Page 53 of Never Let Go

Maybe that was what was making this so difficult to process. I’d been included in his will in a big way and my mother and brother hadn’t been. Not only that, but I hadn’t even fucking known the man. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to simply accept that he’d left me all this money for no reason other than my name.

Something I hadn’t even chosen.

Once I’d parked, I shook myself out of it and tried to focus on the business ahead. Porter was already in the café, nursing a giant cup of pitch black coffee and looking thoughtful until he spotted me and grinned. I sat down after putting in an order at the counter.

“How’s it going?” he asked. “You get everything signed?”

I shrugged. “I think so. Everything I had to sign today, anyway.”

“How’s your head? Still feeling like you’re floating?”

“Yep.” I scrubbed my hands over the sides of my face and inhaled deeply. “I need to get over it, though. I can’t keep feeling this way. It’s throwing me off with fucking everything and making me think like a wimp.”

Porter looked back at me, a smirk starting on his lips before he wiped it clear and shook his head. “I just realized this isn’t a good moment to joke about it. Look, I get it. The inheritance was sudden and unexpected, you’ve always had a hang-up about earning your keep and working hard, and to add insult to injury, you can’t ask the old man why he did what he did.”

“It’s not a hang-up,” I protested. “There’s nothing wrong with being determined to get stuff done and to make your own way in the world. It’s also known as independence, which is what pretty much everyone wants these days.”

“Sure, but you refused to accept my money even when I had so much of it that sharing wouldn’t have hurt at all. You even used to do my chores when I wasn’t getting through them fast enough. It’s a hang-up. Probably some kind of control issue, but the point is that if you want to get over this, you need to just accept it for what it is.”

“And exactly what is it?”

“Our grandfather was an asshole. A snob who had his own hang-ups about control and took it so far that he died before he admitted he was wrong to cast Mom aside over Dad. Don’t be like him, Foster. Take the money that you would’ve gotten even if he had been in our lives and accept that there’s nothing you can do to change the past.”

Porter was the second person in as many weeks to warn me against being like my grandfather, and I was starting to think there was a reason for it. Ultimately, I didn’t think I was like him at all, but clearly, I had inherited some of his traits.

“So what you’re saying is that I have to stop being stubborn and questioning everything, and just accept it?”

He grinned. “Exactly. Control is great in some parts of our lives. The bedroom, for example, is an excellent place to exercise it if the girl is into it as well—”

“I didn’t need to know that about you.”

He rolled his eyes and chuckled. “Stop pretending you didn’t know already and that you’re not the same way. I know you are, but that’s beside the point. The point is that even if you give the money back, Priscilla is old as well. It’s only a matter of time until she passes, and then it’ll come right back to you. You can’t control that, Foster. None of us can. We’re all going to get old, we’re all going to die, and when we do, we leave everything we’ve got to whoever we choose. He chose you. Let it go.”

My phone rang and I glanced at the screen, seeing Avery’s name staring back at me. “I’ve got to take this. It’s the realtor.”

He inclined his head at me. “Buying an awesome apartment is a great way to accept what’s happening.”

“I agree.” I slid my thumb across the screen and pressed the phone to my ear. “What’s up, Avery?”

“You got the apartment,” he said happily. “Congratulations. We should celebrate. What are you up to tonight?”

“Celebrating, apparently.” I decided on the spot and shot a meaningful look at Porter. “We’ll meet at Crabhead’s at nine.”

“Nine?” he said disbelievingly. “Crabhead’s happy hour ends at eight.”

“Yeah, but I have to work late tonight to make up for the time I missed this morning.”

“Just tell your boss you’ll make it up tomorrow,” he said.

“I can’t tomorrow. Look, I’ll meet you at Crabhead’s at nine. Thanks for letting me know about the apartment.”

As I hung up, Porter arched an eyebrow at me. “You know Hope doesn’t care if you make it up tonight, right? Neither does Milena and they’re the only two people above you at the company.”

“I know, but I care. There’s a lot of stuff I need to get done and I’m going to get it done instead of being one of those guys who suddenly becomes rich and then blows off his responsibilities.”

Porter chuckled. “Yep. It’s a hang-up. Okay, Foster. You do your chores and the rest of us will meet at Crabhead’s for happy hour. You know it ends at eight, right?”

“Why are you guys so obsessed with happy hour? It’s not like either of you need the discount.”