
She tried her damn hardest to fit in, so much so that it cost her her very life.
She refused to allow anyone to see her as anything other than what she wanted to project, and that meant avoiding doctors until she no longer could.
And here we are, gathering together as a family so we can celebrate the life of a woman we hardly knew yet to whom we should all feel the most fundamental connection with.
As I step out of the car while the driver gets our luggage out of the trunk, Tatum and I both stare up at the house. She’s probably reflecting on how she’s back here at the very place she wishes she could buy, and I’m here reflecting on how much money is tied up in it.
I glance over at Tatum once the driver sets our luggage beside us and I’ve tipped him.
“Ready?” I ask.
She hesitates as if she wants to say something. But then she presses her lips together and nods, and we head toward the front door.
I ring the bell, and I find Ivy on the other side of the door.
“Ford,” she murmurs, and she pulls me into a hug. “And Tatum. Good to see you,” she says, the first of my siblings to gracefully sidestep the fact that Tatum is here with me and not Archer. I’m hopeful she won’t be the only one. “Come on in.”
“Who else is here?” I ask.
“Everyone’s rolling in today,” Ivy says.
“Liam’s in the kitchen with Madden and Kennedy.
Dex and Ev are on the same flight from Vegas with Ainsley and Maverick, and they’re landing any minute.
I haven’t heard from Archer.” Ivy’s eyes dart to Tatum at the mention of him.
My chest tightens, and I suck in a breath.
I’m going to have to face him eventually with Tatum by my side.
I head into the kitchen and find Liam, Madden, and Kennedy standing around the rather large kitchen island—the very same one that Tatum stood on not so long ago. I almost laugh at the memory.
Liam turns first at the noise in the doorway, and he grins as he moves over to greet me.
“Congratulations, man,” he says. “I saw the viral video.” He gives me a bro-style hug complete with an aggressive pat on the back, and then he moves to Tatum while Madden makes his way over to greet us, too.
“We all saw it. It’s been fucking everywhere,” Madden says as we hug in greeting next. “I already texted you, but let me say it in person, too. Congrats, bro.”
“When did you two get in?” I ask.
“About an hour ago. How are you doing after Sunday?” he asks.
“We don’t have a chance with Reggie,” I say.
He presses his lips together. “Stranger things have happened. Keep fighting.”
I know he’s right, but it’s hard not to give up when our quarterback is hurt and we’re the underdogs.
We all stand around the kitchen island bringing up memories from this very kitchen.
The time Dex tried to microwave a shirt to dry it faster and ended up starting a fire.
Leaving empty cereal boxes in the pantry to disappoint a sibling.
Stashing a particular snack only to find our secret stashes had been raided.
The time Madden and Dex dented the stainless-steel fridge during a Nerf war.
The time Archer and I convinced Liam the egg was hard-boiled so he’d crack it on his forehead.
The list goes on.
We may not have had Mom and Dad around much, but we had each other, and that was enough.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
“He was taking care of some details at the funeral home,” Liam says. “Should be back soon.”
It’s a sobering reminder of why we’re here. Not a single one of the memories we’ve been laughing about has included our mother.
But maybe they don’t have to. Even if we weren’t close to her, she still gave us life. She still gave us this. These are memories we can stand in a kitchen and laugh about all these years later.
“Do we, um…need to go through Mom’s stuff at all?” Ivy asks.
We all glance over at her. She’s probably the closest out of all of us to our parents.
She’s the youngest, and she still lives here when she’s not away at college—for now, anyway.
Liam said in passing that she might stay with him instead of here all alone once Dad’s locked up, but once she graduates in a few months, I wonder where she’ll land.
“You take what you want,” I say quietly to her.
Madden and Liam nod.
“I don’t need anything,” Madden says.
“Neither do I,” Liam adds.
I press my lips together. I feel like I should take something. Like I’ll regret leaving here without a single scrap to remind me of my mother. I have the memories, but they’re not memories of her. They’re sibling memories that she helped facilitate but wasn’t present for.
Trips we took where the seven of us siblings looked out for one another because our parents were off attending events.
Kitchen wars and fort nights when they were out.
Five brothers messing around with each other while Everleigh joined in, and Ivy peered in as the youngest back when we were all home at the same time.
Madden getting mad because he thought he was in charge.
Dex starting a food fight, Archer joining in next, Liam in general causing chaos.
Me somewhere in the middle trying to maintain fair, orderly rules to a food fight that was never meant to be orderly.
What the hell has become of this family? And what will become of our future if we don’t make the effort to get together outside of weddings and funerals?
And how does what I’m doing with my brother’s ex contribute to any of that?
Nerves strike through my chest as I wait for his arrival.
Nobody knows when he’s coming. Maybe he won’t come at all, or maybe he’ll just attend the funeral.
Maybe he doesn’t want to deal with the questions from his siblings or the betrayal of his brother.
But there’s also that slightest slice of possibility that he’ll knock on the door next. Nobody ever knows with him.
“I don’t need anything. But I want something. I just don’t know what,” I admit.
I take the suitcases upstairs with Tatum trailing behind me and Ivy leading the way. I drop our bags in my old room, where Tatum grabs her laptop to answer some pressing emails. I join Ivy in Mom’s closet.
Rows and rows of designer dresses and pantsuits. Racks and racks of designer shoes, size seven. Cases and cases of designer jewelry. Ivy tries on a pair of shoes, and like Cinderella, they’re the perfect fit.
Suitcases, handbags, and tote bags with names even I have heard of. Dior, Chanel, Fendi. I’ll let Ivy and Everleigh take first pick, but maybe there’s something in here Tatum would like. Or maybe our mother already allocated who gets what.
“How’s life?” Ivy asks when we’re alone.
“Life-ing,” I say.
She laughs. “Same. You and Tate now? Is she getting passed to Liam next?”
“Fuck no,” I say, an unexpected darkness in my tone. She better not, anyway.
She purses her lips as she tilts her head at me. “Is it real?”
“It is for me. Always has been,” I admit.
She nods a little. “Thought so. And her?”
“Getting there.”
“So why are you marrying her if she’s not there yet?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Relationships always are.” She sighs, and we both silently survey the contents of the closet. “Why didn’t they take this stuff?”
“Who?”
“The investigators. Why aren’t these assets frozen?”
My brows draw down. It’s a great question—one I hadn’t considered.
“If I had to guess, I’d think that the investigators didn’t see these as big-ticket items. They’re looking for Aston Martins, not something fresh from last year’s runway.
” As I look around, I think that what’s in this closet has to be worth millions of dollars.
But only if someone took the time to catalog all of it.
As I glance through what’s in here, I can’t find a single item that bears any connection to my mother at all.
It’s as I’m about to leave the closet when I hear footsteps approaching, and then my father’s figure fills the doorway.
“Already ransacking for your inheritance? You should know your mother wanted each of you to have something. The lawyers will be here tomorrow after the funeral to share who is getting what.”
I hold up my empty hands. “Just keeping Ivy company and trying to find…something.” I’m not sure what.
A connection. Some feeling. I felt sad when I heard she died, the way you feel sad when you hear anyone died.
I didn’t cry. I hadn’t slept that night as I wondered about the viral video, about Archer, about Tatum, about all of it, and my eyes were red-rimmed in the morning because of it.
But I can’t seem to dredge up the sort of emotion I should be feeling over losing my mother. Maybe because I never had her, so it doesn’t feel much like I’ve lost her. I feel more upset over losing against the Fury last weekend than about being here for a funeral.
It’ll hit me eventually. Surely. I feel like a monster for even thinking that. Admitting it is a nonstarter. But I’m sure I’ll hear the same thing from everyone: everyone processes grief differently.
Is this even grief? I’m not sure.
“What are you looking for?” he presses.
“There’s nothing here I want,” I finally say. I make a move to step around him, but he stops me.
“Don’t sell this house,” he demands.
“Why? My own money is tied up in getting your ass out on bail.”
He raises his chin and sniffs, but he doesn’t thank me. As if he ever would consider it. “I was able to be with your mother in her final hours because I was out.”
I guess that’s all the thanks I’ll ever get. “I’m glad. I want my money back, as does Liam, so the house stays on the market. What’s the latest with your case?”
“They’re already asking for a continuance. It’ll be six months minimum before I head to trial. I need a place to live until then.”
“I heard Liam has a spare room,” I deadpan, glancing at Ivy.
“Actually, that’s where I’ll be staying for the time being,” Ivy says curtly to our father. “Sorry.” She’s flippant, and I love her a little more for it. It feels like it’s us against him. All of us. All seven of the Bradley siblings tied together against one common enemy.
“I think Kennedy’s old apartment is available,” Madden says, appearing in the doorway. “She lived a little south of here for a while with a friend. Not a great part of town, but she managed to make it out alive.”
For some reason, having Madden here feels like we have the voice of reason.
Maybe I see him more as a father figure than I ever saw my father as one, even though he’s only six years older than me.
He took care of us in ways our father never did—sort of like Everleigh cared for us all in ways our mother didn’t.
“I’m selling the house,” I say, my voice cold and firm.
“No, you’re not,” my father hisses.
“You don’t have the money to stop me.” I leave those as my parting words as I push past him and head toward my bedroom, only to find that Tatum is no longer alone in there.
Archer’s here.
And he’s hugging my future bride.