Page 142 of Broken Brothers

I sat on the edge of the curb, looking up at the sky, watching all of the cars go by for some time. I had nothing.

I looked at my phone. Morgan’s phone had still not received my texts. Sarah was nothing more than a figment of myimagination. Claire and Layla wanted nothing to do with me romantically. I had nothing.

MCH would soon becoming ECH, which would soon dissolve into Hunt Industries, leaving me, at best, with a few hundred thousand dollars, nothing more. I had nothing.

And yet…

As strange as it sounded, as perhaps delusional as I might have felt, as crazy as I might have seemed, I felt free.

I didn’t have to account for Morgan in my actions anymore. I didn’t have to account for Edwin Hunt anymore—at least not after three months—because he had nothing left to take for me. I didn’t have to account for any romantic interests.

I had long sought freedom from the Hunt name, and while it had come at the cost of everything, it hadn’t been truly everything, because I still had my life, my self-respect, and my freedom.

Perhaps, then, things would turn out fine. It would take some time to pull myself up by the bootstraps, but I could finally operate as Chance Givens in full. No more Chance Hunt. No more connection to a Hunt of any kind. Just Chance Givens.

I just needed a place to spend the night. I pulled out my phone and dialed the one number of the person I knew who would help me. It wasn’t dependence, but rather, an active step toward getting myself right.

“Hi, Layla?” I said, wearing an odd smile. “Would you mind if I crashed with you tonight? Funny story, I’m homeless now. Edwin evicted me.”

I heard her shocked and talking dramatically, but when she calmed down, I just reassured her with two short words.

“I’m free.”

58

Walking down the streets of New York City, as the sun settled down beneath the horizon and my first day alone, without nary a connection to a loved one, I realized something very profound.

I knew what it felt like to freeze to death.

I didn’t actually literally know what that felt like—though Manhattan was a bit chilly, there were still a couple of months left before the truly decimating, bitterly chilly temperatures settled in.

However, I knew from reading survivor stories how the body often would go into an intense phase of euphoria upon realizing it won’t survive before finally succumbing to the frostbite and the cold temperatures overall.

And my feeling this morning? The one where, sitting on the curb of my former apartment, looking up and feeling free from any obligations, free from any stress, free from anything of that sort?

Turns out that that was just a euphoric phase, one designed to mask some ugly realities I faced.

I’d lost to Edwin Hunt. I’d lost Morgan Hunt, Claire McLendon, and God knows who else; I only had not lost Layla because she, too, had walked away from a certain level of security, although I certainly had my love for her lost if I ever wanted it back; and I had never even had Sarah Hill, the middle school crush who seemed too good to be true, then proved to be exactly that.

Fucking Edwin. He’d set so much of this in motion. And why? Because I wasn’t the chosen son? Because I wasn’t his favorite son? Because, if he had his way, I wouldn’t be his son in the first place?

Fuck Edwin.

But as much as I wanted to say it was all his fault, I certainly had plenty of other people to blame.

Like Morgan. The brother who sat by my side, defended me like family—the only person besides Mrs. Hunt, herself unloved by Edwin—had suddenly had the most cruel change of heart and abandoned our company, Morgan & Chance Holdings, for a return to Hunt Industries. MCH would soon become owned by Edwin Hunt, which set me up for even more ugly things in the future.

Like… like…

I struggled to find an answer and, feeling my anger and my frustration boil over, I kicked a trash can. A couple from across the street looked at me, but I ignored them.

I didn’t actually struggle to find an answer. I just didn’t like what the answer had settled upon.

Me.

My actions, my decision to start MCH to get back at Edwin; my decision to cuss out John Burnson after getting played; my decision to sleep with coworkers because I let my hormones get the best of me…

Perhaps Burnson getting toyed with by Edwin Hunt was unavoidable, but even if so, at worst, I would have suffered the indignation of losing a round of negotiations to my adoptive father. That would have made for some awkward holiday reunions, but I could have brushed it off and gotten a real job somewhere else or even used it as a springboard for a paying job within Burnson Investments.