All He Has Left
Chad Zunker
PROLOGUE
Jake Slater was already having a bad night. It would get much worse. Death changes everything. Especially when it hits as sudden as a devastating tornado.
Jake was not altogether shocked when he walked into the empty parking lot outside Stephen F. Austin High School, where he was the head football coach, and found the words Coach Slater Sucks spray-painted in red on the side of his white Jeep Cherokee. Hours earlier, Jake’s football team had lost their fifth game in a row. The fans were irate. This was Texas. Football was king. This year’s team had been projected to make a run at state. But Jake had ruined everything—according to the community—by kicking the star player off the team six weeks ago for punching a teammate in practice. Jake had never heard a crowd boo so loudly at the end of a game, which felt like the lowest point of his twenty-year coaching career.
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and read a text message from his wife, Sarah. We’re at my parents’ house. Can you meet us here?
Jake sighed. The last thing he wanted to do was go over to his in-laws’ place tonight. He was already tired and frustrated. Having anything to do with his overbearing father-in-law right now would only exacerbate that. He was supposed to be meeting his wife and eleven-year-old daughter, Piper, at an IHOP restaurant down the street—a family tradition they’d started a couple of years ago after home games. These postgame dinners had unfortunately been miserable of late.
He texted her back. I’m exhausted. Can we just go home?
Sarah replied, Please, Jake. Just for a few minutes.
He growled under his breath. Fine.
Jake climbed into his Jeep and put the key in the ignition. The engine sputtered for several long seconds—as if trying to make up its mind about running tonight—before eventually starting. The old Jeep was on its last legs. Jake had been driving it forever, though Sarah had wanted him to get a new vehicle a long time ago. Something nice like her Lexus SUV. His wife had a lucrative career as a financial partner in her family’s investment firm. It had afforded them some luxuries most other high school coaches didn’t have—like living in a spacious new house in an affluent suburb in West Austin. But Jake didn’t want to stand out in the parking lot among his assistant coaches, who all drove run-down vehicles. Nobody got rich coaching high school football. He’d married into it.
Driving out of downtown proper, where the high school was located along the shores of Lady Bird Lake—a stretch of the Colorado River that weaves beautifully through the city—Jake headed west. A few minutes later, he pulled into the gated driveway of his in-laws’ massive estate. Their place sat along an exclusive private street on a hill overlooking the river, with a spectacular view of downtown. A real estate agent friend had told him years ago that every property on this street was worth more than $20 million. And Jake’s in-laws had one of the biggest homes—which looked more like a Tuscan castle to him. Sitting on four acres, the house was over twelve thousand square feet. Everything about it seemed pretentious and ridiculous. His mother-in-law, Janice, might as well have left price tags on items she’d purchased from around the globe, the way she so casually talked about the expense of every statue, vase, and piece of artwork.
Jake punched in a code at the security gate, waited for it to open, and then drove up the winding path to the house. He parked next to Sarah’s Lexus in a huge circular courtyard bordered by two four-bay garages on each side.
Jake walked up to the front door of the three-story mansion, with its mix of earth-toned stone and stucco, rustic lines, and beautiful arched openings and doorways. He knocked on the massive glass front door. His daughter answered it. Piper was the spitting image of her beautiful mother. Long brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail with a few freckles on her cheeks and the brightest green eyes.
While she looked like her mother, Piper had the competitive drive and athletic ability of her father. Jake had played college football at Sam Houston State twenty years ago, where he’d broken several wide-receiver records. Piper competed nationally on a junior acrobatics and tumbling team. It was not uncommon for Piper to do a backflip while they were all just standing around. It drove Jake crazy. Board games between him and his daughter could get intense. He loved that about her. Being a father had given him an indescribable joy. Because of that, Jake had wanted more kids. But Sarah would never commit because of her busy career.
Piper immediately hugged him. “Sorry, Daddy.”
He hugged her back, knowing she was talking about the game. “Thanks, baby.”
“They played a lot better than last week. If not for that late fumble.”
“I know. We’ll get them next week. Where’s Mom?”
“In the lounge with Grandpa.”
Jake stepped fully into the three-story foyer with a sweeping staircase built in all marble that he knew had been imported from Italy. The house had always seemed more like a museum than a home. To him, it was cold and uncomfortable. Which could also describe his relationship with his father-in-law, Lars Kingston.
Jake followed Piper down a hallway to his left, which eventually spilled out into what the family called the lounge. It reminded Jake of a luxurious hotel lobby, with its multiple fireplaces and sitting areas. The entire Kingston family gathered here for every holiday and birthday celebration.
Sarah walked over to him, a glass of wine in her hand. She was a fit brunette who had run cross-country while attending Columbia back in the day. She still jogged nearly every morning before breakfast. Jake used to join her several days a week but not lately. He’d been leaving the house earlier than usual to put in more hours at the football offices and try to somehow rescue the season. Plus, he had been avoiding a growing tension between them. His body was paying for the lack of exercise—a slight softness around his belly that had not been there the first forty-two years of his life. There was also now a touch of gray in his wavy brown hair. Coaching could age a man quickly, especially when he was riding a serious losing streak.