2. Milo
2
MILO
“You’re sure you don’t want to come?”
For fuck’s sake…
That’s the third time Brandt has asked that question since we left Hickory Hills, and we’re barely halfway to Atlanta. I’ve lost count how many times he’s asked since the university reached out last year, hoping that Southern Brothers would come be a part of the special summer program they’re offering.
It’s a great opportunity, one that both Brandt and I agreed we couldn’t turn down. It’s also one that I don’t feel both of us need to be a part of. Someone has to stay here and make sure that Southern Brothers runs properly. And I’m more than happy for that someone to be me.
“One thousand percent.”
“It’s not too late. We could get you a ticket at the airport. Have Brenna ship your clothes. Spend the summer having a Rocky Mountain adventure, just like old times.”
Just like old times…
For a second, my insides perk up with a pang that is indescribable. Because when he puts it that way, it’s hard to deny that a little adventure might be nice. Don't get me wrong—I love my life. Brewing beer with my best friend is a dream come true. But every now and again, it feels like something is missing. Don’t ask me what, but something .
“Who you calling old?” I snark back, trying to change the subject.
“Us,” Brandt laughs. “Hard to believe Southern Brothers Brewing is fifteen years old. Speaking of, did you figure out a name for the anniversary brew yet?”
“Nope.”
I answer honestly, kicking myself for the umpteenth time for not being able to come up with something to name our newest product. Our other three—Party Mode, Sob Story, and Silver Lining Sour—all came easily, their names and stories appearing in my mind like a gift from heaven above. This one is a little more…elusive.
“You’ll think of something. You always do,” Brandt reassures. “Maybe what you need is some time away from the brewery. Say, a trip to the Fort…”
“A visit to Fort Collins is not the answer,” I say with a laugh. “Not when we have the new brew to still name, plus dealing with everything to celebrate the anniversary at Rhythm and Brews this year, Rhythm and Brews in general for that matter, finishing up construction of the picnic shelter and tables so we can kick off Drafts and Dig In this fall, plus you know, day-to-day operations.”
“Rhythm and Brews runs itself,” he scoffs. “And Rose can handle all the rest.”
My head whips around to look at him, the rest of me taking special care not to swerve my truck right along with it. Rhythm and Brews does not run itself. The massive festival takes over our entire small town every Labor Day weekend and has an entire committee that works year-round to plan and execute it. It’s a major undertaking, but also the pride of Hickory Hills. Well, Rhythm and Brews and local boy turned country star Dustin Wild.
“Don’t let Willa hear you say that,” I reply, a shiver running down my spine at the thought of my sister’s reaction to his statement. “And we are not putting Rose Adler in charge of day-to-day operations. Or overseeing construction. Girl can market and sell the beer with the best of them, but I’m not letting her anywhere near the accounting. Sure, once the shelter is up, I will absolutely hand off the booking of food trucks to her for Drafts and Dig In, but the actual hammer-and-nails part? Nope, not happening. Not to mention, Pierce has the All Snowed Gin booth this year, so she’s going to be working on that.”
“All Snowed Gin—damn, that’s a good product name. Glad he agreed to come under the Southern Brothers umbrella.”
I nod, agreeing it was a good move, on both Pierce’s and our parts. When Rose got snowed in with a stranger last Christmas, the whole town was a bit concerned. After all, there’s two ways that kind of thing can go—Hallmark or Alfred Hitchcock. Thankfully, it was the former. But to find out the guy was also a fermentation nerd who was working on his own gin distilling was extra exciting. At least for Brandt and me. Rose didn’t seem to care too much. At least until we made him an offer and brought him into the fold.
“Might have to change our name to Southern Brothers Brewing and Distilling now. Especially if you’re gonna do anything with that shine.”
I toss Brandt a look, waiting on the answer I know I’ll get. Moonshine was the first thing he and I ever brewed together. It started mostly as a way to get our own alcohol in high school, creating our own secret still in the back woods. That was, until we discovered how much we loved the process and all the nuances that go into it .
Brandt still plays around with the original still—which is now housed as part of the actual brewery—coming up with fun new flavors, including a sweet tea one. He’s been after my mother, Miss Belle, for the recipe to her famous sweet tea, to try and incorporate it, but hasn’t succeeded just yet.
“Doubtful. Shine’s just for fun. Putting it to market might take the fun out of it.”
“Hasn’t done that with beer.”
“Fair point.”
The conversation lulls, the sound of the road underneath the tires filling the space. There’s a long stretch of highway in front of us, with a whole lot of nothing on either side for the majority of this drive, making it easy to get lost in thought. Which is exactly what I plan to do on the way back to Hickory Hills. I need a stroke of genius to blindside me with the answer to this new beer.
Every Southern Brothers beer has a story, whether we meant it to or not. Party Mode and Sob Story seemed to name themselves. Both ales, one was happier and a little more upbeat, while the other more mellow. Both perfect, everyday drinking beers. Exactly what Brandt and I had been after. Silver Lining Sour was the result of a Brandt experiment gone wrong. He’d been going for something sweet and robust, and what he got was…well, sour. The fact that it was drinkable at all was a silver lining.
The new one is a puzzle I’ve yet to solve though. I knew what we were going for—something light and fun, with that hint of sweet we missed on Silver Lining, but still powerful. A drink that would light you up inside. That part we nailed. The flavor is right, the feelings all there. Yet, still no name.
“Promise me you’ll watch out for her.”
Brandt’s non sequitur pulls me from my thoughts, and it takes me a second to fully understand his request. Still, I can’t help but sass him in return .
“I promise not to let anything happen to the beer. Guard her with my life if I have to.”
“As comforting as that is, I wasn’t worried about the beer. I mean Brenna.”
“I knew what you meant. Brenna will be fine. She’s lived in Athens all these years without you while at school. And I’m sure with Mell home, it’ll be like old times for them.”
"If they get to be too much, don’t be afraid to tell her.”
I shake my head. For as laid-back and easygoing as Brandt usually is, there is a worrywart buried down in there. It only comes out regarding the things and people he loves the most. Like Brenna.
“I have a baby sister; I know how this works.”
“Willa’s different.”
I open my mouth to object, but I stop myself. Because he’s right—Willa and Brenna are different. Brenna—a surprise child if there ever was one—has a double-digit age gap between her and both her older brother and sister. Willa and I are only eight years apart. Not to mention the four brothers between us and the one older than me. Being a simultaneous youngest and “only” child like Brenna is a unique scenario. Willa is just your typical spoiled baby of the family.
Don’t tell her I said that though. Especially since a good portion of the time, I was the one doing the spoiling.
“She’s still a little sister,” I remind him. “And you have nothing to worry about with Brenna. She’s twenty-six and has a good head on her shoulders. She’s not…”
I stop myself before I say it. We don’t need to go there now. Might be the truth, but some things are better left unsaid.
“Bryce?” Brandt finishes for me.
I nod. “Wasn’t gonna say it.”
“We’re both thinking it. She’s not Bryce.”
His tone is underlined with grief, as if all of this falls on him. I know he feels that way, but none of it was under his control. How was he to know that Bryce would drop out of college to run away with the first loser she met, disappear for years, then show back up one day, not only married to a different guy—who is just as much of a loser—with a kid in tow and another on the way?
"Did I tell you she asked if we could find some hours for Topher?”
“What?” I look over at my best friend incredulously. There is no fucking way. “At Pour Decisions?”
“Yup.” Brandt pops the p , just as incredulous as I am.
“Hux not paying him enough?” I ask sarcastically, knowing that’s not even close to the case.
My blood starts to boil, my mind whirring with what on earth they could have possibly said about my middle brother.
“Apparently they could just use a little extra right now.”
I scoff. “That’s rich. Since they’re mooching off your parents while the Scarboroughs rebuild their rental house Topher ‘accidentally’ burned to the ground?”
Brandt just nods, letting the whole thing settle in the air, curdling as if it were spoiled milk.
“She does realize that Southern Brothers is a division of Hayes, so even if we found it in our hearts, he’s subject to the same pay scale and taxes, and accounting would likely put it all on the same paycheck. Hell, your dad is in charge of payroll!”
I shake my head. Things I didn’t think I’d be upset over today.
From the outside, I’m sure to many it looks like Brandt and I were gifted success. After all, I’m a Hayes. As in Hayes Industries, Fortune 500 company based in Hickory Hills, with divisions tackling industries such as guns and ammo, agriculture, paper, personal safety, the brewery, and the local bait and tackle shop. But success wasn’t guaranteed just because my family has money.
No, our success was earned.
Because what people don’t see is all the hard work the two of us put into our operation. All the late nights and early mornings. All those times one of us slept at the brewery to make sure that everything was okay overnight. They don’t know the inner workings—how my dad, Auggie Hayes, President, CEO, and owner of Hayes Industries begrudgingly gave us the seed money, and then told us we were on our own.
We built this business from scratch and are damn proud of it.
“Puh-lease, she wanted me to pay him under the table. That way Dad wouldn’t know.”
I about swerve off the road again. Sweet Jesus, Brandt’s middle sister has got some nerve. But enough of her. If we stay on this subject any longer, I’ll lose my cool. Back to the real topic at hand.
“Do me a favor while you’re gone, and don’t think about any of that. Enjoy this time. I’ll make sure Brenna is taken care of. Same love and care I give Willa, I will give Brenna.”
Which means I need to remember she is a baby sister…even if she is suddenly a lot more grown up than I remember…
“Blatant harassment and relentless teasing? That works.”
I laugh, unable to hold back at his assessment of my treatment of my sister. He’s not wrong. I am a sass-hole. And all-around little sister tormentor. Being child number two does have its advantages.
“Exactly.”
“Maybe you should have your own hot-girl summer,” Brandt suggests, teasing back. “’Bout time you got laid.”
I scoff. “I do just fine.”
“Do you though? I got ten bucks that says the only action you’ve seen since you broke up with that teacher up in Macon is your right hand.”
“First off,” I quip, “sometimes I use the left. You know, to switch it up. And second, cute blonde wine distributor when we were up in Atlanta back in March.” I smile wide at him, a shit-eating grin if there ever was one. “I accept cash.”
Brandt rolls his eyes, reaching into his back pocket for his wallet. I’d say that I hate taking money from him, but that’d be a lie. I love it. Even if he does have a fair point. I’d broken up with Kelly, the teacher he mentioned, almost a year ago. No, more than a year ago. And the gal up in Atlanta, whose name I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember, wasn’t anything to write home about. We were both so sloppy drunk, I’m surprised either of us remember it at all.
“Promise me you won’t work too hard this summer?”
“Stop worrying about us,” I reiterate. “Go back to the Fort, show off Southern Brothers, and make us proud. When you get back for Rhythm and Brews, the beer will be named, Brenna will be a certified pharmacist, and all will be right with the world.”
I hope…