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RHYS

“ W hat’s this key for?” Teddy asks while we’re unpacking.

I glance up from where I’m sitting on the floor. It must have slipped out of the envelope. “It’s a key to a safe deposit box.”

Teddy’s body language changes, and he gets defensive. “Why would you need a safe box? Are you scared I’ll hurt you?”

“What?”

“Why would you need a place to hide from me if you’re not scared of me?” Teddy crosses his arms over his chest and it finally clicks.

“NO! It’s not a panic room. It’s a box to keep things safe at a bank.”

“Why would you need that? Do you think I’m going to rob you?” He is getting madder by the second.

I scrub a hand over my face, blowing out a breath while I take a second to reset so I don’t make this situation worse. “It’s not anything from you. That was part of my dad’s will.”

“Your dad didn’t even know me! What reason would he have to not trust me!?” Teddy’s face turns red and if I don’t save this soon, he might just explode.

“It has nothing to do with you! It’s something my dad left me. He did it for each of his kids. It’s not to keep anything from you. For fuck’s sake. I don’t even know what’s in the damn box. I can’t bring myself to look.” I realize I’m yelling and force myself to shut up.

Teddy softens and shuffles over to sit next to me on the floor. “What do you mean you can’t bring yourself to look?”

I lift my shoulders, trying not to get emotional about it. “I don’t know.”

“Is this you bottling your brain again, like your therapist said you do all the time?” He’d told me I needed therapy after everything that was going on in both our lives, so we agreed to go together. “You know you can’t build a life in a bottle.”

I hate it when he’s insightful, so I shoot a glare in his direction. “Maybe. And that’s not what she said.”

“It is what she said. You’re bottling your brain.”

I laugh, because what else can I do? “I’m bottling my emotions, not my brain.”

“That’s what I said. It’s all pickling.”

“What?”

“Pickles are in bottles.” Teddy says, so matter of fact, I can’t even argue with him.

“My brain is not pickled.”

“I would argue it is. It’s brined.”

“How do you even know what brine means?”

“Because I know things.” Teddy acts all smug. “What do people even use those for? Like super secret cookie recipes? Porn you don’t want your family to find?”

“I don’t know. What if it’s filled with skeletons?”

Teddy pulls back aghast, and I can’t figure out what he’s reacting to.

“What?”

“Was your father a cinnamon toast crunch killer?”

I blink. “Serial killer?”

“That’s what I said.”

“You said cinnamon toast crunch.”

“Because it’s the cereal I most relate to you.”

“I’m gonna put a pin in why you think I’m cinnamon toast crunch, and ask why you think my dad was a serial killer?”

“You said he had a box of skeletons!”

“I meant family skeletons.”

“I think you’re still a killer, even if you’re killing family members.”

I sigh. “I mean like family secrets.”

“Why wouldn’t you just say secrets?”

“You’re right. I should have said secrets.” I rub my forehead. “I’m not sure I want to know what’s in there.”

“You need to face the ghost of your father.”

“I don’t think his ghost will be in there.” I deadpan.

“You know what I mean. God, Rhys, maybe don’t take everything so literally.”

It’s so hard not to call him out, but I just fucking leave it because it’s not worth it.

“I guess I should go look at it.”

“Do you want me to go with you as tech support?”

“What?” I look at him.

“You know, to help with technical difficulties in your pickle situation.”

“Moral support?”

“Was your dad a killer or not? Because what would you need your morals supported for if he isn’t?”

“What do I need technical support for?” I ask because curiosity gets the better of me. “Are you resetting my router?”

“First of all, I don’t know what a router is, but I’ll try, and second, because I can technically help you unbottle your pickle juice.”

I look at the ceiling. “Yes, babe. I’d love that.”

Teddy gets up. “Let’s go now.”

“Right now?” I ask, glancing around at all the boxes.

“Remember what the therapist said, better to not back up your bottle.” He shoves his phone in his pocket and we walk out of the apartment. “Where is your router? Is that a bone? Because I am no chiropractor. I am not qualified to reset bones.”

“What are you qualified to reset?” I ask as we step into the elevator?

“I’m sure I’ll get qualified to reset something before I finish school. Sports medicine has all kinds of bones and joints and stuff.” Teddy waves it off like it’s nothing, but I’m suddenly terrified.

“Wait, is that your major?”

“Hmm?” Teddy asks as we get in the waiting car.

“Is sports medicine your major?! How did I not know that?”

“Because you never ask about me?” Teddy crosses his arms again.

“What’s my major?” I ask, staring him down.

“I know you have a major,” he says sheepishly.

“Well, I guess I didn’t think you had one. Do they make you have a major when you’re the goalie? Is that safe?”

“Rude, we all go to college.”

“Do we? Because we all know the football players have their own section of classes. I guess I just assumed they did the same for goalies.” I shrug.

“Is that why I’m the only one in half my classes…? Well, me and Lancelot, but he doesn’t show up a lot.”

“You have your own section and he still doesn’t show up?” I know I shouldn’t be surprised.

“I show up. My momma taught me to always go to class even if it’s hard.”

I don’t know if I should pat his head.

We get to the bank and at first, they give us attitude, but quickly change their tune when they see my last name is Godfrey. Fucking snobs.

Next thing I know, I’m standing in a room of safe deposit boxes with mine pulled out and set on the table. The banker leaves us alone with it but I don’t move to open it.

“Go ahead,” Teddy coaches like I’m a little kid. “It’s too little for skeletons.”

I roll my eyes but lift the lid. There is an envelope and that’s it.

“What could be so important in a letter that he put it in here?” I say more to myself.

But Teddy answers. “A confession.”

I laugh and roll my eyes. “Maybe.”

As I slide the letter out, I realize there is something else in the envelope. It’s a signet ring with my initials on it.

—Rhys

I had this made for you when you were born, and I meant to give it to you myself, but by the time you were old enough, your mother and I weren’t on good terms, and she fought me. She thought it would give you an idea of something that you were not. We had a lot of disagreements on how to raise you the older you got, but I don’t regret letting her make those choices.

She didn’t want this life for you, and while she can’t stop me from giving you what you are owed as my son, I know she can put a good head on your shoulders so you go into it a different way than your brothers. She won’t like everything that will happen, but it’s because of her you will succeed. Try not to fight her too much. She loves you.

Please give Oliver and Owen time. I know it will be hard on them to find out about you after my death, but they will love you and come to see you as their brother. Your bond will be strong and I know the three of you will do what’s right by our company.

—Dad

I fight tears. I don’t know what to feel, sad, happy, mad, frustrated. But I can’t change any of it. I slide the ring on my finger and turn to wrap my arms around Teddy. Despite everything else, and how all the adults in my life failed me. I got him out of this, and that means it was worth it.

“You finally got the ring. I was wondering when you’d open the box,” Oliver muses at the next family dinner. “Now I can give you the family crest to hang on the wall.”

The butler brings out a giant metal shield type thing. He hands it to me and I almost stumble under the weight of it.

“This is?—”

“Intense is the word I use,” Owen says from where he’s laying in the middle of the floor. Long gone are the days of him putting on a mask around me, which I love.

“Intense is a good word,” I mutter, showing it to Teddy, who’s looking over my shoulder. “Was this even a style used during that time period?” It looks almost like an English family crest, but there is something off.

“Gods no. Oliver hated the real one and had it removed and this one designed.” Owen laughs.

“It was abhorrent. What even were those animals on the original one?”

“Stags,” Owen replies.

“Why would they even want stags on our crest?” Oliver wears a sneer on his lips.

“Because they are noble? Steady? Strong?” Owen shrugs.

“Vile. I don’t need some harry potter noble bullshit for children.” Oliver scoffs.

“Griffins are better?” Owen asks, clearly goading Oliver.

“The griffins convey a deadly sophistication.”

“Anyway, as you can see, he and our ancestors disagreed, and he had the whole thing redone. But he paid way too much, and the artist oversold himself a bit.”

“It’s leaps and bounds better than the original.” Oliver lifts his chin. “I’m through with this conversation and dinner is ready.”

Thank you for reading!