Jesse
The phone rings just as I shift my car into reverse, one arm draped over the passenger seat, the other on the wheel. Music hums low through the speakers—something upbeat that fits the mood perfectly. I tap the button on the steering wheel to connect the call, checking my reflection in the rearview mirror as I back out.
My brother Noah’s name flashes across the dash. “What’s up?”
“Not much. You busy?”
“Heading to Replay,” I say, easing down my driveway.
“Please tell me you’re not dragging the marketing team to another post-work happy hour.”
“Define dragging,” I say as I glance at my driveway, still covered with sawdust from the deck I swear I’ll finish one of these weekends. “I’ve never had to drag anyone anywhere. I’m heading out with the guys, celebrating my win today. The whole board loved my pitch they gave me the green light.”
“It seems like you’re always celebrating something.”
“Yeah, because I get a lot of wins.”
He groans. “Don’t you ever get tired?”
“Of winning?” I smirk. “No.”
Noah says I feed off approval. He’s not wrong. But if the world’s going to hand out gold stars, I’ll take mine with a whiskey chaser.
“Seriously, Jess,” Noah continues, his tone halfway between concern and amusement. A former Olympic gold medal skier, my younger brother is nothing if not disciplined and is always hoping some of that might rub off on me. “You work all day and you’re out every night. You can’t keep that up forever.”
I laugh, drumming my fingers against the steering wheel. “Sure, I can. Sleep’s for people who hate their lives.”
“You’re a menace.”
“Thank you.”
“Not a compliment.”
“Still taking it as one.”
I turn onto Front Street, the glow of Replay Brewery coming into view ahead. “Listen, I’ll let you get back to your spreadsheets and solitude. Tell Ford I’m being a shining example of work-life balance.”
“Pretty sure he’d call it the opposite.”
“He can call it whatever he wants,” I say before hanging up.
I pull into an empty parking spot and cut the engine, my eyes drifting to the view of the Pacific Ocean at the end of the street.
I was born and raised right here in Deep Cove with my brothers, Ford, Noah, and Wes. The four of us have always been tight. We had to be. Our mom died when we were kids, and our dad wasn’t exactly father of the year. Looking back, it was Ford who did most of the work of raising us. He was only twelve when Mom passed away, but he was the oldest, and he grew up fast after that. He never hesitated, never complained, but I know it took a toll on him. It also gave him a drive and determination to succeed, to make sure we’d all be okay.
That’s how Cove was born. When Ford came up with the dream to build something huge, he made sure there was space in it for all four of us. Years later, we’re still running it together, and Cove has become one of the biggest upscale apparel brands in the country.
I’mthe marketing guy. The one who makes things look good, sound better, and sell themselves. What can I say? Some people build, some people crunch numbers, and some of us were just born with natural charm and a killer tagline. Ford runs the whole show—he’s the CEO who makes the big decisions. Noah has always been good with numbers so he keeps the books and the rest of us from accidentally lighting our budget on fire. Wes is the only one of us who doesn’t directly work for the company. He’s a pilot but consults when we need him. He gives strategic advice and outside perspective whenever we have a problem we’re spinning our wheels on.
The moment I step inside Replay, the sound hits me — music, laughter, the rise and fall of conversation. This place always feels like home. I’ve been coming here for years.
Nolan waves from behind the bar, already sliding a pint across the counter before I even reach him. “You’re predictable,” he says with a shrug.
“Loyal,” I correct him with a grin, taking the drink. “Thanks, my man. The place is packed tonight.”
My eyes drift around the room, the end-of-summer energy buzzing through the air. Locals gather around the long wooden tables. I spot a few familiar faces in the crowd.
Nolan nods toward the stage at the far side of the room. “New singer tonight. The crowd’s loving her.” I follow his gaze to the pretty brunette with a voice that reminds me of Lana Del Rey. “Your crew is here, over there by the windows.”
