Chapter Nine MURPHY
Chapter Nine
M URPHY
My phone is next to me, face down on the carpet. It’s been buzzing for a while, a group text from my friends in LA trying to make a girls’ trip out of visiting the vineyard. Ever since I showed off the property to Vivian, she’s been incessant about it, but I can’t muster up the energy to respond.
Not when things for them are going swimmingly and I’m sitting on the floor of my childhood bedroom feeling like shit.
There’s a sense of loneliness that I wasn’t expecting to face. When I imagined coming home, the things I was most concerned with were my interactions with my family and figuring out what comes next. The idea that I might sit in my bedroom crying because I miss my friends wasn’t anywhere on my radar.
I guess the relationships I created in LA were more important to me than I realized.
“Hey.”
I can’t help smiling just a little bit when I spot my brother Micah standing in the doorway of my room, his hands tucked into his pockets.
“Hi.”
He leans to the side, his shoulder resting on the doorjamb as he scans the room.
I don’t doubt he’s assessing the situation: me on the floor with red eyes, my phone vibrating next to me, my guitar case untouched, but the rest of my stuff everywhere .
I’d thought that rearranging my room would be a good use of my Saturday morning, help me take my mind off ... well, everything.
Instead it just highlighted to me how alone I was.
The last time I rearranged my childhood bedroom, I’d had Quinn’s help. Hell, she helped me move the furniture around on an almost yearly basis, maybe even more often. There was something about changing a bedroom around that could make my teenage soul feel like a brand-new girl.
But that feeling wasn’t anywhere to be found as I tried moving my bed to face the french doors. Instead, I pulled a muscle in my calf and slammed my finger in one of my dresser drawers trying to shift that around, too.
Now I’m sitting on the floor in the middle of a room and none of my furniture is in the right spot. And knowing I’ve fucked it up all by myself is the worst part.
“Want some help?”
His voice is soft, his eyes kind, and the magnitude of how much I’ve missed him seems to hit me all at once.
If Memphis is a bulldozer and I’m a tornado, Micah is a soft snowfall. Calm and quiet. Observant and thoughtful.
“No, it’s all right,” I tell him, pushing up from the floor and rubbing my sore hands against my jeans.
“You sure?” He glances at his watch. “I’ve got a few minutes before I need to meet Naomi and Edgar at the warehouse.”
I glance around the room, my eyes welling again at the idea of trying to move everything on my own, not to mention that this is the first time I’m seeing my brother in a long while. Clearly I’m dealing with some emotional shit, because sobbing while shoving bedroom furniture around is clearly not the vibe.
“Yeah, actually. That would be great.”
Micah claps his hands together and steps into the room, and after I take a second to explain where I want everything, he takes the lead.
“Sorry I disappeared right after you moved back,” he says, bending down to pick up my dresser from the base. “I had to go to San Francisco for a few days. Memphis sent me to this wine and spirits conference.”
My brow furrows as we lift my dresser and move it a few feet away, so it’s now set against a different wall. “Memphis sent you to a conference?”
Micah gives me a half smile. “I told him it was stupid, but he promised me it wasn’t about the networking. He just wanted information.”
Micah is the most introverted of us, so I can’t imagine how exhausting it was for him to not only go into San Francisco, one of the busiest cities in the country, but also attend a conference surrounded by hundreds, maybe thousands, of people.
“Information about what?”
“International wine distribution.”
My hands come to my hips. “Are you serious?”
He shrugs. “He said he’s trying to compile a list of potential ways we can expand the vineyard.”
I roll my eyes. “The restaurant isn’t enough?”
Micah shrugs again. “Bed now?”
Nodding, I move around to the other side of the bed. We both lift and scoot the headboard so it’s up against the wall opposite from the doors that lead out to the veranda.
“I like it,” he says once we’re done, standing back to evaluate.
“I’m glad. Me, too.”
“Hey, I gotta run out to the warehouse. Do you want to meet me out there in a little bit? I’m doing an inspection run, and I was thinking you could ride with me.”
Gosh, it’s been years since I’ve done an inspection run.
When I was a kid, I’d ride around in the ATV with Grandpa every month so he could collect grapes from different locations on the property—different vines, different rows, different types of grapes—and take them back to his lab for testing. I called it a lab, but really it was just an office where he had some fancy equipment.
The building where he used to do those tests is gone now, replaced by a large warehouse a few years before I moved away, but the testing is still a big part of managing our vineyard. I remember my dad, Diego, and Clay regularly riding around the property with labeled bags, pulling samples and marking them intently so that if they found any issues they’d know exactly which vine the grape came from. A little part of me is happy that Micah has taken up the task, and it’s an even better chance to get to catch up with him now that he’s returned from his trip.
“Sure, I’ll come out. Memphis mentioned there’s a new cellar out there now.”
Micah nods. “Yeah, we finished construction about four years ago.”
“I’d love to see it.”
My brother gives me a smile. “Awesome.” Then he looks at his watch again. “Setup for the inspection run should only take thirty minutes or so. See you then?”
I nod, and Micah steps forward, tugging me into a hug that eases something sharp and uncomfortable in my chest.
“I’m glad you’re home,” he tells me, his voice low. “I know you might not want to be here, but I’m glad I get you back for however long it lasts.”
His words swell inside of me, buoying me up after my emotional morning.
Micah plants a kiss on the crown of my head, then leaves my room.
I glance around, taking in the newly moved furniture.
It does make my room feel different.
And having help to do it sure didn’t hurt.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve showered away my emotions from the morning and emerged feeling like a different person. I exit onto the veranda and walk into the vineyard, giving myself a chance to wander leisurely through the vines on the way to the warehouse.
But when I come to the fork in the path, I decide to make a detour over to the cabins. If I’m going to visit some of the property that I haven’t seen in a long time, it can’t hurt to see if there have been any changes to the handful of studio-style residences that our year-round staff live in.
I also can’t lie to myself—part of me is curious about where Wes lives.
Of course when I come around a bend, my footsteps falter when I spot Wes sitting on the steps of cabin 3. He’s leaning against the wooden siding, his head tilted up and his face to the sun, eyes closed.
I didn’t expect him to actually be here, outside, in the middle of the day. Shouldn’t he be back in the kitchen, getting ready for the opening?
I know I sure as hell should be.
It feels like I’ve stumbled upon him in a private moment, not to mention the fact that things between us continue to be sort of tense.
I quietly backtrack around the corner I just came from, hoping not to alert him to my presence. A few more steps and I’ll be in the clear, but then Wes’s eyes open and he looks directly at me.
“Hey.”
It’s all he says, but I can tell he’s curious as to why I’m here.
“Hey, sorry, I was just ...”
“Snooping?”
My brow furrows. “I wasn’t snooping.”
Wes grins, then closes his eyes and tilts his face back up to the sun again. “I was kidding, Murphy. It’s your family’s property. You can go wherever you want.”
I nod, though he doesn’t see the movement, his eyes still closed and facing upward, and then I turn back down the row I came from.
“I have to say, I seriously missed the California sun.”
Wes’s voice freezes me again, and I turn back around to look at him.
“You know, it gets warm in Chicago during the summer, obviously. But the sun feels different. There is nothing like California sunshine.”
“In LA, the smog was so thick you could see it from the mountains,” I tell him, the memory coming out of nowhere. “It gave the sun this weird hue when it was particularly bad.”
“Sounds gross.” He peers at me through one eye.
“It was.”
We both just watch each other for a long moment until Wes taps the spot next to him. “Come on over. Soak it in.”
I hesitate, knowing I should get to the warehouse to meet Micah.
“I promise not to be a jerk. Again,” he adds, grinning at me.
The tease in his tone mixes with the temptation inside me. I walk over and drop down to sit next to him.
I rest my forearms on my knees and turn my face to the sky, closing my eyes and letting the sun hit my skin the way he was moments ago.
“You’re right,” I tell him. “This is pretty great.”
We sit in silence for a while, but it feels different than our nights on the bench somehow. Wes feels different. More playful maybe. Less closed off. Then again, I thought that last night too, before he shut me down. I lower my head and try to purge the embarrassing memory.
“You know, I was thinking about what you asked me,” he says.
I blink up at him, suddenly mortified that somehow he can sense my thoughts. I decide to play dumb. “Oh? What did I ask?”
Wes’s lips tilt up. “You know.”
I cross my arms and close my eyes again, thinking I should just save myself the humiliation of whatever he’s going to say next and run off back to the path.
But instead, I wuss out and keep my eyes closed. “You mean about whether you think about the night we met.”
Wes hums his agreement, and then I feel him lean toward me, his voice lowering, as if he’s about to tell me a secret. “I lied,” he whispers. “I do think about it.”
I feel the pace of my heart picking up speed, but I keep my eyes closed.
“I had all kinds of thoughts that night,” he murmurs.
“All kinds, huh?” My voice holds far more confidence than I feel inside. “Like what?”
I know I’m just messing with a hornet’s nest by asking. The last thing I need to know is anything to do with Wes’s thoughts .
“You really wanna know?”
At that question, I open my eyes and find him looking at me in a way that sends a flurry inside my stomach.
He looks almost hesitant, like he isn’t exactly sure how he wants me to answer. So instead of speaking, I just nod, the movement so small I’m surprised he can even see it.
“I was thinking about what it might be like to keep kissing you in that parking lot, instead of stopping when we did.”
I nip the inside of my lip, trying not to let it show that I’d also imagined the same.
“I thought maybe we could grab a couple more wine coolers to go. I could bring you here and walk you through the vines in the moonlight. And maybe we’d stop right here, on my stoop.” He pauses a second, his eyes locked on me. “Maybe I’d press you against the wall to my cabin and lean in, lick up your neck, maybe leaving a little mark.”
I close my eyes again, overwhelmed at the visual, wishing it were real instead of imagined. My mind briefly wonders what’s different now than before ... why he’s sharing this little tidbit with me when he shut me down so swiftly before. But I shove that thought aside, choosing instead to just be here in this moment.
“Then I’d bring you inside. Play some soft music. Slip my fingers underneath your bra.”
My lips part, and that’s when I realize I’m panting just slightly, my chest rising and falling with deep, labored breaths at his words. At the picture he’s painting of the two of us.
If he had any idea how much I’m enjoying this little fantasy, he might be tempted to make it come true.
But what’s keeping him from doing that now? The way he’s talking to me, our bodies inches apart, not much is stopping him from making good on all of it.
“Until you were desperate,” he continues, his voice lowering as his mouth gets closer to my ear. “Until you were so needy, you would take control. Maybe shoving me back on the bed or the couch, straddling me and writhing against me.”
His lips brush against my neck, or maybe it’s his nose, I can’t tell. All I know is that the small touch sends a shiver ricocheting through my chest and along my spine.
I am needy and desperate, I want to tell him.
But instead, I stay silent, hoping he’ll continue this story, tell me what the night could have looked like if things had been different.
His shoulder brushes against mine, just lightly, just enough to know he’s moved closer ...
“Murphy?”
My eyes fly wide, the sound of my name like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head, and I spot Micah watching the two of us with a furrowed brow.
“Hey!” I say, my voice betraying the fact I was caught doing ... whatever this was.
With Wes.
“When you didn’t show up at the warehouse I figured I’d try to catch you on your way.” His words come out slow and even, but his gaze is pinned on Wes. A beat passes before he looks to me again. “I’m glad I found you.”
I glance at Wes, an odd expression on his face that surely matches mine. “I’ll see you later,” I mumble, before pushing off the stoop and walking toward where my brother stands with his hands on his hips. “Hey,” I say again. “Sorry for being late.”
It’s not every day you’re getting dirty-talked into a panting mess and your brother interrupts. I’d like for that to never happen again, please and thank you.
“That’s okay.” His voice is more like a growl, and I notice he’s still watching Wes behind me.
I slip my hand in his and give him a tug down the path heading toward the warehouse. “So tell me about the cellar,” I say. “And all the other changes on the property I might not know about.”
His eyes are focused on the ground as we walk. “What’s going on with you and Wes?”
I almost trip over my feet when he asks.
Unlike Memphis and me, who have grown up learning the art of avoidance from my father, my baby brother is much more direct. He might not be a big talker, but when he has something to say, he says exactly what he means.
“What are you talking about?” I respond, hoping that if I play dumb, he might, too.
But no such luck.
“Don’t be an idiot. What was that back there?”
I shake my head, but no words come out.
That was nothing is what I want to say. You must have misunderstood is another option. But instead of either of those things, I just stay silent.
“Look, I don’t think Wes is the kind of guy you should be getting involved with.”
My eyebrows rise. “What do you mean by that?”
Micah lets out a long sigh but doesn’t say anything else.
He’s not ignoring me, I can tell. This is just one of his things. When he’s unsure about how to share something, he goes really quiet, weighing things over in his mind like he’s trying to decide what’s most important.
I like that I know him well enough to recognize that telltale face, but don’t like being on the receiving end of his careful contemplation to the point where he feels like he needs to be cautious with what he tells me.
“I just don’t trust him,” is all he finally says. I know he’s being a protective brother, but I don’t like the way those words settle like a sinking stone in my gut.
“Look, Micah. It doesn’t matter, okay?” We come to a stop outside the warehouse. “There’s nothing going on between me and Wes.”
My brother narrows his eyes at me.
I know he can hear it in my voice. The lack of sincerity.
I’m not trying to lie to him. I’m honestly not. There isn’t anything going on between me and Wes. And there won’t be moving forward, because something about Wes really does shake me up inside. I just know that it’s not a good idea to get entangled with him. And I don’t doubt he feels the same way.
But even though those things might be true, there’s something not entirely genuine about what I’ve said.
And Micah knows it, almost as much as I do.
“Really,” I continue, hoping to drive the point home.
My brother lets out another sigh, his hands on his hips.
“All right, well, just know that you can talk to me,” he eventually says.
I can tell he’s choosing to drop the topic of me and Wes—or at least set it to the side for now. He nods in the direction of the warehouse’s front door. “Let me show you around.”
His big hand rests gently on my shoulder for a quick moment before he turns and leads me inside.
I love my baby brother. I’m four years older than him, so when I was little, it was usually Memphis that I played with and talked to. He’s three years older than me, and I looked up to him a lot. Once Micah was old enough to talk, we grew a lot closer, though the truth is that all of us were pretty independent from each other.
The one thing I know for sure is that I’m thankful for who he has become in my life over the past nine years.
He’s the only one in our family who knows what happened in LA, and he’s the one who talked to Dad about me coming home. I know he probably had to go to bat for me in some way, and that he likely smoothed down some of my father’s ruffled feathers about me suddenly needing to come back.
I’m not sure if I’ll share the details with my dad or Memphis. Or even my aunt Sarah. As much as I truly do love my father and older brother and aunt, I just have no idea how they’ll respond. How they’ll react. Whether they’ll see me as a failure or a fraud. What kind of judgment they’ll heap on my shoulders.
And unfortunately, I’m feeling a little too fragile right now to take anything from them other than a job and a bed.
Someday, maybe things will be different. Someday, maybe we’ll be able to pick up the pieces of our broken family.
But those pieces were shattered to bits before I ever left for LA, and part of me wonders if they’ve been lying broken and forgotten for far too long to be repaired.