Page 91 of Craft Brew
“I agree they should be updated, but for this reason, Nic? Why are you so sure things are going to take a turn?”
Insides twisting, he turned his face away, staring back out at the field. Remembering how his dad had first bought season tickets as a means of distracting him. How he’d taken delight in sneaking off with Garrett to games at the old stadium. What it had felt like to lose him, to lose it all. Like the imagined sensation of the tree branches on his back twisting, knotting, and breaking. “I was happy once and I lost it all with two words and a fist.”
“Your father,” Aidan surmised, pity and fury wrapped together in his rumbling Irish burr.
“I don’t trust it won’t happen again by either his or Vaughn’s hand, and I need to protect what’s mine better than I did then.”
Aidan grasped his shoulder. “You were eighteen.”
“And I’m forty-six next week. With combat training, a legal degree, and a hefty bank balance, thanks to the brewery and a military pension I invested well. I have the means to provide and protect.” He covered Aidan’s hand with his. “Help me do that, please.”
Aidan squeezed his shoulder, then slid back in his seat. “What are you thinking?”
“I want the brewery insulated and for it to go to Eddie, free and clear.”
Aidan nodded, and Nic snagged another paper out of his coat and handed it to Aidan. On it, he’d written two account numbers.
“Offshore?” Aidan asked.
“Offshore,” Nic confirmed. “If something should happen, there’s enough in the first one to pay off Vaughn. If that’s unnecessary, then I want it to go to Mary Del Selva.” True to her word, Mel had “stolen Mary away” to work a couple days a week for her and Danny as Mary wound down to her full-time retirement. Nic wanted to make sure that retirement was secure.
“Okay,” Aidan said. “And the second account?”
The second account was twice the size of the first one. His retirement nest egg, which he contributed to monthly. “For Cam,” he said, blood heating and chilling at the same time. He never thought he’d have someone in his life like this again. That he had to provide for that person in the event of his death, sooner or later, was both heart-lifting and heart-wrenching. “That and everything else I have,” he added.
“I figured as much.”
“You’d do the same for Jamie.”
One corner of Aidan’s mouth hitched up. “I have.”
Nic absently rubbed a hand over his left hip, thinking of the ink he’d started to pine for there. He knew exactly what he wanted it to be, a version of the label he’d already sketched, and he hoped like hell it would be inked in celebration, memorializing a victory. Not a tragedy. But in case there was one, and in case he was on the losing end of it, Nic didn’t want Cam to regret the decision he’d made to leave the rest of his family behind and tough it out in San Francisco. For him.
“I don’t want him to want for anything ever again.”
“I understand, and I’ll do this for you, of course.” Aidan folded the paper into quarters, all the accounts and figures hidden, and tucked it into his dress shirt pocket. He sat back, arms folded, glaring intently. Knowingly. Like the best friend he’d improbably become. “But I think what Cam wants most is for you to stay alive.”
Nic glanced out at the field again, hoping things went differently this time. Praying for the happy ending he wanted. That Cam deserved. “I’m going to try my damnedest.”
But if it came down to it, he’d always save the man he loved. Even if it meant a fist to his jaw. Or a bullet to his heart.
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