Page 101 of Last Love

“But why?! We were married for years!”

“And he paid alimony for years,” Noah gingerly reminds.

“This is…un-fucking-believable!” She tosses back whatever is left in her glass. “I’m getting in touch with my attorney.”

Peter pulls off his reading glasses. “I’ll be expecting his call.”

She angrily storms out of the room, purposely pulling a frame photo off the wall in the process.

“He hated you and left you basically everything?” Liz sneers, shifting my stare to her. “What the actual fuck is that about?”

I attempt to lighten her disappointment. “Paying for years of pain and suffering with interest?”

“That’s. Insane,” she unhappily hisses.

She’s not wrong.

“He should’ve left it to someone who was more responsible! You’re just gonna blow it all on coke and fucking hookers!”

“Liz!” Our brother bellows his chastising.

“Since you haven’t managed to give me a decent look since you flew down here on your broomstick, let me clarify some shit for you. First of all, I’m a recovering addict. As in I’m fucking clean. As in I have a goddamn job, apartment, car, and stable existence without the aid of drugs. As in I fucking work my ass off to keep shit that way.” Pointing a harsh finger at her, I growl, “And if you ever disrespect Pres like that again, there’s not a single fucking thing that Noah can say to stop me from verbally ripping you into a thousand pathetic Prada-wearing pieces.”

“Ugh,” Liz squeaks and storms out in a similar fashion to our mother.

Still like mother, like daughter, I see.

Now with them gone, I plant my stare back on Peter. “Okay, joke’s over. Tell me what I actually got.”

“6.2 million dollars.” There’s a momentary pause. “It might be more depending on some of the currency converts.”

“Look, dude, there’s no fucking way in hell he left me six million-”

“6.2,” Peter politely amends verbally while closing his briefcase back up. “And he did, Ryder.”

“But-”

“Physical copies have been mailed to all of you as well as digital copies to the primary email addresses we have on file. Mr. Collins’s accountants will be in touch soon to begin the process of transferring over funds. You should also be aware that he was anticipating taxes and along with other fees – including mine. There was a separate account for which that will be coming from. Mr. Collins’s did state that if there was by chance money left in it once everything was finished that Noah is to be left in charge of its distribution.”

Another nod of comprehension occurs from my brother.

Peter wishes us a good afternoon and disappears the same way the rest of the family took off.

At that moment, Noah kindly offers to Janet, “We’re going to get lunch with our families. Would you like to join us?”

Her eyes widen in surprise.

“I honestly um…didn’t know about your relationship with Dad as more than anything other than his caregiver, so I would love to get to know you and your time together.”

More tears fill her gaze.

“He may be gone, but you are still welcomed to be active in our family.” Noah shoots his crystal stare up to me. “Right, Ryder?”

“Fuck yeah,” I mindlessly agree. “You’re um…welcomed to whatever.”

Janet sniffles at the same time she brushes away a fallen tear. “I would love to join you for lunch. Do you mind if I have a moment to clean myself up?”

“Take all the time you need.”

She smiles softly and scurries away to do whatever she needs to do.

Finally alone with my brother, I walk around to where she was just seated and quietly grunt, “I don’t want that fucking money, Noah.”

“Take it.”

“No.”

“Take it.”

“Still no.”

“Take it.”

“Fuck.No.”

“Ryder-”

“I don’t want decades worth of fucking guilt money! And you know what? That’s all the fuck he’s ever done for me! Throw money at the problem in hopes that it’ll just fucking disappear. Fuck him for that then. Fuck him for that now. And fuck his final effort to poorly apologize for being so shitty to me.”

There’s an expectation for my big brother to yell or shout or shake sense into me, yet instead, he simply repeats his previous proclamation at a lower volume. “Take the money, Ryder.”

“I-”

“I don’t fucking care how much you hated him,” my brother flatly states. “I really don’t. Look, I know you blame him for many things, most importantly, for stealing from you a future you wanted; however, this is your chance to take it back. This is your chance to rewrite it. You don’t wanna think about him ever again? Fuck. Fine. It is what it is. That’s your grief to deny or bury or give a Viking funeral to. But your future? This…opportunity to have one you never imagined having? You owe it to younger you…rehabilitated you…to take the money and build something. Use it to put yourself in school rather than trying to find aid to help. Use it to buy a house with your girlfriend that you can both call home. Fuck, put a ring on Pres's finger like I know you’ve been dying to do for months. Take the money Ryder you’ve rightfully been given and then take back your future in every aspect possible.”

Noah’s command causes me to seal my lips shut.

Fuck me, he’s right.

I should take the money and continue to rebuild my life the way I want without fear of financial stipulations.

As much as I hate how it feels like one giant payout with astronomical compound interest for destroying at least ten years of my life, I have to stop thinking about what I lost during that time and start preparing for what I’d like to gain.

It’s time I lock the hood to what once was and focus with everything I have on the common goal I share with Noah.

It’s time I become addicted to building a better and brighter future for our children.

For Presley.

For me.

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