“We've known you since we were ten years old,” Roman says. “You think some reality TV hack with an agenda is going to change that?”
“The internet seems pretty convinced.”
“The internet doesn't know shit.” Caleb's jaw tightens. “They don't know you sat with Roman for three days after our mom's funeral because he wouldn't stop blaming himself for not being there. They don't know you're the only one who noticed when Nolan was drowning a few years back—because the rest of us were too loud to see it. They don't know you've been sending me business contacts for years because you believed in my ideas before anyone else did.”
“That's not?—”
“That's exactly what it is.” Nolan pushes off the doorframe. “You're our brother, Everett. Blood or not. You have been since we were kids, and some edited footage of you fighting with your dad doesn't change that.”
The pressure in my chest shifts. Doesn't disappear, but... loosens.
“Besides,” Caleb adds, a hint of his usual grin returning, “if we thought you were using us, we wouldn't have invested. We did the due diligence. We saw the numbers. We know what this place needs to survive, and we know you're the one who can get it there.”
“Even with Mountain Daddy Tour?”
“Especiallywith Mountain Daddy Tour.” He waggles his eyebrows. “That was my idea, remember? If anyone's shaming the Morgan legacy, it's me.”
A sound escapes me. Not quite a laugh, but close.
“Speaking of which...” Caleb's grin widens. “Mechanical Rudolph. Auction preview. You in?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, man.” He spreads his arms wide like he's unveiling the eighth wonder of the world. “It's for the auction preview! The ladies need to see what they're bidding on tonight. And honestly? After this morning? We need to show everyone that everything is fine. Normal. Fun, even.”
“Fun.” I repeat the word like it's in a foreign language.
“Think of the optics! Happy lodge owner,surrounded by friends, riding a mechanical reindeer while the whole town cheers. That's the counter-narrative. That's how we fix this.”
“By me riding a fake reindeer.”
“A mechanicalRudolph.” He says it like the distinction matters. “There's a red nose and everything. It lights up when you hit the eight-second mark.”
“Sometimes I really hate you.”
“No you don't.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling with the enthusiasm of a man who's never met a crisis he couldn't monetize. “Plus, silver lining? You're trending for somethingotherthan the dad fight now.”
“That's not comforting.”
“It should be. Check it out.” He shoves the screen in my face. “Mount Everett. That's your new name. #ClimbMountEverett is everywhere. People want to, and I quote, 'summit that peak.'”
“Great. I've been downgraded from a person to a geological landmark. And I thought Mountain Daddy was rock bottom.”
“You're going to befamous.” He pockets the phone. “Look, Tara gave them the tragedy. We give them the thirst. By tonight, nobody's going to remember the fight with your dad—they're going to be too busy bidding on a chance to climb Mount Everett.”
“So your solution is to whore me out to the highest bidder.”
“Forcharity.” He says it like that makes it noble. “Can’t really call it whoring if it’s for charity. There’s ahuge difference.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Besides, maybe one of those ladies will volunteer to polish your knob after. Give you a little reprieve from this shit spiral.”
Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Caleb. For fuck's sake.”
“What? I'm just saying—the man's wound tighter than a snare drum. A little...release... might do him good.”
“Please stop talking,” Nolan says flatly.
“I'm helping!”
“You're really not,” I grind out.
