Stone (Pittsburgh Titans 2)

Brooks was what many professional players are when they’re young and just starting out—brash, cocky, and always eager to have a good time. Hell, I was that way too. Brooks liked to party, always seemed to have one or two ladies on his arm when we were all out together, and was one of those guys who seemed to get more jovial the more he drank.

He was a lot of fucking fun to hang out with, and I just now realize that I miss that. I had for so long refused myself the ability to confront the things I’d lost that it robs me of my breath for a moment.

There are some photos of Brooks with Harlow. Often within a group of other people, but they have their arms around each other’s waists. They made a beautiful couple.

There are even photos with Brooks and that damn dog Odin.

As I take it all in, a few things become clear. There are no photos of me anywhere in his house. There are also no photos of our parents. And there seem to be no photos that I’d gauge to be older than a year or two. Maybe with purchasing this place, he decided to fill it with only new memories and not old, and that seems to hold with the fact that he had no qualms with leaving me behind as his star rose and mine fell.

Now the anger starts, and it fills me up with a tarry blackness deep in my chest. I try to push it away, but bitterness has become a way of life for so long, it’s difficult. This place isn’t just Brooks’s home, it’s a mausoleum of his life without me, and I know I could never live here.

I decide to check out the upstairs and climb the freestanding staircase upward. The two guest rooms are large and tastefully decorated, a bathroom in between. Back downstairs, I find the master is spacious and has a brick accent wall behind the massive bed—the other walls are in that same grayish-blue as downstairs. The furnishings are modern and contemporary, tasteful art graces the walls, and my eyes spy one lonely, framed photograph on the dresser.

I walk up to it, a lump forming in my throat.

It’s of me and Brooks after the Eagles won the Cup. I’m still in my gear, sweaty and grinning like a fool. He’s beside me, our arms slung over each other’s shoulders, and he’s grinning just as wide. I have no clue who took the photo. Probably my mom, but I don’t even remember that moment. Winning the Cup was a blur.

But Brooks chose to frame that photo to commemorate days gone by, perhaps as a shrine to our relationship before it died.

Fuck.

Fuck him and the feelings.

?

I trudge back to Harlow’s law office, knocking snow off my boots before entering the foyer. I stomp more off on the thick mat just inside and shrug out of my coat before entering the reception area.

Bonita is at her desk and looks up at me pleasantly. “Finished with your walk-through?”

I nod, moving to her desk and handing over the keys.

She looks disappointed as she takes them. “You’re not going to keep the condo? I thought for sure you’d want it.”

“I do,” I reply. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she smiles. “I don’t own it yet, though, so I figured I’d turn the keys back in until Harlow has to do whatever paperwork.”

“I’m pretty sure you can move in immediately,” Bonita says, then nods at Harlow’s office door. “But why don’t you go in and let her know. There are documents you need to sign.”

I start to pivot away, but the jangle of keys grabs my attention. She holds them out to me. “You’ll need these.”

I accept the keys to Brooks’s condo.

No, my condo.

Well, our condo. I think Brooks’s ghost will be there for some time to come. Maybe permanently.

Harlow’s head pops up as I enter. Odin’s does the same, and he emits a low growl.

Stupid dog.

“Odin,” Harlow says, warning in her tone. He looks up at her, eyes innocent, and his tongue falls out the side of his mouth.

She’s utterly charmed and scratches his head, and I realize how devious that dog is. I’d say I have to make sure I never turn my back on him, but truth is, after this meeting, I won’t ever see him or Harlow again.

I sit down in the chair I’d used earlier. “I’ll take the condo. What do I need to do?”

Harlow smiles, genuinely pleased. “I think that’s awesome. I know it would make Brooks happy.”

I hold my tongue because I’m not doing this to make him happy. He’s dead.

She grabs a folder and pulls out documents. “I have some stuff for you to sign to transfer ownership. You can move in immediately, of course. You’ll need to decide what to do with the Potter County house. It’s really a gorgeous, upscale cabin. Your brother spent a lot of time there in the summers, fishing and hiking.”