“I’ll put my own money and time into it then. If it comes to that, I’m willing to invest my own resources.”
“You’re not listening,” Ethan says. “We need to decide we’re doing thistogether.”
“Futon Drift already signed a contract. It’s happening.”
The room gets quiet at that.
“If there’s nothing left to discuss, I’m going to head out.”
“Logan, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and bolt!” Emily says. “I know we’re siblings, but we’re also business partners. This is not—”
“What’s going on, Logan?” Seth says. It’s his gentle question that breaks my temper. “Is it because… it’s March?”
I run my hands over the conference table laminate, analyzing the cracks. “What happened to keeping this meeting professional? If we were only coworkers, you wouldn’t ask about this.”
Emily gives me one of her high-and-mighty looks. “Yes, what a terrible crime—worrying about our brother. Bring out the tar and feathers.”
“But is it that?” Seth presses.
Finally, I nod. “Being this busy, it’s been helping.”
“Mom says if you need to talk…” Seth starts.
“Oof. That’s my cue to leave.”
“Logan, sit,” Cole says.
I slump in my chair. “You guys are really going to veto this? It’s agreatidea. And I told you I’d do everything myself.”
Cole holds up a hand. “You have great ideas, Logan. We’re not denying that. We just don’t want you to burn out.”
“I won’t burn out,” I insist.
Another short, silent conversation passes between my siblings before Ethan shrugs. “All right, Logan,” he says. “If no one has any objections, you can do it.”
“Great.” I hop up.
“A moment.” Ethan steeples his hands. “We appreciate the work you put into this company. You work harder and longer hours than all of us. But, eventually, you need to addresswhat’s been driving you ragged.”
I swallow. “I will,” I lie.
Traffic’s heavier than usual on the way home. There’s only one two-lane highway in and out of Sagebrush, and it’s up and over Compass Mountain. After a few terrifying tight curves, the highway rolls over a narrow, natural rock bridge straight down into the wide, rocky canyon below, where the town sprawls over the steep slopes and up jagged cliff walls.
There must be an accident up ahead on the bridge. I see steam or smoke coming out of an ancient, clunky van—probably some New-Age hippie on their way to a Sedona vortex.
A young woman stands at the side of the road, wringing her hands as she stares at the steaming hood. The car behind me honks. I must’ve slowed down rubbernecking. In my rearview mirror, the driver flips me off and honks again. Tourists.
I know a little about cars, and I’ve got a fire extinguisher in the truck. I’m tired, but leaving someone stranded out here isn’t an option. It’ll be a while before emergency services get out here, and the local town marshal is not known for his helpful nature—he likes to think his role is limited to going after hardened criminals, though those are few and far between out here.
I sigh. I pull over a little past the van and walk back toward it.
The woman wears a low-cut black tank top and cut-off shorts. She cuts a very alluring figure in the moonlight, her dark hair swirling in the wind from passing cars. Something about her is so familiar.
She turns her head toward the road, and I catch her profile.
Time bends. I’m transported to a different March, sevenyears prior, the girl I’d been searching for materializing out of the gloom like a hallucination.
But it’s not. She’s real.
