“And Mr. Marshall, can you attest to Mr. Givens’s character?”
Again, my mother’s eyes are trained on me. “Yes, I can. I’ve known Brett for a little more than seven years. And I can say without pause that Brett Givens has no moral compass. His entitlement is boundless and his capacity for destruction is endless. He feels no guilt or accountability in regard to Dylan James’s death. He’s broken. And, really,” I say, turning back to Tracy and Rob Givens, Brett’s parents, because that’s all they are to me, “it’s not hard to see why.”
My mother’s face contorts with disbelief as the lawyers huddle together.
Amidst the chaos, there’s a cry of disbelief in the corner of the room.
“Ty, I’m your brother. That kid meant nothing to you, but I’m your family.” Brett’s words sound sincere, but they’re hollow. He knows it and I know it.
I face him. “Let’s get this straight: you’re not my brother. We’re not family. And that kid?That kid? He had a fucking name, Brett. And a mother, friends, and a sister. He had a family who loved him and they feel his loss every day. He had a future, and you stole it from him.”
And just like I did in that courtroom two years ago, I walk out, not caring about the chaos I’ve left behind. No. Just like back then, the only thing on my mind is Phoebe and making things right.
I never could have imagined then how much she’d come to mean to me, how much I’d grow to love her. But I do. I love her fiercely. And I owe her the truth.
***
Chapter 19
Ty
I call for a rideshare to take me back to the parking lot where I left my car, all the while time is getting away from me. Once I get to my car, I text my boys for a family meeting. Whit pings back that he’s on his way, but Knox should be in class and Booker is probably lifting weights. That’s for the best, probably. It’ll take those two almost an hour to get here, which means I have plenty of time to get my blood pressure back to normal so we can sort this shit out.
First order of business: how to tell Phoebe. Christ knows she’ll hate me, but I owe her the truth from my lips. I don’t want her to hear it from anyone else. She deserves at least that much from me.
Sure, part of me hopes she’ll forgive me. Part of me wishes I could erase Tracy and Rob and Brett from my life entirely. I could have lived in that retirement community with Aunt Grace. It would have been fine...well, it would have been better than what I got.
I head up to my room, strip down, and start the shower. It’s symbolic, I guess. I need to wash the shit of this day, these past few years, the past seven years from my body and mind.
A few minutes later, there’s a knock on my door. I pull on sweatpants and answer, my hair still dripping from the shower.
I know it’s not Knox or Whit, but Booker’s always polite enough to knock.
But it’s not my roommates. It’s Tracy Givens.
“You are a disgrace. I simply cannot fathom the ways in which you have betrayed your family. Because of you, because of your hateful, jealous words, my son will rot in prison for three more years.”
Her word choice isn’t lost on me, but I ignore it. “No, Tracy, you’re wrong. Your son will rot in prison for three more years because he killed a man and this is his punishment.”
My words barely register. “You’re jealous. That’s what I told Rob. You are so envious of the love we have for Brett that you will stop at nothing to destroy my family.”
“Honestly, Tracy, from here on out, your family is none of my business. Just like I am none of yours. If you need me to spell that out, I’d be happy to. I’m done. I’m done pretending you and I have anything in common but some DNA. You never regarded me as your son, and I’m not. You’re not my mother. You’re nothing to me.”
I pray my words will make her leave, but she’s not done yet.
“You’ll have no access to your trust, not until you fulfill the terms, and believe me, my lawyers will be working overtime to ensure you never are able to access it. All I asked was for your support. And you are so selfish, so bitter, you couldn’t do that. You’ve taken away the most important piece of my life--my son, so I’ll happily take away yours.”
Again, I’m left with the chilling fear that she knows about Phoebe, but I can’t worry about that now. “You can try,” I tell her. “But you won’t win. That inheritance is mine, and you don’t deserve a penny of it--not to spend or to control. But it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ll get a job, take out a loan. Those are small prices to pay for being able to finally say goodbye to you.” Since she’s refusing to leave, I walk out of my room and down the stairs. She follows as I open the front door, and for a moment, I’m grateful to see her leave. And then, I see her stop.
***
Phoebe
And the good stuff just keeps coming. I spent a solid morning in the art studio, finished my pitcher and started a sculpted piece I’ve been sketching for ages. It’s Ty’s hand holding mine--I must’ve drawn him a thousand times as he slept next to me. Part of me is jealous he can sleep with lights on, but part of me is just glad I get to see him that way, and have time to sketch.
I get to work and start setting out the snacks and supplies. We’re low on animal crackers, so I hurry to the staff room to stock up.
And that’s when I hear it. My brother’s name. On TV. For a moment, it’s as though I’m caught in a flashback. But no, this is happening now.
