Because now I'm standing here, surrounded by the three people who would absolutely commit fratricide if they knew what just happened, holding a bourbon I don't remember accepting, and my brain is finally catching up to the full scope of this disaster.
Everett Morgan kissed me.
After eleven years of nothing—of silence and distance and that horrible, hollow ache I pretended I'd outgrown—he put his mouth on mine like no time had passed at all.
And my bodyremembered.
The bickering washes over me, familiar and warm, and I let myself sink into it. This is good. This is normal. This is everything I was trying to protect when I broke Everett's heart eleven years ago.
Roman says something to Caleb—probably an insult, based on Caleb's indignant squawk—and I nod along like I'm following. Smile like I'm present. Make the appropriate sounds at the appropriate moments while my brain runs a completely separate track in the background.
I glance at the window seat.
Just for a second.
Just long enough to remember the way he'd caged me in, hands braced on either side of my face, kissing me like he was trying to punish me and worship me in the same breath.
You tried so hard to get over him.
And with one stupid, devastating, earth-shattering kiss, I’m right back where I started.
Chapter Six
Everett
This.
This is what I missed the nine years I was gone. Not just the lodge or the mountain or the familiar ache of home. But them. This chaotic, loud, deeply annoying family I somehow got absorbed into when I was ten and Roman Barrett decided I needed brothers whether I wanted them or not.
Roman catches my eye across the bar and raises his glass in a silent toast. I return it without thinking.
We used to be so easy. Before I ruined it by falling for the one person who came with a neon “DO NOT TOUCH” sign.
“Okay.” Nolan finally speaks, his voice cutting through the banter. “Not that I don't love a four a.m. sibling reunion, but we didn't drive six hours just to watch Caleb get elbowed.”
“Speak for yourself,” Roman says with a snort. “That's quality entertainment. Pay-per-view worthy.”
“We're here because we got your message.” Nolan'sgaze lands on me, steady and serious. “Especially what you didn’t say.”
The warmth in my chest ices over. Right. Business. “It's handled.”
“Is it?” Roman's tone shifts. “Because the numbers you sent us say otherwise.”
Sierra's head snaps up. “What numbers?”
Shit.
Roman and Nolan exchange a look. The kind of look that saysshe doesn't knowand should we tell herandoh crap this won’t go over wellall in one silent conversation.
“What numbers?” Sierra repeats, an edge creeping into her voice. The same edge she gets when she’s panicking aboutoursecret.
The same edge she gets when she's being kept in the dark.
But me, I’m storing multiple secrets from multiple someones. Some of them involve spreadsheets. Others involve my tongue in her mouth approximately three minutes ago.
“It's nothing,” I bite out.
“Bookings are down fifty percent.” Roman ignores me completely, turning to his sister instead. “Restaurant revenue's tanked. The mountain hasn't seen real snow yet this season, and people are canceling faster than we can process the refunds.”
