Then there was the strange voicemail she’d left on the night she died. Broken words interspersed with static, the connection too shitty to make much sense of it.
“She wouldn’t do this,” I added, voice wavering. “I can feel it in my gut, but the police refuse to so much as lift a finger to find out what really happened.”
“Listen…” Brett folded his hands on the chipped tabletop. “I can’t even begin to imagine what you’re going through. And I’m sure it must be harder to come to terms with because of…” He paused, searching for the right words. But there weren’t any. Not for this. “Well, because of everything. Management has agreed to a ten-game bereavement leave. That’ll give them time to decide how they’re going to handle this.”
I blinked, his statement catching me off guard. “Handle what?”
“Really, Lachlan? You assaulted three law enforcement officers, one to the point he required hospitalization,” he reminded me yet again. “You broke his nose and jaw.”
I glanced down at my fist. It was still red and swollen, even more than twelve hours later. Even if I wanted to get back to work, I wouldn’t be able to pitch right now. Not like I normally could.
“Someone had to stand up for Claire. It was obvious those buffoons weren’t going to.”
Brett closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident. He took a deep breath and returned his gaze to mine. I noticed a few strands of gray in his otherwise perfectly groomed dark hair. With his crisp suit and perpetually clean-shaven face, his presence always exuded professionalism. It was a complete contradiction to my appearance — t-shirt and jeans, unshaven jawline, disheveled brown hair that could use a good haircut. I had no doubt anyone who walked by assumed he was my attorney and I’d just been bailed out of jail.
It wasn’t too far from the truth.
“As your agent, I have a duty to advise you about the best course of action. And right now, that is for you to stay out of the news.”
“And as my friend?”
He blinked. “Excuse me?”
“What would you advise me to do as my friend?”
Brett may have initially approached with an offer to represent me because he saw dollar signs. But over the past four years, he’d become more than someone with whom I discussed business. He’d become a friend, giving me advice I’d rarely gotten from anyone else.
He briefly dropped his professional demeanor. “As your friend, I’d tell you the best thing to do is to go home. Be with family. Your real family. Honor Claire’s life and memory the way she would have wanted.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, blowing out a long breath. It had been years since I’d felt like I had a home. Not since the night that changed everything. The night I watched all my hopes and dreams disappear with the flash from the gun barrel. I’d avoided returning there for a reason, not wanting to be surrounded by the memories.
Now it looked like I had no choice.