Page 213 of Broken Brothers

So is it abandoning Layla to say to go slow? She more or less made that claim earlier.

It was a question I wrestled with all night. I got back to my apartment to find the door unlocked and Layla gone, but nothing was out of place, just as I had figured would be the case. I didn’t fall asleep until about three or four in the morning, and even then, it was very light sleep, the kind of sleep where a single gust of wind outside could have changed everything.

When I woke up, though, I knew the answer, at least on a general level, if not in regards to that exact question. I was never, ever going to abandon someone, physically or emotionally. If Layla ultimately moved to Chicago or decided we weren’t going to work out, I was still going to be there as a friend for her. I was going to make goddamn sure of it.

No one, and I mean no one, whom I met in real life and whom I had a relationship with would ever fucking have to deal with what I did for most of my childhood.

I woke up shortly after ten in the morning, rising and feeling especially grateful for another day. I stretched, grabbed my phone, and read my texts. Morgan had asked me to come to Hunt Industries to go over stuff with the family lawyer at one. That felt like the kind of bullshit work that had to be done; I already knew after our arrangement with Edwin that I’d get one-third of his wealth, similar to Mom and Morgan.

I moved about my morning slowly. I supposed I could have gone to the nearby coffee shop and done some work, maybe I could have sent some emails of encouragement to Claire and Andrew, but I was still processing the night before. Just because I didn’t feel any grief didn’t mean I had nothing to figure out, and I wanted to make sure that my mind was clear before engaging other people.

I spent the morning instead cooking an omelet with extra eggs, watching sports highlights on loop, and just generally flipping through the channels with a sort of boredom that was meant more to let my brain heal than to actually engage. An hour before one, I started to get ready, throwing on a button-down shirt, a sports coat, and my slacks. I didn’t feel like I was going to a funeral, but I was about to be made wealthy beyond my wildest dreams; the least I could do was dress the part.

When I showed up to Hunt Industries, the first thing I noticed was that though the decor of the place and the various computerized projections seemed to suggest a mourning for the CEO and founder, the people in the building didn’t seem particularly melancholy. I couldn’t say this was a surprise, given what I knew about Edwin, but it was still incredible to see.The funeral may be even less crowded than I thought.

I went to the front desk, gave my name, and was led to the top floor. I walked to what was Edwin Hunt’s office and found my mother and brother sitting, unusually firm expressions on theirfaces. The lawyer, sitting where Edwin had once sat, looked like he was trying to fight the smile on his face.

“Welcome, Chance,” he said, shaking my hand. “I’m Matthew Wohl. Has your family told you the news?”

“No?” I said, unsure of where this was going.

“Well,” Matthew said. “I suppose I should make this as straightforward as I can. Edwin Hunt never put you in any part of the will.”

“What the fuck?”

I knew I wasn’t supposed to swear in front of my mother, but I didn’t care. Even beyond the grave, Edwin was reneging on a deal and screwing over someone. He had to get one last “fuck you” in to me before he went to hell.

That fucking motherfucker… I would make money, I didn’t care about that. A couple billion dollars really didn’t mean that much; I’d make a few million, retire to suburban life, and be just as happy. But for Edwin to do what he did…

I mean, seriously! What the fuck did he have to prove? He had plenty of time from when Morgan and I cornered him to change the will. He had to know that he was dying—if Morgan knew, Edwin knew. And yet still, and yet even now, the bastard had to fuck me over one last time.

Rot in hell, asshole. You’re going to have an eternity in that shithole for the kind of fucking scumbag you are.

“I know,” Matthew said. “Your mother and Morgan reacted the same way that you did. However, there is something else you should know.”

“What,” I growled.

What the fuck else could be done? What the fuck more was going to happen to screw me over in some fashion? I couldn’t wait to hear how Edwin had found yet another way to deprive me of something; maybe he’d have bought out Rising Sun or VirtualRealty. Maybe he’d just hired a bunch of goons to fucking kill me. Maybe he spread that photo to everyone he knew.

“Chance.”

I turned around to my mother’s soft voice. She now wore a soft smile, and she looked like she was on the verge of tears.

“Mom?”

“Chance,” Morgan said. I turned my chair around to face both of them. “Legally speaking, there’s nothing we can do. But Mom and I are in agreement that you were as much a part of the family as the two of us were. We can’t control what Edwin did with his money and what he owned. But we can control what we do with it.”

“Chance,” Mom said. “We’re each going to give you a third of our own intake, meaning that we’ll all have one-third of Edwin’s total net worth.”

They… they…

“You’re serious…” I said, my voice trailing off, going very quiet.

“We are,” Morgan said. “You deserve it, brother. You’re a good man and you’re a Hunt. You may have been born a Givens, but you’re family to us.”

I felt such joy, such gratitude, that I had to bury my face in my hands as I began to cry. They actually did it. They actually, really, truly saw me as family.

I really was a Hunt. I’d almost abandoned the name after everything that Edwin had done to me, but Melanie and Morgan had shown me that I was one of them.I am a Hunt. Nothing—no will, no words, no criticism, no document—can change that.