“I know.”
It would’ve been easier if she’d been more like his father—more like he expected. But this unknown, gentle woman who wasalmostfamiliar just made him want to crumple.
Ty took a deep breath and let it out. Then he washed away the tightness in his throat with another sip of ice water. Finally he put the glass down, wiped his hands on his suit pants, and sat forward. “Take me through the rest of it.”
Five minutes in and Ty felt like he should be taking notes. But when he reached for his phone to start making them, Eliza shook her head and said she’d email him a summary.
Ty didn’t know lawyers could be saints.
Eliza was just wrapping up a primer on inheritance tax and how it would apply to his father’s estate—she was also emailing him a list of questions to ask his father’s accountant—when Henry knocked on the door and stuck his head inside. “Lunch is ready.”
The scent of a homemade meal sneaked into the office, and suddenly Ty’s stomach forgot all about Ollie Kent’s french toast. “That smells amazing.”
“Well, let’s eat.”
He thought they might sit in the formal dining room, but instead Henry led him into an eat-in kitchen where they sat at a battle-scarred table. The soup tasted as good as it smelled, and it did the job of chasing away the rest of Ty’s hangover as well as any banana bag would have. Henry and Eliza carried the conversation while Ty focused on eating, digesting not only the food in front of him but the mountain of things he’d have to do over the next few months just because his dad was a spiteful old dick.
Ty had never been all that great about staying focused when he didn’t have to, though, and it was only a matterof time before his gaze started to wander. The office might’ve been all Eliza, but the kitchen was obviously Henry’s domain. A desk against one wall hosted practice schedules and permission forms, and the wall was full of photos of the high school’s athletic teams. Two of them featured a huge trophy, and Ty’s stomach twisted.
He should be in one of those pictures. But after his mom died, after his father shut down, after Ty lashed out because it was the only way he knew to get any kind of parental attention, his dad had shipped him off to boarding school. Too bad, so sad for the home team, who were down their star pitcher before baseball season even started. More than one of the guys on the team had hated Ty for that.
Except…. Ty frowned. Except the year on that photo….
Without meaning to, he got up from the table and walked closer to the wall.
Those were Ty’s teammates, all right—Jimmy and Carlos and PJ and the rest of them crowding around the trophy, grinning like it was the best day of their lives. And there was Coach Tate, beaming like a proud dad, standing next to—
“Is thatOllie Kent?”
Conversation at the table stopped, and Henry and Eliza looked at each other. “You know Ollie?”
“Well, I didn’t know he stole my spot on the baseball team.” Ty grimaced internally. He hated how that had come out. Ollie hadn’t stolen anything. Ty lost that spot through his own stupidity. And Coach Tate was the last person who deserved to be the target of that anger. He put as much into that team as any of the players. “Fuck. Sorry. I just… didn’t know, uh, I mean, obviously you had to replace me.”
“Nobody was going to do that.”
Ty swallowed. He traced his fingers over the trophy, then over Ollie’s shoulder. The shoulder that should’ve been his. He exhaled shakily.
“Howdoyou know him?” Eliza asked.
“He showed up at the house this morning.” It felt like a lifetime ago now. “Um, with his son. I guess he was supposed to start work for my dad as a… I don’t know what you’d call it. A home health-care aide, I guess, except I don’t think he’s qualified beyond being able to lift a grown man off the floor if he falls down. Adult babysitter? Which, all evidence to the contrary, I don’t actually need. But since dear old Dad is dead as a doornail, it wasn’t like he could call and say, ‘Sorry but you’re fired,’ so I got to do that part.”
There was a beat of silence. Then Eliza said, “I’m going tokillthat boy.”
Ty blinked.
“Eliza—”
“No, Henry. I asked himthree days agoto set up a phone conference with Ollie Kent”—she whipped out her cell phone and brandished it toward him—“and what did he do? Heemailed an invitationto my calendar and then never followed up.”
Ty put together thatthat boydid not refer to Ollie.
“Albert’s a good kid,” Henry insisted.
“But a lousy secretary,” Eliza finished. “I’d better call him myself and apologize. Having a single father—mylate husband’s nephew—drive all the way up from DC for a job that’s disappeared, honestly.” She huffed. “I should’ve double-checked. Excuse me, boys, please.” With one last touch to Ty’s shoulder, she left the room.
Maybe Ty wasn’t the only one who’d been thrown for a loop this week. He didn’t get the impression Eliza dropped the ball very often. “Albert?” he asked Henry, for something to say.
“Class of 2022.” Henry gave a little wince. “Tore his ACL in the last football game of the season. Goodbye, college scholarship. Eliza needed someone to help out in the office, he needed a job…. Guess I can forget about that second career in matchmaking.”
