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Santos
One year later
“Ready?” Caius asks from the doorway.
I turn to glance over my shoulder. “I’ll be right there.”
My father squeezes my hand, and I look back at him—at what is left of him. He’s been sick for years and never told a soul, just carried on while the cancer ate him from the inside out. It’s amazing how quickly everything has changed, how remarkable the decline of a seemingly healthy man is.
I hear Caius descend the stairs. My father’s gaze is just beyond me to where my brother just stood. When he drags his eyes back to mine, I see how dull they’ve grown. I inherited the forest green, but the shades are a world apart now. Like he and I will soon be a world apart.
“You watch your back. Always. You hear me?” he asks.
“I know that, Dad.” I don’t like how he talks about Caius some nights and it gets worse, he becomes more paranoid, as the cancer that’s killing him progresses. “We’ll miss you tonight.” It’s the first big social event he won’t be attending with us.
He inhales deeply, then lays his head back against the pillow as the nurse returns from the other room with more medication. They wanted him at the hospital by this point, but he wants to die in his home. As much as I hate the thought of him being gone, I want him to be as comfortable as possible, so he now has a full team of doctors and nurses who take shifts around the clock.
“I have the morphine, sir,” the nurse says.
“Get out,” Dad tells her. He’s never been a patient man, but it’s even worse now.
“Give us a few minutes,” I tell the woman. She nods and steps outside, closing the door behind her. “She’s just here to help you,” I tell my father.
He waves it off and points to the glass of water on the bedside table. I bring it to his mouth and push the straw between his lips. He takes a sip, and I set it aside.
“The will,” he says once I turn back to him.
“What about it?”
“You should know.”
“Know what?”
“I changed it.”
Surprised, I wait, eyebrows furrowing. As far as I know, our mother is taken care of, and Caius and I split everything down the middle. Any details beyond that, I don’t care about.
“Caius isn’t my son.”
This again. “He is your son. Maybe not by blood, but you adopted him as yours. He carries your last name. He’s been good to you. And he’s a brother to me.”
“He’s not blood.”
I grit my teeth. How many times will I need to hear him talk about my brother this way? “What did you change?”
“It all goes to you. Everything.”
Shock makes me stop. “What?”
“There’s a small allowance for Evelyn. One for Caius. But the bulk of it, control of it, it’s all yours.”
Fuck. “Does Mom know this?”
He starts to talk, but a coughing fit takes over. I give him another sip of water before he continues, “She knows the Augustine legacy can only be carried on by a true Augustine.”
“Caius is a true Augustine. Hasn’t he proven that?”
“I’m not his father.”
