“No idea,” before Nick punches me in the arm to shut me up. What’s supposed to be a light tap will likely leave a bruise.
I don’t get pissed. It’s the first real thing I’ve felt since seeing Kara and her—our—son last night.
Their combined ashes have been buried under a tombstone with simple words. Beloved husband, son, brother, and uncle. Loyal and loving until his last breath.
As the ashes are placed, both Kara and Maris, who had regained their composure, use handkerchiefs to dab at their faces again. The boy, Kevin, hasn’t stopped crying once. It’s a tribute to how much love he has for my friend, for his uncle, and it makes my heart ache. At the same time, I’m infuriated by the fact I want to run up behind my ex-girlfriend and our son, tug them into my arms, and assure them things will eventually get better. But how can I when I’m so pissed I can barely speak to the men who have had my back for fifteen years.
Fuck.
A stream of light lands between Kara and me, right across Jed’s grave. And just like the funeral home last night, our eyes connect as we’re both drawn by it.
Hers hold a depth of pain that almost throws me backward by the force of it. It’s so naked and raw, it intensifies my own tenfold. If grief is the price to pay for love, then Kara loved Jed and her brother with everything she had.
Then her face changes. Her lashes lower briefly before they open and meet mine again. The pain is temporarily masked. Instead, I see determination and pride. There’s no anxiety, no fear. Nothing from a woman who deliberately kept her child away from the man who fathered it.
The little voice growls, Maybe he isn’t yours.
The hell he isn’t. Even if he didn’t look like a replica of me when I was at that age, there’s something drawing me to him. Shoving the thought aside as I jam my hands into my jacket pockets, I try to tune in to the final blessings. Encountering the folded letter from the attorney requesting my presence at the will reading, I control my breathing. Maybe I’ll have answers later.
Because I sure as hell can’t leap across a dead man’s grave to demand them, no matter how much I want to.
I’m stunned not to find Kara waiting at the attorney’s office later that afternoon. Maris, whose coloring is so reminiscent of Jed’s, is conferring with the attorney when we enter the conference room. Her head twists in our direction. She gives us a brief nod before taking a seat. “Brad, Kody, Nick.” It may be my imagination, but her lips curl a bit when she says my name. “Jennings.”
We all murmur, “Maris,” before sitting down.
The attorney opens a file and slips out a thick document along with two sealed envelopes next to a box.
“Denise, if you could please get the door on your way out?” The attorney jerks his chin toward the front of the room. “Ng and I have it from here.”
“Yes, Mr. Isler.” The young woman quietly exits the room, closing the conference room doors behind her.
Kody speaks my thoughts aloud. “Are we not waiting for Kara?”
The attorney and Maris exchange a speaking glance. “Ms. Malone was in consultation with her brother and brother-in-law at the time their wills were made. She is aware she is not a beneficiary of Mr. Smith’s will. Subsequently, there is no need for her presence.”
“What the actual fuck?” I breathe. A million thoughts go crashing through my brain. What does Kara do now? Does she have enough money to raise my son? I immediately think of the changes I’ll need to make to my own estate planning when Isler’s voice breaks into my thoughts.
“If that is unacceptable, we can delay the reading until a later time.”
“That’s not necessary,” Nick pipes up.
I’m stunned silent, unable to speak to give my assent. What did you do, Jed? The thought whispers through my head as the lawyer nods before beginning. After a brief introduction to the paralegal in the room, the lawyer begins.
We all shift uncomfortably when the lawyer declares, “And so, I leave the following.”
“All properties previously divided in fifty/fifty ownership between myself and Maris Ione Smith become hers solely. This includes Smith’s Brewhouse in Juneau, Alaska, and our childhood home our parents left us upon their passing. This does not include Hook and Ladder Beachside in Jacksonville Beach, Florida, as ownership will revert to my