“No. You bought us the co-op spot plus some of the equipment. I can’t let you. You may not be as set as you think. What if you can’t . . .” His voice stops.
“Can’t play again?” My stomach pitches. Just the idea of not being able to play makes me feel soulless. Empty and dark. I wasn’t good enough to get into an Ivy League law school like my father wanted, but I’m a damn good football player. It’s all I have. I have more than plenty to retire on, but I get it. Brody and Cas are proud. They want to do this themselves.
“What about Dad?” I ask, knowing the answer.
Brody’s voice lowers. “No. We’ll keep saving. Maybe we’ll be ready in five years.”
The waitress sashays by and gives me a sly smile, nothing like the sweet one Emmy wore when I told her bye at her door.
I look away, my head tumbling with ideas. “Wait . . . maybe we could get the money another way, money that should be rightfully yours anyway.”
He scoffs. “Don’t say it.”
“I’m almost thirty. I could get married, get my inheritance, and hand it over to you.”
Our father’s mother arranged an inheritance for the grandchildren before she died. There’s three of us, all males. When we turn thirty, we receive ten million. The only caveat is we have to marry a woman, and the language is very clear.
At age thirty, a grandson (with a wife) will receive the inheritance. Once the youngest brother reaches forty, any brother who isn’t married to a woman will have his inheritance split.
“You don’t even have a girlfriend,” he tells me.
“I know plenty of women.”
“Models and wannabe actresses? No way. I’ll get married for a day.”
“Hmm, but you won’t be thirty for three more years, and you’re already married to Cas.”
He exhales an emotional breath. “Which I wouldn’t change. I love him. He’s my rock.”
“Grandmother didn’t even consider that our father might have a daughter someday,” I say. “And she was homophobic. I’m sorry.”
“She was mean as hell. I still shiver when I think about her razor eyes.”
“Yeah. Same.” Conservative and prickly, she had iron-white hair and a vicious gaze that scrutinized everything you did. I recall formal family dinners where I wasn’t allowed to speak. Brody and I were required to wear jackets to dinner, even as young kids. Heaven forbid we’d use the salad fork to eat the entrée. She had a way of clicking her tongue or scoffing that made you want to crawl away and hide.
She died my first year in college and already knew that Brody was gay.
“We were never her favorite grandsons. That was reserved for Holden, the precious firstborn,” he mutters.
I grunt. Holden is our half brother, five years older than me and our father’s son with his first wife. After Dad’s marriage fell apart, he married our mother, the younger and prettier wife.
That woman is a gold digger, Grandmother would say about our mother, just loud enough that we could hear.
He continues. “We could contest the will, but Holden will drag it out in court, and then there’ll be attorney fees. I can’t risk that. Teaching pays shit, even at a private Manhattan school.”
I change the subject. “Back to this marriage . . . I can find someone.”
“Phone an ex-girlfriend, huh?”
I ignore him, mostly talking to myself as my head swirls. “Just a business arrangement. Get married, get the money, get a divorce.”
There’s a long pause. “G? You’re scaring me.”
“Maybe I need to do something scary.” My life is at a crossroads. I don’t know what’s going to happen next. The universe kicked me in the teeth when my mom died; then it pounded me in the kidneys when I got the concussion. I can’t get Mom back, I can’t fix my head injury, but I can help Brody.
“I know it’s not something we like to think about, but what if I’d died on the field that day? Holden would have gotten my share of the inheritance, not you. That scares me. Hell, it makes me angry all over again at the will.” I pause. “Mom would approve of this. She’d want me to help you.”
He sputters: “Come on. She’d hate it! She’d want you to marry someone you cared about, not get involved in some arrangement.”
“Listen to me—ten million dollars. All. Yours. Think of what you can do with that kind of money. You could add saunas and hot tubs. You could hire a nurse for your staff. You could do the nature elements you and Cas wanted, like water features or even a damn tree in the middle of the place.”
He doesn’t say anything, but I can feel him thinking.
“If you don’t take this chance, then Holden will get part of it when you turn forty. Do you want him laughing his ass off as he gets your inheritance?” The mere idea of our half brother getting any part of what should be ours makes my hands clench.
“No.” His breath hitches. “G? Maybe . . .”
I rap my knuckles on the table. “I’m doing this. You deserve your share.”
“Oh my God? Oh my God!” He lets out a shaky breath.
“Wait, are you crying?”
He sniffs, blubbering. “No. You are. Okay, okay, let me think. If you do this, who will you ask?”
My brows lower. This needs to be a nonromantic arrangement. Strict rules. My former girlfriends won’t work. I’ve parted amicably with them, but it’s been months since I dated anyone. I don’t have female friends.
“Just as I suspected—you’re running headfirst into something without considering the consequences,” he murmurs. “It’s like that time when we were kids and you convinced me to go camping in Central Park. Just us and a box of Nilla Wafers. No plan on where to sleep or go to the bathroom.”
I scoff. “Can’t you let it go?”
“I had to shit in the woods, G, and a dog chased me and bit my ass, so no, I won’t forget it. I’m traumatized every time I see anything brown and furry. You forgot my sleeping bag. You forgot water. I hate Central Park, and it’s your fault.”
“It was a chipmunk! No teeth. It might have gummed you.”
“Don’t care. I’m a delicate creature who needs two-ply toilet paper and a pillow for my pretty head. Without vermin.”
“You came with me. I didn’t make you.”
“You said it was an adventure! You knew I’d follow my big brother into the woods!” He chuckles, then sighs. “For real, if you do this marriage thing, I insist on helping you pick the girl.”
“Why?”
“You have terrible taste in women. Divina. Hello, cheating bitch.”
My heart jerks at her name, my hands clenching around the phone at the rush of anger inside me.
“You need someone sweet,” he continues.
“We need someone discreet. Someone who can pretend to be in love with me. We’ll need to convince the family.”
“I’ve got it!” he calls out. “Our drama teacher, Wynona, is a knockout and isn’t dating anyone.”
Witchy Wynona? “Isn’t she the one with the cats and that mole on her chin?” I ask.
“Only three.”
“Moles?”
“Graham!”
I grin. I love getting him riled up.