Age of Ava (Vested Interest - ABC Corp 4)

“Why?”

I shrugged. “Maybe she was punishing my grandparents by keeping me away. Maybe something else. I have no idea.”

I stood and circled the room again. “She died when I was in my late thirties. All her things went into storage. There wasn’t much, but I couldn’t bear to even look at it. Our relationship had dissolved into a polite call or letter once a year checking in, and usually it was me reaching out to her from some deep-seated sense of obligation. After I left, she stayed in Canada. She kept a PO Box in Alberta, and I had a cell phone so she could get in touch. I would write her on occasion to let her know where I was. The calls were sporadic and painful. I was working in the Northwest Territories when I got a call saying she was ill. She died not long after.”

“Did you see her?”

“No.”

“Do you regret that?” she asked, her voice low with care.

“No, Ava. My relationship with my mother was messy and complicated. I was never a kid or allowed to be one. As far back as I can remember, I was considered a burden, just something she had to deal with. I was never taken into consideration or felt as if I mattered. I went where I was told to go, did what I was told to do, and learned from her never to trust, build relationships, or depend on anyone.” I ran a hand through my hair. “I never understood why she kept me. It wasn’t as if she loved me. She should have given me up.”

There was a beat of silence, then Ava cleared her throat. Her voice sounded thick.

“What about your grandparents? How did you discover they were alive?”

I grimaced. “I discovered too late. I finally went to collect the things I’d put into storage. I decided it was time to put the past to bed. There wasn’t much, but I went through the boxes. It was mostly junk, but I found a package of letters she’d kept and I opened them. They were from my grandfather. There weren’t many, but the last one was dated a year before she passed. I realized she’d been lying and my grandfather, at least, was alive. I looked up the address, but there was no phone number. I wrote a letter to the address, and a few weeks later, I got a call from my grandfather’s solicitor, saying he had passed recently and my grandmother had passed years prior. He informed me that I was in his will. He had left me this place, and it was being held in trust for me for ten years. I came here to see it.”

“What would have happened after ten years?”

“There was a second beneficiary. It would go to them.”

“I see.”

“There was no mention of me in the letters. Nothing. I guess I meant as little to them as I did to her. I have no idea why he left me this place.” I scoffed bitterly. “No wonder I’m so screwed up. I have no idea how to be normal.”

“You are normal, Hunter.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t connect with people or places. I don’t have roots or a history. Just a lot of bad memories. She really messed up my thinking, Ava. I don’t have any of the usual desires other people do. Family. Kids. A spouse. A home. I find trust hard. Half the time, I have one foot out the door before I’ve even said hello.” I locked gazes with her. “It’s part of my makeup. It’s who I am.”

“No. It’s who you thought you were. You can change that.”

I shook my head in disagreement. “No, I can’t. I don’t have the emotional depth.”

She jumped to her feet. “Yes, you do! You look after Cash. You care about me.”

I waved her off. “Cash is an animal. That is different. And you…” I sighed as I traced my finger along her cheek. “While you are special in your own way, you have a time limit too, Little Dragon. Everyone does. I’m not equipped to deal with it. To stay anywhere. I don’t know how.”

“You could learn,” she insisted stubbornly. “If you wanted, you could learn.”

“Maybe,” I said slowly. “Maybe—I don’t want to learn.”

Her eyes widened, and I saw the flash of pain in them. Still, she grabbed my hand. “Don’t. Don’t let her win, Hunter. You can overcome this. All of this. There has to be a reason your grandfather left you this place. Maybe he was trying to give you roots. A place to call your own.”

I smiled ruefully. “Maybe he felt guilty. Or maybe he had no one else to leave it to.”

“You said there was a second beneficiary. Is it a relative?”

I met her eyes. “No. It was you, Ava.”

Chapter 17