Page 44 of Shameless

Yeah, I’m not surprised. Rikki wasn’t under arrest, but I bet my last dime that sheriff had his phone taken away.

“Rikki has been… otherwise detained. I’m attending the reading on his behalf too.”

A frown appears on Janine’s forehead. “Do you have power of attorney? If not, we might not be able to open the will. The instructions were pretty clear?—”

“I have power of attorney,” I cut her off. “Let me forward it to you.”

I tap on my phone screen and email her the file. Ironically, if Rikki hadn’t recently been checked into rehab, I wouldn’t have power of attorney. But my brother still had to make arrangements for his accommodation in Boston and some extra paperwork for financial aid, and I offered to take care of it while he got himself clean.

“Perfect,” Janine is all smiles again. “Follow me, please. Mr. Spencer will be with you momentarily.”

Naps and I are ushered into an opulent looking board room.

“Crew, hi.”

I walk toward the side of the mahogany table where Stefan is sitting, making a show of avoiding Cutler, who’s occupying a chair opposite his younger brother.

Woof, woof.

What the actual fuck?

Napoleon leaps out of my arms and onto the table and runs toward Jules, wagging his tail.

Have I entered the motherfucking Twilight zone?

“Hey mutt,” Jules chuckles, petting a delighted Napoleon. “I’m sorry, I don’t have any beef jerky on me. I had no idea you would be here. But I have some in the car and if you’re a good boy, I promise you can have it once we’re done here.”

Fucking traitor.

Napoleon licks Cutler’s face and the asshole picks up my dog to pet him and hold him on his lap.

That bothers me of course, because Jules and I are still like oil and water and we work best when we give each other the widest possible berth.

Another thing that bothers me is that both he and Stefan are wearing nice button down shirts and slacks as opposed to my jeans and t-shirt.

I wish I had thought about dressing better, especially after seeing the office.

It is what it is though and the only thing I’m glad about is that I didn’t put on ripped jeans.

The entrance of an older gentleman interrupts my train of thought and I hurry to take a seat next to Stefan.

“Good afternoon gentlemen,” he says. “My name is Raymond Spencer and I’m the senior partner and founder of this firm. First of all, I would like to express my sincerest condolences for the loss of your father, Mr. Branagh.”

I press my lips together, to trap the snort that bubbles to the surface as I hear the regret in the lawyer’s voice.

By the look on Cutler’s face, I’d guess he feels the same way about Eddie’s loss. After all, while he and Stefan were born with a silver spoon in their mouths—or in Jules’s case probably up his ass—our experience of Eddie as a father was surprisingly similar.

It’s ironic that when it came to being a deadbeat, borderline abusive asshole and to cheating on our moms, Eddie did things very equally.

You could cut the silence in the room with the proverbial knife when none of us thanks Mr. Spencer or expresses any grief or regret for Eddie’s loss.

“Very well,” the lawyer clears his throat, taking a seat at the head of the table. “I think we can proceed with the reading of Mr. Branagh’s will. He left a letter for the four of you that he wished to be read before his last will. I’m aware that Mr. James is here on behalf of his brother too.”

We wait for the lawyer to open a thick Manila envelope and I would be lying if I said that I’m not intrigued. To be honest, it’s a very odd mixture of curiosity and chagrin for the fact that I have to give Eddie way more time than he bothered to give me in the last ten years.

Dear Jules, Crew, Stefan and Rikki,

If you’re reading this, it means that the unthinkable has happened and I met an untimely demise.

---