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“Not everyone is worth the effort it takes to mourn them.” As he says the words, I sense that he's talking about his own father.
“I agree.”
“Are you sure you don't need to talk about it?” He doesn't seem entirely convinced.
“I'm actually not allowed to talk about it.” Because, of course, games and stipulations were what my old man was best at.
“Maybe write it down?” I sense he's not entirely joking.
“I'm not sure if that would hold up in court.”
“If we were both given lie detector tests and asked if you told me what happened, we could both answer no, honestly.” He offers a slight shrug, studying me carefully.
“I think you missed your true calling,” I say with a laugh. And I decide to go ahead and let someone in. Picking up the letter, I hand it to him. He accepts, moving slowly, as if giving me plenty of time to change my mind. I appreciate the gesture, but my mind is made up.
He reads through the letter, his eyebrows lifting with every line. When he finally gets to the end, he freezes, staring at the paper with a blank expression.
I hand him the other paper, and his eyebrows practically jump off his face as he squints at the document I’d handed him.
“Well, that's going to be tough to explain,” he says, looking up at me.
I nod my head, swallowing hard. There’s nothing to say, and no way to fix it. Not that I’ve figured out, at least.
“Have you talked to Lila about this?” he asks.
“Not yet,” I say. “I don't know how to tell her.”
“Tell her the truth,” he says firmly. “She deserves that much.”
I nod, knowing he's right. But it's not going to be easy.
“And you officially win,” he says, his eyebrows still lifted as he hands me the letter.
My confusion must have shown in my face.
“My dad is awful, but yours is way more fucked up.” He lets out a chuckle.
“Listen, about the sham proposal,” he says. “Lila... she’ll understand. Just talk to her.”
There’s no way he can know that for sure.I sigh, feeling more trapped than ever. “What am I supposed to do?” I’m about to ruin her life again, and I don’t know what to do about it. The answer would have been easy months ago before he died.
“Are those kinds of conditions even legal?” he asks.
I nod. Knowing my dad, he made sure his lawyers checked to make sure everything was airtight.
“Well, you’ve got work to do. Good luck,” he says.
And an idea I’ve been kicking around ripens in my mind. “I could use someone like you on my team,” I say.
“Your team?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” I say. “I've been looking for someone who can think on their feet-”
We both glance at his crutches, then I continue with a shrug.
“Someone who’s not afraid to take risks. Someone like you.”
“Did you just offer me a job because I got shot?” He sounds incredulous.
