Chapter Four

Crew parked his truck in front of Thomas’s house. Or, he guessed, it was his now, and man, did that kick him in the gut each time. Thomas had been more than a mentor. He’d become the father figure he’d desperately needed at the age when little boys stood at the cusp of transformation. An angry teen needing to vent his frustrations. He owed Thomas everything, and now the old man was gone. He never got to see him win the Super Bowl, and that was a bitter pill to swallow.

Grabbing his duffle, he hopped out of the cab and walked up the steps to the front door of the beach house. Overgrown foliage hung over the sidewalk and shadowed the steps to the front door. All the homes along this stretch of road were built a little higher, just in case of flooding. When he stepped inside, the pungent scent of mothballs let him know the house hadn’t been aired out in quite a while. He immediately went to the trifold doors and pushed them open, tasting the salt-heavy air as he took a deep breath. He’d only visited the ocean once, a long time ago before his father died and his mother mentally checked out.

The deck didn’t have any furniture on it. He made a mental note to buy some, if he chose to keep the house. It’d be nice to sit at night and watch the moonlight on the waves. With a heavy sigh, he turned back to the interior. Thomas had retired in Anchorridge Cove a couple of years ago, and unfortunately a slew of stupid excuses had come along to prevent Crew from visiting. Now, he regretted that more than ever.

The furniture had a well-worn look to all of it. Armrests on the recliner were threadbare as the fabric frayed. Scratch marks covered the dining table and chairs. Crew didn’t understand what he was seeing because he sent Thomas an allowance, letting the man live comfortably in his retirement. It’d been enough to buy everything new, so why didn’t he use it?

Heading down the short hallway that had both bedrooms and one bathroom, he turned on the lights to study which room he’d take. One clearly belonged to Thomas. The twin bed rested against one wall and the nightstand was littered with amber medicine bottles. Two years prior, Thomas had a stroke, which prompted him to retire from coaching. He’s always wanted to live near the ocean, so he bought the small, pale, coral-painted beach home. Thomas had been very proud of his retirement, and Crew had it in his head that his mentor was living the good life, but the décor didn’t quite jive with that perception.

The other room had a duplicate twin bed, much to his dismay. He stood six foot five. No way that tiny bed was going to support his ass. He would have to pull the mattresses side by side and sleep on the floor. As he left the bedrooms, a knock sounded on the door and he went to open it. Caleb Walker stood on the stoop and Crew waved him inside.

“Thanks for meeting me here,” Crew said. “I’d prefer it if you didn’t announce I was here to anyone. I really don’t want fans to come find me.”

“Of course.” The lawyer stepped up to the small kitchen island and opened his file folder. “Here are the transfers of titles to the house, the boat, and Mr. Campbell’s accounts.”

Crew picked up the papers. “This states his estate is worth one point five million. Why the hell did he live like this?”

“He was a proud man,” Caleb replied, holding out a sealed envelope. “I believe this will answer a lot of your questions. I just need you to sign where the tabs are.”

Crew took it, staring at it with mixed feelings. “What about his, er, burial?”

“He took care of all the details. His ashes will be ready at the end of the week.”

Crew was relieved that he didn’t have to arrange a funeral.

For the next few minutes, Caleb went through each document. Once Crew had signed everything he needed to sign, he shook the lawyer’s hand and Caleb left just as quickly as he’d shown up. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the recliner and sat down, staring at the envelope. Part of him didn’t want to read the words. They were the last bit of Thomas he had. Setting the letter aside, he went to make himself a bed.

There were lots of problems he had to tackle in the morning, but as he lay in the dark, his mind wouldn’t rest. All he kept thinking about was the fact that Thomas died alone. He should have been there, holding his hand. Giving him strength as he passed from this world to the next. When the thoughts became too loud, he rose and grabbed a jacket before heading to the beach.

There were a million stars twinkling overhead, rarely seen above the city lights he lived under. He became mesmerized by the ocean waves crashing over the sandy shore, hammering home how alone he was. He should’ve made time to visit. He should’ve called more. The should’ve-could’ve regret was a bitch, and if he wasn’t careful, it would suck him down into a bottomless well of sorrow.

Movement caught his attention and he glanced to his right, seeing another figure silhouetted against the moonlight. A woman, by the shape of her body and long hair blowing in the chilled air. He didn’t know her, but for a moment her presence made him feel not so alone.