Their final wishes.
Jesus.
The knot in Jordan's stomach tightened over the bacon and pineapple appetizer he'd just devoured and made him queasy.
The short and stocky attorney stood and withdrew a stack of papers from the folder in his hands. He reminded Jordan of an older version of Seinfeld's George Costanza. Unfortunately the man wasn't there to make jokes.
"Before I begin, I'd again like to express my condolences on your losses. I've known your parents for nearly twenty years. I respected and admired them. And I want you to know that if any of you have questions or concerns after today, please don't hesitate to pick up the phone."
Dread slithered up the back of Jordan's neck. If ever a stamp of finality to their parents' lives existed, the reading of the will would be it. He wasn't sure he was ready. Not because of the content, but because it truly verified the end. The enormity of the loss. The slap of reality that he'd never see his loving and supportive parents again.
The attorney read through the opening formalities in the document and then he adjusted his glasses and got down to the specifics. "Until she turns the age of eighteen, custody of Nicole Eloise Kincade is to be divided equally among her brothers. The vineyards, bed-­and-­breakfast, main house, and the complete property, which totals three hundred acres, are to be divided equally among Ryan Matthew, Jordan Daniel, Declan Paul, Parker Gregory, Ethan Alexander, Nicole Eloise, and Riley Elizabeth Kincade. A lump sum of twenty-­five thousand goes to your mother's sister, Penelope Margaret Everhart."
Aunt Pippy closed her eyes and bowed her head. Jordan didn't know if the emotion was from gratitude or a wave of overwhelming sadness.
The attorney cleared his throat and continued. "Regarding Sunshine Creek Vineyards, your parents requested that the property and its contents not be sold or any part be relinquished by any one party. It was their personal desire that the vineyard, in its entirety, remain in the hands of the Kincade family and be handed down to newer generations."
Like a storm cloud, silence hovered over the room as Ryan looked up, expression grim. "As much as I hate to ask . . . anyone want out?"
Across the room eyes met and darkened. Expressions remained solemn and unreadable.
Jordan swallowed hard.
As young kids, it had been all for one and one for all. Jordan had been the first to break that chain when he'd been drafted at the age of eighteen by the NHL and selfishly never looked back. His parents had always been encouraging, even when his visits home had become less and less frequent. Holidays had even become difficult. He hadn't made it home last Christmas because he'd had a game the following night. He remembered sitting in a hotel room, looking out the window at a snow-­filled sky, thinking of his family gathered together around the tree, and feeling lonely.
The last time he'd actually seen his entire family had been before the season began last fall. Hockey game schedules were fast and frenetic. The season was long and grueling, with lots of travel involved. Still, he could have made the time and effort to come home. He hadn't and now questioned why. Had he just seen it as an inconvenience to fly coast to coast for a mere day or two? Or had he actually let the bonds with his family become less important than slapping a puck around the ice? It certainly wasn't a matter of finances. So deep down, what had really built that wall?
Family first.
Inside his head he heard his father's motto. The two simple words gripped his heart and wouldn't let go. Jordan believed he'd had perfect parents who had created a perfect marriage and a perfect family. Yet he'd let them all go, and now he felt like the stranger among them.
He glanced around the room to the clusters of framed images that told the story of who the Kincades were as a family. There were group photos of his parents, brothers, and sister at picnics among the grapevines or some other type of outdoor event. There were candid shots of his brothers grinning with their arms slung over each other's shoulders. There was a photo of his brothers playing tug-­of-­war with his laughing sister. And even more of Ryan with his daughter, Riley.
In each photo there were pairings or groupings of those Jordan should feel closest to. The only photo of him on display was from last year's team roster. The photo showed him sneering at the camera like he didn't need anyone or anything in his life except the next game, the next big win. It was the only photo in the room with a single person in it. He blinked when he realized how loudly it defined his life.
All the photos placed around the room showed his family living life and having fun.
Without him.
His fault, not theirs.
Be careful what you wish for.
In that moment he realized what he'd missed and he wanted it back.