Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
The year he was born.
And the year he died.
I had to grab the side of the table to keep from falling over. Lotto set down the urn and wrapped an arm around my shoulders. My body shook as tears rushed down my cheeks.
“But I just talked to him three days ago.” I gasped for breath and clung to the table. “He said he was going to watch my match.”
“He is, Bones,” Lotto whispered. He held me tighter as he cried with me. “He always will be.”
I pulled Lotto into a hug. We held each other and rocked together. Grief was overwhelming, but Lotto was my anchor. His strong arms and tight hold kept me grounded. Him, and Ari, and Frankie, and River—Dad had left me in good hands. Loving hands.
But it still felt like a piece of me had been carved out and left to bleed on the table.
When my tears finally stopped, I stepped back to wipe my face. Lotto picked up the small envelope that was attached to the urn.
He held it out to me. “Do you want to open it?”
My throat felt like sandpaper. My fingers trembled. I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t want to see Dad’s last words. But I had to. Just as Lotto said, I needed to let him die with dignity.
I needed to respect his last wish.
The letter was short and scrawled in shaky handwriting, but it was Dad’s, all right.
Half for my sons, half with my Louisa.
I will love you both forever.
I’m always with you.
Keep fighting.
And open the other damn package, ’cause I know you haven’t.
I laughed. Was I really that obvious?
Lotto set a hand on my shoulder. “Do you want me to grab it?”
“Yeah… yeah. I’ll open the envelope here.”
Lotto left the room, and I grabbed the thin envelope from the top.
His death certificate. Signed just a few hours after our last phone call. Natural causes.
Goddamnit, Dad. He had known he wasn’t going to see today’s match, but he told me he’d “try his best.” And then a few hours later, he was with Mom and watching down on me. On Lotto. On Smiley’s. On all of us.
Lotto padded back into the room with the first box in his hands. I set aside the gloves, grabbed the thick envelope, and pulled out a huge stack of papers.
My eyes widened. “It’s Dad’s will.”
“What?” Lotto leaned over me to look.
“He left me everything he had.” I scanned the papers. “I just need to contact the lawyer in Mexico to transfer it all to my name.”
“What did he leave you?”
I flipped the page. “His— What the fuck? This can’t be right.”
There were way too many numbers on the page to be right. How the fuck did Dad have so much damn money to his name? When he left the States, it was on a hope and a prayer. But now, I was staring at a hefty six-figure amount that would keep us afloat for a long time.
Lotto took the paper from my hands, his face scrunching in confusion. “What the fuck?”
“Is it a life insurance payout?”
“Those don’t pay out for months, if not years.”
“Then how the hell does Dad have enough to buy three Astin Martins and still have enough for a nest egg?”
“Maybe it’s in the letters?” He eyed the sealed letters on the table before shuffling the papers around. I didn’t think it was possible, but his face scrunched even more. “Bones, he didn’t just leave you money. He left his half of La Suprema.”
“What?”
I snatched back the bundle of papers to look. It was a written contract in both Spanish and English, entitling us to his shares in the Mexico City gym. It was dotted in black ink by both the owner and Dad, and translated and confirmed by Dad’s lawyer.
Apparently, I had become a business owner overnight.
“Did he set this whole thing up?” I whispered as I stared at La Suprema’s address.
This whole time, Dad had been thinking of us. Everything he did, even in death, was to keep us going and support us in any way he could. How the fuck was I ever supposed to repay him?
“Open the letters,” Lotto urged.
I grabbed the first and opened it, but as soon as I saw it was for Lotto, I handed it over. The second, addressed to me, had me tearing up from the first line.
My precious son,
If you’re reading this, I’m probably already gone. Or at least have a foot out the door. (Don’t worry, I shined my shoes to be ready for that damn reaper.)
Don’t be sad. I’m with your mother now, and we’ll always be watching over you. Death can’t stop this old man. And if it tries, I’ll give it a mean right hook. That one runs in the family, as I’m sure your opponents know.