The Ruthless Gentleman(80)

“I can email you on this boat you’re going on, right?”

“Yes, and call me. I’ll have my phone with me. It will be much better than last time.” I wasn’t sure it was the relief at being able to contact my father that made my shoulders sag or if it was the thought that if I had my cell my guest wasn’t Hayden Wolf.

I’d tried not to think about him, but he was still there, haunting me at the edges of my smile as I settled back into Sacramento, and in that time just before I fell asleep when I couldn’t press down the memories of him anymore. I hoped that if I could block him out for long enough, eventually I wouldn’t have to try, and he’d dissolve into a pot of bad decisions and might-have-beens.

My rage had faded, at least.

I couldn’t be angry at him for his accusations. They’d hurt. They still hurt but I understood it. And I deserved it. For a second I’d been tempted. And it hadn’t been how I felt about Hayden Wolf that had stopped me. I just couldn’t do that to my father or brother. Neither one of them would have forgiven me if they’d thought any money they’d received had been from a source like Cannon. It was hard enough for my dad to accept the checks that had been coming from charities and foundations since I’d started applying. He was a man of honor and principle and I wouldn’t sully his legacy by taking money for stolen secrets. I wanted to be worthy of calling him my father.

My feelings for Hayden remained almost overwhelming whenever my heart and mind grew weak and let memories of him escape. There was no sign of them diminishing, but I kept telling myself it would happen. Surely, thoughts of him would fade and weaken and I wouldn’t have to try so hard to keep them at bay.

“That’s weird. This one’s to Michael,” I said, pulling out a thick cream envelope from the pile. Most of the letters and applications I’d made had been in my father’s name as next of kin. One or two had been in mine, but I hadn’t made any in my brother’s name.

“Can I open it, Michael?” I asked.

He shrugged, focused on his food rather than his mail, and I grinned and blew him a kiss. I flipped the envelope over and worked my thumb under the flap.

No check, but it was two pages long. I flipped to the second page to see an application with boxes and dotted lines sprinkled down the page. They were asking for bank account details and addresses. That was weird.

I turned back to the first page, glancing to the headed notepaper. Lycan Foundation. I couldn’t remember writing to them, but I must have sent off four hundred applications, so it was perfectly possible that I had just forgotten.

I read it once all the way through and then paused. I must have read it incorrectly. They were offering to pay Michael’s physical therapy, for a full-time caregiver and for any health insurance premiums.

That couldn’t be right. My pulse began to throb in my ears and I started again from the top.

“I want you to eat something,” my dad said. His voice sounded tinny and far away.

“Hang on, Dad,” I said, pressing the letter flat against the table and tracing the lines of typed text with my finger. I needed to read more carefully. I had to subdue the fluttering in my gut that was squealing that this letter was a winning lottery ticket.

I’d been wrong. It wasn’t what I thought. It wasn’t just Michael’s physical therapy, a full-time caregiver and insurance premiums they wanted to pay. It was “all and any costs associated with Michael’s medical or occupational needs for the rest of Michael’s life.”

Surely I had this wrong? This would mean that if Michael needed other things as he got older or as my father got older, this charity was going to cover it. I flipped over the page. This couldn’t be happening.

I stood, vaguely aware of my chair falling back behind me.

“Avery, sit and eat something. Please,” my dad said.

“Hang on a minute. I just need to check something.” When had I contacted these people?

I grabbed the laptop, brought up my spreadsheet of applications I’d made, but I couldn’t find anything.

I typed it into Google. Nothing came up.

Was this a scam? Would anyone be so cruel?

“Daddy, did you apply to any charities? Or did anyone we know do that?” For a flash I wondered if my mother had had something to do with it but of course she wouldn’t have. We didn’t exist to her anymore.

“No, Avery, you know how I feel about that. It’s hard enough seeing you do it but I tell myself it’s for Michael. But I don’t like to . . .”

I turned back to the computer and searched Google again. “You ever heard of the Lycan Foundation?”

My dad chuckled, and my heart thudded against my ribcage. Was this a joke? “Lycan? Is this Dungeons and Dragons or something?”

“What are you talking about?” I held up the letter. “This charity is saying they’ll pay Michael’s medical bills. All of them. Forever. But I don’t remember applying to a Lycan Foundation.”

My dad froze. “All of his medical bills?”

“Yes! Do you know who they are?”

He shrugged, his brows drawn together as he strode over, took the paper from my hands and read the letter himself. “Lycan is . . . I don’t know. It was the name for a werewolf, I thought, but I guess it’s just a surname.”

Werewolf? Memories of Hayden burst through my mental barriers. It couldn’t be him, right? He had no idea where we lived or that I’d applied for anything. I’d never told him that Michael’s medical insurance had been changed and that his physical therapy had been cut. And he hated me. He thought I was a liar and a thief. Of course it wasn’t him. I shook my head.