Chapter 26
WESTON
The door creaked as I pushed it open, and my heart dropped into my stomach.
Standing in the doorway to Grandad’s room shouldn’t have been this hard—it was just stuff, after all.
But glancing around at the large, ornate furniture and the delicate tartan throw placed perfectly over the end of the bed made me lose my breath momentarily.
“Are you sure you want to do this today?” Agnes asked, coming up beside me with a massive cardboard box labeled “donation.”
I sucked in a shaky breath, squeezing my fists to get the blood pumping.
“I’ve left it too long as it is,” I said to her.
Frankly, I’d actively avoided having anything to do with the room since my arrival.
I hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of moving his things from this space.
But on the other hand, I hadn’t been able to bear the thought of anyone else doing it, either.
“No one would fault you for leaving it until next time. The room will still be here, waiting for you. When you’re ready.”
My stomach turned sour. Would I ever be ready? Part of me knew if I didn’t go through Grandad’s things now, I never would. With each visit, the task would become more daunting, more difficult, more everything. “It has to be now.”
Agnes nodded once, passing by me to place the box on the thick rug at the foot of the bed.
I hesitated to follow her through the door.
I’d been in this room many times over the years—running in to collect Gran for tea, climbing into bed for comfort when I’d had a nightmare as a boy, or standing around in my rain gear while I trembled with excitement, waiting for Grandad to layer up in his woolen jumper and fleece to go off for a stalk.
This room had been a safe space.
I’d sat in that very window seat as a boy, running my toy trains along the windowsill, looking out at the snow that blanketed the fields in the winter while Grandad sat in his armchair, reading aloud.
And I’d stood in this very doorway before Gran’s funeral, watching Grandad fasten his cufflinks with that quiet strength I’d always admired.
The memories flooded me as I stepped across the threshold, my heart thumping hard against my ribs.
I felt sick. But I was leaving for Houston in a couple of days, and his affairs needed to be seen to.
All of them. Not just his finances, but his personal effects too.
That was half the reason I’d come all the way out here, and this was the last room that needed sorting before I left.
Lena had asked about it a couple times, but I kept pushing it off. Now I almost wished I hadn’t.
I wished I’d let her help me through this. She’d have made it easier. That was her superpower.
A heavy, bitter ache twisted inside me, and I stuffed it aside.
The combination of missing Grandad, missing Lena, and trying to convince myself I wasn’t missing Lena was a toxic mix.
Thinking about her that day in the courthouse, about how angry she’d been, how determined she was not to let me hold up my end of the agreement…
It had been abundantly clear then how much she wanted to purge me from her life.
Just like we were about to purge this space of Grandad’s things—clothes he would no longer need, the bed he’d never sleep in again, knickknacks that would no longer bring him joy.
“I’m happy to start going through his wardrobe for donation,” Agnes said. “I don’t think there’s any need for you to faff about with most of what he kept in there. We both already know your Grandad had an unhealthy obsession with plaid.”
A laugh caught in my chest.
“I’ll hold back anything I think you might want to keep,” she said.
“Sounds good,” I agreed, voice rough.
She turned to me. “You all right?”
I nodded, heading for his dresser and pulling out a drawer.
I was good. I had to be good. What other option was there?
Did I wish that Grandad was still alive and that Lena was still by my side?
Of course I did. But wishing wouldn’t change anything.
This was my reality now, where I had to figure out how to manage without both of them.
“I don’t suppose you want any of his suits?” Agnes said, holding a luxurious three-piece navy wool suit. “I think they’d all be too narrow in the shoulders for you.”
I hummed in agreement. “Though if you find his kilt and Prince Charlie jacket and waistcoat, I’d like to have those.”
“Of course,” Agnes said. She returned to her task, gently folding items of clothing and filling the cardboard box.
She used the same gentleness and care as she did with everything else, and I took comfort in the certainty that the estate would be in good hands while I was away.
Agnes would look after the interior while Callum managed the exterior.
I’d return a couple times a year with Milo to check on things and oversee the progression of the wind farm construction, but Braeburn couldn’t be home.
Not long term. It would be too difficult to manage the business from this far away without someone like Lena around to help me.
And there would never be anyone like Lena, my mind screamed.
No one else could ever hold my life together with such efficiency.
No one else would deal with my bullshit the same way.
No one else would have a smile that could make my stomach drop and my heart crash against my ribs.
I shoved away the pang of regret her absence caused me.
There was no use thinking about her, because everything was different now.
“Oh, Lord,” Agnes said. “I remember this monstrosity.”
I turned around just in time to see her stumble out of the closet with a horrible tartan jacket. It was bright red and green and gold with overstuffed shoulder pads.
“He wore that for Christmas dinner sometimes,” I said, caught by the flash of memory. This one made me smile. “Gran always complained. Loudly.”
“Because she said he looked like a sofa. Pretty sure she’s the one who hid it way back here.”
“Gran would probably want us to burn it.”
Agnes cocked her head. “Maybe we should keep it and have a little turnout blanket made for Bonnie for the winter.”
“Mmm…dressing her up, Agnes?” I said, laughing in spite of myself. “Sounds like a pet to me.”
Agnes huffed. “I just don’t want the little thing to be cold traipsing around our garden.”
“If she’s going to be so insistent on hanging out here, maybe you should reach out to her owners about adopting her.”
“She’s not a pet,” she said with scowl, but I caught a partial smile.
I smirked. My hand itched for my phone, itched to message Lena this most recent Bonnie update, but then I remembered why I couldn’t, and my smile fell away. How long would it take me to stop wanting to share these things with her?
I turned back to my work, shifting through the drawer of Grandad’s belongings. I found both sets of his favorite cufflinks—the ones with the stag’s head and the ones with Celtic knotwork—and tucked them into my pocket. Those would be coming back to Houston with me.
“What about all the pictures?” Agnes asked, glancing around the walls from one thick frame to the next. Grandad and Gran out on the estate. Me as a boy. Grandad with his hunting rifle on his shoulder.
“Keep those, please,” I said. “The larger ones can go into storage.” I walked over to the nightstand and picked up the framed photo of Gran and Grandad on their wedding day. “This one I’ll take back with me.”
“I think that’s a lovely idea,” Agnes said.
I bent down, opening the drawer of the nightstand, and my breath caught. Staring back at me was a sealed envelope with my name on it, written in Grandad’s familiar, almost illegible handwriting.
“Everything okay?” Agnes asked.
I pulled the envelope out, hands shaking. “Do you know what this is?” I asked.
Agnes walked over to inspect the envelope, shaking her head. “No idea. He didn’t mention anything to me about leaving a letter for you. If he had, I would have given it to you already.”
I nodded, sitting down in Grandad’s favorite armchair, just staring at the envelope.
“It’s not going to bite you,” Agnes said softly after a moment.
She was right. I ran my thumb across my name, then tore into the envelope and pulled out a sheet of paper covered in more of Grandad’s handwriting. “It’s dated almost three years ago,” I said.
“That about the time your grandfather had his will made up?”
I nodded, scanning his words.
Dear Weston,
If you’re reading this, I’m already gone, and you may or may not be married. And you may or may not be hacked off at me for it.
I laughed despite myself, despite the trembling nerves that raced through my entire body.
My gaze lifted to find Agnes watching me closely, more concerned than curious.
“He’s explaining the will,” I said, my throat thick with sudden emotion.
Agnes gave me a soft, sympathetic look. She walked over to me, laid her hand on my shoulder, and squeezed. “I can finish up the closet later. Why don’t you take some time with the letter?”
“Thanks,” I whispered as my eyes dropped back to the page.
Just know that I had the best of intentions in making marriage a requirement for your inheritance. I added the provision to my will because I’m worried about you.
Why was he worried? At the time he wrote this, I was settled in Houston. Kincaid Energy had never been more successful…
For all your success, he continued, I can see how lonely you are.
Oh.
Success comes and goes. Money comes and goes.
But the people in your life, the ones who truly care about you, and who truly matter to you in return—they should be where you put your effort, my boy.
The greatest joy of my life was having your grandmother by my side.
I know I wouldn’t have been half the man I was if not for her.
She brought out the best in me—gave me a reason to build something good and strong and lasting in this community because I wanted her to have everything she needed to be happy and feel secure.
Gran made my days full, and what I wanted more than anything was for you to experience that same joy.
I swallowed hard.
I’ve been saddened to see you become so resistant to the idea of love.
I know dealing with your parents’ divorce and the fallout from your experience with Narissa would have been enough to make anyone cynical, but I do hope that you realize love is still worth the risk in the end.
And that’s why I put the provision in the will.
I know in my heart that what you need most is the right woman to stand by your side, to prove to you that passionate love can continue to flourish over a lifetime and make a couple stronger.
I grimaced. I knew exactly how passionate love worked. From what I’d seen, it didn’t make anything stronger. It just made it hurt more when it was all over.
Speaking of the right woman, Grandad wrote.
Uh-oh.
I’ve spoken on the phone many times to your lovely assistant, and I like to think I’ve gotten a clear sense of her character.
Since it seems you haven’t taken the time to notice the best thing right under your nose, you can’t blame an old man for forcing your hand.
She’s smart and capable, but more than that, she balances strength and kindness in a way that’s rare and special.
How had he picked up on all that?
Plus, she’s the only woman in the world you really trust.
My eyes ran over those words again and again, my fingers crushing the edges of the letter. The only woman in the world…That had been true. So very, very true. But not any longer.
Right?
I kept reading.
If you have to marry in a hurry, I suspect she’s going to be the woman you choose.
And maybe once you’re married, you’ll finally see a clear way to the happiness I’ve wanted for you all along.
Of course, there’s always a chance that you’ll figure this all out for yourself before I pass on.
If that should happen, I’ll tear up this letter and take the provision out of the will.
But in a race between your stubbornness and my life, my money is on your stubbornness.
So please forgive this old man for bringing some of his own stubbornness along to force the issue.
I love you, my boy.
Pressure welled behind my eyes, and I bit down on my cheek to stop my jaw from shaking.
And you’re welcome.
I gave a watery laugh.
PS: Of course I would never have left the estate to Jasper. But I knew that would light a fire under you, and I was right, wasn’t I?
I could almost hear Grandad chuckling as he wrote that last line. The old bugger.
As I folded the letter back into the envelope, I was surprised to realize my hands were shaking.
His words had really knocked me for a loop.
A moment later, I was crushing that envelope in my hand as a deep sob bubbled up from my gut.
I couldn’t help it as another sob chased it, and the next thing I knew, the tears were streaming down my face.
I couldn’t even remember the last time I cried.
Not when I’d gotten the horrible news of his passing.
Not at his funeral.
But now I was overwhelmed by the sense of loss.
The letter was my final conversation with him in a way.
Reading it had reminded me how loved and seen he’d always made me feel, and that hurt all the more when I had to grapple with the fact that he was gone.
I’d never be able to turn to him for advice or support again.
What was worse was I’d lost the woman he had been so certain was perfect for me—the one who was soon to be my ex-wife.
Lena had walked out of my life forever. And though that was what we both wanted, I couldn’t help feeling like I’d failed Grandad. I wasn’t the man he thought I was, and that burned a hollow, aching hole in my chest.