by Liv Brywood
The house was an easier matter. He could sell it and put the money in a trust to take care of Mason until he was old enough to manage the money himself. In five years, he’d be eighteen. Dusty had been out on his own at the same age. Mason would manage. Not everyone had their hand held until they could finish college and get set up in a nice house. Some people were thrown to the wolves the day they turned eighteen and it was sink or swim time. Hopefully Mason would swim.
A twinge of guilt played across his heart. If he’d had a son, would he be happy if his sister was treating him the way he was treating Mason? Or would he come back to haunt her the way Mason thought his mom was haunting him?
He frowned. It wasn’t the first time he’d wondered if he was doing the right thing. But he couldn’t picture bringing Mason home with him. How would that even work? He didn’t know the first thing about taking care of a teenage boy. He didn’t know how to enroll him in school. Hell, he didn’t even know what school district he lived in. Until now, there hadn’t been a need to know.
Even if he did manage to get school figured out, Mason would be alone most of the time while Dusty drove his truck. Dusty couldn’t stop working, especially if he had to support Mason too. The cost of food alone would double, maybe even triple, because growing shifter kids could eat double their body weight in food every week.
And did Mason even know he was a shifter? Had his mom told him? What about Mason’s dad? Had he been a shifter too? Or was Bert as oblivious about shifters as he was about how to treat a woman?
The added stress of not knowing the answer to any of these questions made him want a drink for the first time in fifteen years. He walked back into the kitchen and stood in front of the open fridge door. A single IPA sat on a back shelf behind a jar of mayonnaise. He’d spotted it while gathering ingredients for grilled cheese. Now it called to him, a siren’s song of oblivion.
Temptation had him wetting his lips with his tongue. It had been so long since he’d indulged. He’d started attending AA meetings shortly after leaving town. He wasn’t an alcoholic, but he carried the same amount of guilt as the other men in the meetings who’d hurt their families too. They weren’t any different from him, so he’d bonded with them over their shared obsession. He didn’t speak much in the meetings, but sometimes near the anniversary of the accident, he’d talk about why he’d stopped drinking. He’d been sober for long enough to know not to stare temptation in the face.
After closing the door, he returned to the living room to pack boxes. He started with all the knickknacks his sister had inherited from their parents. His mom liked to collect small porcelain dolls. They creeped him out, but maybe Mason would want them when he got older. He couldn’t decide if he should pack them or throw them away, so he set them aside.
He wasn’t making any progress in the living room, so he decided to look through the stack of papers he’d spotted on top of his sister’s dresser in her room. He grabbed the pile and made himself comfortable on the couch.
As he riffled through the pile, he found several of Mason’s school report cards. His grades were average to good. The only subject he seemed to struggle with was math, which Dusty totally understood. He’d hated math class too. Numbers were not his thing.
Toward the bottom of the pile, he found Amelia’s divorce decree from the county court. It didn’t seem complete because the space marked “defendant’s signature” was blank. Bert’s name should have been there. Weird.
Two envelopes down from that, he found the reason. A hand-written letter from Bert said that he refused to ever divorce Amelia because she belonged to him. The possessive nature of the letter set Dusty’s hair on end. Mason’s father sounded like a jealous, insecure nutjob. And he was a petty piece of shit. In the letter, he outlined a single condition that would have to be met before he’d sign the divorce papers. He’d wanted full custody of Mason.
Dusty set the papers aside. What did any of this mean? If Bert and Amelia were still technically married, would Bert get full custody be default?
The home phone rang. Dusty jumped up to grab it.
“Hey, Dusty. It’s Clark. Do you have a second?”
“Sure.”
“I just got word from Amelia’s attorney that her will is going to be read tomorrow. I’m sorry for the short notice, but no one has your phone number. Let me get it in case something else comes up.” After Dusty gave him the number, he continued, “I’ll be there and I’m sure Mason’s in the will, but I don’t know if bringing him is a good idea. It’s up to you. Either way, it’s happening at ten a.m.”
“I’ll be there,” Dusty said.
“Great. I knew I could count on you.”
Dusty was tempted to ask if he’d been named in the will, but it didn’t seem appropriate. As far as he knew, his sister hadn’t owned any other property, and he certainly didn’t want this house. Too many memories. It would keep him trapped in the past. Selling it would be better. However, depending on when the will was written, maybe she’d left everything to Bert.
A shudder snaked down his spine.
Without the house, he’d have no way to make sure Mason had some money when he turned eighteen. Although Dusty had been kicked out at that age, it had been a real struggle. Mason seemed like a good kid. He didn’t deserve to start life from behind. Dusty had to make sure Mason got the house, one way or another. But if Bert showed up at the lawyer’s office tomorrow, all hell could break loose.
6
Dusty checked his watch as he paced outside of Mason’s room. Although he still had reservations about bringing Mason to the lawyer’s office, Mason had insisted that he get to go. He’d argued that everyone kept information from him when she was sick, so he’d been shocked when his mother had passed away. He didn’t want to be surprised by anything. He wanted to be at the reading, and Dusty wouldn’t argue with his reasoning.
“Are you almost ready?” Dusty yelled. “We need to leave.”
The door opened. A sheepish Mason walked out. He was wearing a black suit with a blue bowtie.
“Oh, wow. You look great.” Dusty said. “I wish I had a suit with me.”
“Do you even own one?” Mason asked.
“Uh…”
Mason smirked. The kid was a smart one. Dusty would have to keep that in mind going forward.
They reached the lawyer’s office ten minutes before the reading was set to begin. After being ushered into a conference room, they were offered coffee, water, and/or cookies. Mason grabbed a handful of cookies, while Dusty requested black coffee. The clock on the wall ticked loudly as the second hand jolted along its infinite path.
“Who else is coming?” Mason asked.
“Clark will be here. I don’t think anyone else is supposed to be coming.” Hopefully. There was a chance Bert could show up, but he was a complete wildcard.
A few minutes later, Clark strolled into the room with his wife Harriet by his side.
“Well, didn’t you grow up handsome?” Harriette hugged Dusty. “I’m so glad you’re back in town.”
“You’re about the only one,” Dusty said.
“Nonsense.” She waved a hand. “There have been enough scandals in this town that I can’t believe anyone would give what happened with you a second thought.”
Mason’s gaze snapped to Dusty. He studied him intently.
“You look just as young as the day I left,” Dusty said. “What’s your secret?”
“It’s love.” She beamed at Clark. “When you get to spend every single day with the love of your life, you stay young.”
“Aw, honey.” Clark gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “You’re my fountain of youth.”
Mason made a mock gagging sound. Clark laughed and ruffled his hair.
A tall man with pinched features and a snub nose charged into the room. He set a briefcase down on the table and nodded at his assistant to close the door. All business. He had to be Abacus Jenkins, the lawyer.
“Thank you for waiting. We’re h
ere for the reading of the will for Ms. Amelia Jones.”
“Ms.?” Dusty sat up in his chair.
“Yes. I have a copy of her divorce decree here.” He slid a copy across the table. “And you are?”
“Dusty Kirkland.”
“The brother.”
“Yes.” He grabbed the single sheet of paper. It was a court order for the dissolution of marriage. It didn’t have Bert’s signature on it, but it didn’t look like it needed it. It looked as if the judge had ordered the divorce.
“Your sister’s divorce document,” Mr. Jenkins said. “I suggest you make digital and print copies of all legal documentation as it pertains to your sister and your nephew.”
“I will.”
“Good. Moving on. I’ll read the will, then you can ask any questions that you have at the end.”
As he began to read the will, Dusty fought back a sudden wave of sorrow. Until now, his sister’s death had seemed less real. But the act of reading her last will and testament finalized her death. Every regret he had about not staying in touch with her came raging to the surface. He’d been so blinded by his anger toward his father and the town that he’d cut everyone out of his life. His sister had tried to call him once, but he’d been brisk and, frankly, rude. Now, he’d never be able to speak to her again.
The room lost focus as unshed tears filled his eyes. He blinked rapidly and took several breaths to get his emotions under control. He didn’t need his bear getting agitated right now. The beast hadn’t been let out to run since he’d arrived in town. He’d have to rectify that later.
“And in conclusion, I give all of my worldly belongings to my son, Mason. Mason, honey, if you’re present when they read this, I want you to know how much I love you. I’m up in Heaven now, but I’ll always be watching over you. God decided to make me one of his angels. I know it’s sad and unfair, but my greatest gift in life was being your mom. I may be gone from Earth, but I’ll always be in your life.”
When Mason sniffed, Dusty gave his shoulder a soft squeeze.
“Well that concludes the reading,” Mr. Jenkins said. “Does anyone have any—”
The conference room door burst open. A man with bloodshot eyes and at least one missing tooth barreled into the room.
“What did she leave me?” he demanded.
“I’m sorry, I couldn’t stop him,” the frazzled receptionist bustled in behind him.
“Call security,” Mr. Jenkins said in a calm tone.
“I’m Mr. Jones.”
“I remember you from court,” Mr. Jennings said. “You have no business here, so you need to leave. Security is on their way.”
Dusty’s eyes went wide. This alcoholic maniac was Mason’s father? He instantly recognized the signs of alcoholism on the man. He’d seen plenty of new AA members with the same red-veined skin and bleary gaze. If this train wreck thought he’d get a single penny of Amelia’s money, he had another thing coming.
“Hey, son.” Bert took two unsteady steps toward Mason before Dusty jumped up.
“Hey.” He held up at hand to stop Bert. “You need to leave.”
“Who the fuckar—” He narrowed his gaze before his eyes went wide. “Jesus. Rusty Dusty. Back from the dead. The prodigal brother returns.”
Dusty’s fists clenched.
“Back to try stealin’ what’s mine?” Bert tried to shove him out of the way. Bad move.
Dusty grabbed a fistful of Bert’s shirt. He hauled him a foot off the ground and brought him close until they were nose to nose.
“She got rid of you. You get nothing.”
“The hell I don’t.”
Spittle landed on Dusty’s cheek. He didn’t flinch.
“I want to talk to my boy,” Bert said.
“No,” Mason whispered.
That was enough to give Dusty the confidence to toss Bert out. He’d been holding back because he didn’t want to escalate the confrontation in front of Mason, but now he could drag Bert out of the office.
“You tellin’ me I ain’t got nothin’ comin’ to me?” Bert asked.
“No, Mr. Jones. You’re not present in the will, and because you’re divorced, you can’t make a claim,” Mr. Jenkins said. He made a “come here” motion with his hand and two uniformed security guards came into the room. “Please remove Mr. Jones from the premises.”
Dusty let go for the second that it took security to grab Bert. They dragged him kicking and screaming toward the elevators. Mason’s jaw hung open. Maybe he’d never seen his father like this before. Dusty would have to ask him later. Right now, he wanted to wrap up the meeting.
“So just to clarify, because that was a lot of legalese,” Dusty said. “Mason gets everything. It’s all in a trust until he turns eighteen, and I’m the executor of the trust?”
“That’s correct Mr. Kirkland.” The lawyer stood. “If you have any additional questions, please contact me.” He handed Dusty a business card before leaving the conference room.
“Well, that was eventful,” Clark said.
“I’ll say,” Harriet said.
“We’re going to head home. If you need anything, please call,” Clark said.
After they left, Dusty looked at Mason.
“I’m sorry about your dad.”
“He’s always been kind of a jerk.”
“Should we go get some burgers and fries for lunch?” Dusty asked. He had no idea what else he could say to try to make things better.
“Okay.”
They went out to the parking lot where Amelia’s car waited. Dusty didn’t like driving his sister’s car, but it was a lot safer than trying to take Mason on the bike.
Right before they reached the car, Dusty spotted movement out of the corner of his eye. Bert came running across the parking lot with his fists raised.
“You can’t steal what’s mine!”
Dusty sidestepped Bert, put his foot out, and watched as the other man fell flat on his face. It was almost too easy. He waited for Bert to scramble to his feet before grabbing him by the throat. He slammed him up against the car door and held him in place.
“If I ever see you anywhere near Mason again, I’ll put you in the hospital for a week,” Dusty said.
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Bert wrestled free and backed up several steps.
“What did you say?” Dusty’s face burned.
“You like putting people in the hospital. Look at Laurie. You messed her up real good.”
“You son-of-a—”
Bert turned and ran. Dusty gave chase until Mason screamed at him to leave his dad alone. Dusty stopped. He took several gulping breaths before looking to the sky. Amelia wouldn’t want him beating Bert into the ground in front of her son. For now, he’d let him go. But if that jackass ever showed his face again, Dusty wouldn’t hold back.
After taking a moment to collect himself, he walked back to where Mason stood.
“Dude, I thought you were going to kill him.”
“No. Just teach him some manners.”
“My dad kind of sucks.” Mason shoved his hands in his suit pockets and stared at the ground.
“He’s troubled.”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry about your dad. I know things are tough right now and that you’d like to have someone to talk to, but his problems will only cause more trouble in the long run.”
“I know.” Mason cracked a smile. “Maybe I should have let you kick his ass.”
“Maybe.” Dusty chuckled. “You still hungry?”
“Yeah. Can I get a milkshake too?”
“Whatever you want. You deserve it.”
Dusty smiled as he slid into the driver’s seat. His hands trembled slightly as he started the engine. They always did, ever since the accident. Driving a truck was his way of proving that he could do it, but it didn’t make getting behind the wheel any easier.
As he turned toward the restaurant, he scanned the parking lot. He spotted a couple of police officers confron
ting Bert near the front of the law office. Just before Dusty turned the corner onto the next street, one of the officers slapped a pair of handcuffs on Bert. Dusty glanced at Mason, who didn’t appear to have noticed. It was for the best. The kid had enough to deal with already.
* * *
Dusty’s jaw dropped as the waitress set the biggest banana split he’d ever seen in his life in front of Mason. The kid’s eyes went huge. Mason shoved what was left of his hamburger to the side to make room for it.
“This is all mine?” he asked breathlessly.
“All yours.”
You’re probably going to give the kid diabetes, his bear snarked.
Probably, but at least he’ll go out on a sugar high.
His bear chuffed.
When are you going to tell him about his bear?
Soon. I don’t know. Eventually. He’s already gone through so much. I’m waiting for the right time.
Don’t wait too long, his bear warned.
Since when did you become the responsible one? Dusty asked.
One of us has to be.
Dusty laughed out loud.
“What?” Mason asked, his mouth stuffed full of ice cream.
“I was just thinking about the first time your mom and I shared a banana split. The waitress had only brought one spoon. I grabbed it and started shoveling as much as I could into my mouth.”
“Was mom pissed?”
“She cried and refused to eat any of it. By the time we got a second spoon, she was glaring daggers at me.”
“I would have been mad too.”
“Sometimes you do stupid stuff when you’re young and you don’t know any better.”
“Isn’t that the truth.” An old geezer snorted as he walked past the table.
“If you have something to say, come say it,” Dusty challenged. He wasn’t looking to fight an old man, but he was sick of hearing people whisper behind his back.
“Why are you back here?” the man challenged.
It took Dusty a second to recognize Mr. Gallo, the girl’s track and field coach from high school. After the accident, he was one of the teachers who hadn’t even attempted to hide his scorn for Dusty. He’d coddled Laurie far too much for Dusty’s liking. The guy gave off a creepy vibe back then, but now, hunched over and scowling, he just looked like a broken old man.