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Fucking hell!
I’m pissed at myself. I don’t have time to think about this kind of stuff with the shit show I left behind in Chicago. Training season just started, but instead of practicing, here I am, off the field, and letting bygone feelings bubble up within me again.
Plus, my new sneaker line is launching soon, and there are so many things that still need to happen for that to go off without a hitch.
If it was anyone else, I wouldn’t even be here, but Mrs. Kendall helped keep our childish asses out of a lot of trouble back then. At the very least, we all owe her just a little bit of our time.
We all had our own problems growing up, mine having to do with my dad. For as long as I can remember, I was never good enough. The harder I tried, and the more I succeeded even, it was never enough.
That treehouse Mr. Kendall built was the best thing that could have happened for a kid wanting a place to just get away from everything.
I’m drawn from my musings when the lawyer, Ms. Dorman, tries to get our attention. Clearing her throat, she walks over to a large boxy TV set. It looks like one of the first televisions ever made.
Is that the one she always had in the house? No way that dinosaur still works.
“I know everyone would like to get reacquainted, but you all arrived at different times and some of you were late.” She looks directly at Dante, who gives her a who-gives-a-fuck blank stare. Her stern gaze then flits over to Samantha, who blushes a pretty pink and dips her head.
My mind immediately goes to another place on her body that I remember turning pink. The thought has me shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
Fuck Asher, keep it together,I mentally reprimanded myself.You can’t get caught up in how good she looks, not after she blindsided you like an offensive tackle.
Ms. Dorman turns on the TV screen. I’m surprised that it still works, and even more so that it’s in color when Mrs. Kendall comes into the frame.
She looks just as kind and cheery as I remember, but a little frailer and a lot older. I’m instantly ashamed that I haven’t been back to see her. Sure, I sent her gifts through my assistant on her birthday and on Christmas every year, but now I think it wasn’t enough.
“You young hellions were some of the only few to really use and love my treehouse,” Mrs. Kendall says, the strong booming voice coming from the speakers not fitting with the fragile woman in the video. “The kids these days don’t play outside and use their imaginations anymore. They grow up with those phones and computers stuck to their faces all the time.”
She looks away from the screen. Her gaze is far off as if she is thinking about some distant memory before looking back, staring directly at the camera like she could see us all.
“I’m leaving it, along with my home, to the ones who truly loved it the most. All of you,” she stresses, and the screen goes blank.
The room is silent as we let it sink in, and Ms. Dorman turns off the TV.
Mrs. Kendall, the neighborhood granny, left us the Treehouse and her home?
As a kid, I enjoyed spending time here with the guys. We even used the Treehouse as a crash pad for a time or two. But is the thing even still standing after all these years? Not to mention, the house is like an antique museum.
What possible use do I still have for either?
Samantha is the first to speak up.
“The grounds are a great space for events,” she suggests, her voice filled with optimism. “If we fix up the house, make it a bit more modern, this could be a quaint place for parties, weddings, and even birthdays.”
I roll my eyes, and I hear Dante groan.
“No,” I interject. “In this small town? Not a chance.” I think about the profitability it could have, though. “The best bet would be to sell it. Dante, you can put it on the market, right?”
Dante simply smirks. Clearly, that’s why the fucker is here in the first place. Why he came all the way from Miami where he’s made his money flipping houses.
“Woah there, big dog,” Madison calls out. “What about other options, Mr. Celebrity? Just because you want to run back to whatever tail you’re chasing now, doesn’t mean the rest of us don’t have any other ideas.” I flip her the bird, but she brushes me off and continues. “We can turn it into a bed and breakfast, and my mom could supply the pastries and stuff from her bakery.”
“That’s not such a bad idea,” Knox agrees. “Dad and I can do the new furniture at the carpentry shop and?—”
“You can’t be serious,” I say at the same time as Dante says, “You don’t have the time or resources for that kind of project, Knox.”
“But I do,” Jaxson cuts in.
“Yeah, yeah, we all know you’re a big-time chef in Italy or whatnot, and that you own how many restaurants. But don’t let sentiment blind you. This is not a viable business spot,” Dante tells him.
