“Everything’s been good,” I reply. “She wanted to take them to Cascade Springs today to buy some new art supplies for that rock project they’re working on.”
Brennan’s brows shoot up. “And you let her go?”
I bury my hands in my pockets and shrug.
Cameron places his empty beer glass on the coffee table, then rests his elbows on his knees. “Yeah, what’s that about? What do they need rocks for?”
“Shit, if I know. But Elena and Tristan are happy, so who am I to interfere with that?”
My brothers’ heads tilt as they peer at something behind me.
My deep tone rattles my chest. “What?”
They pin me in place with a glare as the back door shuts and the wood floor beneath my boots vibrates, further anchoring me in place.
Cameron rises off the couch, snatches his glass off the coffee table, and struts past me. “I need another beer.”
My skin itches with eagerness to talk to Taryn and finish our conversation. I assume she has headed outside to see Rossco.
I hike a thumb over my shoulder. “I—” Brennan gapes at me as I fumble for words. “Need a shower.”
His scrutinizing scowl makes me uneasy. “Okay…Can you come back after? Cam and I want to discuss sales strategy with you before our marketing meeting tomorrow. And we need to talk about soil testing and decide what variety we want to replace section eight with.”
We are already well in over our heads with suppliers. Everyone already knows our name and the brand, so I’m not entirely sure why we need to keep pushing. Is it not already enough that our produce appears in nearly every goddamn market across the country?
Marketing may be vital for every business, but when they see our brand, they don’t thinkthey have great apples. No. My dad fucked that up. Now, they see us and think about the trial. They think about the months authorities spent searching for my mother. They think about the vile man who returned to his kids with blood on his hands but came back without a wife.
Buying produce at the store is routine and straightforward. It’s clockwork. And we have no problems whatsoever getting our product out. However, I understand their perspective. Marketing is demanding. I just wish we didn’t have to do it.
“We already agreed on the new variety for section eight. Cripps Pink,” I tell him, clearing my throat.
Cameron speaks up, brushing past my shoulder to reclaim his spot on the couch. “About that…”
Great. Here we go.
I enjoy working with my brothers, but sometimes, when decisions need to be made, it takes us a hell of a lotlonger than necessary. Three different opinions. Three obstinate temperaments.
It’s fucking painful sometimes, but at the end of the day, they’re still here. And though I may not always act like it, I’m grateful. For them. For all the shit we’ve gone through together over the years.
By age fifteen, I knew I never wanted to leave Lindenvale Hill. My grades slipped in school because I was too busy playing sports, partying, or slipping my dick into some girl I grew up with up with since Cedar Creek is a speck on the map. I didn’t need college, so succeeding in academics didn’t matter. I passed, but because my priority was football, and I was too smart to completely suck. That was an advantage.
After graduation, I immediately dove straight into the company with my dad. He gave me an office and his trust and lobbed me into the deep end, challenging me to lead meetings and handle important client accounts. He expected me to tread against rough waters when difficult situations threatened to pull us under.
That was one of the last years when everything was normal. When I respected my father beyond anyone and told myself one day I would be as successful and meticulous as he was.
One night, I stayed late at the office to handle a client who was complaining about pricing fluctuations. It was one of several calls I made that day. By the time the conversation ended, we had lost the account because they had reassessed the client agreement and were unhappy with our increase in prices. It was the third one I’d lost that day. I slumped into his office, preparing for him to lash out. Tell me I’m a disappointment and incapable of running the company I would eventually inherit.
But he didn’t. He walked over to his wet bar, grabbed two tumblers, and returned to his desk with scotch. My first glass of straight alcohol was with him.
“You can either let this experience hurt you or fuel your drive. The next move is yours. But a man only fails when he gives up entirely.”
That’s what he told me. It was a moment in my life when I regarded my father as if he were the king. In a way, he was. A man sitting on his throne on Lindenvale Hill, running his empire—an empire that would eventually be passed down to me.
Every time I sit in my office—which used to be his—I recall that memory. When I lounge with a glass of scotch, those moments swirl with the aroma whenever I inhale it into my lungs—a scent that used to be sweet but is now vexingly bitter.
Cameron and Brennan had the opportunity to walk away. Cameron did. He got accepted into art school, but he returned to campus to gather his things when we realized Mom was never coming back.
They both sacrificed their futures for me. To help me keep this family afloat because I was so goddamn young when I inherited the Lindenvale Hill estate. But choosing to work together and run the multimillion-dollar empire was our next move.
