12. Milo
12
MILO
Death by meeting.
I’m pretty sure that’s a book. That factoid sticks out in my mind like something my father mentioned once upon a time. Probably because he hates them just as much as I do. But one does not run a Fortune 500 company—a family empire, really—without spending time in meetings.
Thankfully, as the kid who decided he wanted to brew beer for a living, I don’t sit in as many as he or Gus does.
Don’t get me wrong—I still sit in too many for my liking. But thanks to opening up a taproom, I can now convince just about everyone that our meeting should be done over cold Southern Brothers rather than a boardroom.
Except Munch.
And honestly? I wouldn’t have it any other way. Because this time is sacred.
When you’re one of seven kids, you have built-in friends. Friends that in no way respect your privacy, are always underfoot, and are never at a loss for a way to taunt you. But friends, nevertheless. And I hit the jackpot with my brothers. And Willa. Can’t forget her .
“I don’t think we’re asking too much here, Will,” Anton says, trying to drive his point home. “Nash is a Hayes now. He plays for the Hayes team.”
“Again, you can take it up with him. I’m not involving myself,” she counters.
“Don’t act like you don’t care.”
Willa’s head snaps up, her baby-blue eyes trained on the brother just under me in the lineup. I focus on the fried chicken drumstick in my hand, letting the glorious mix of spices burst on my tongue in a tango that is inexplicably perfect. I don’t need to look at my sister to know the look she’s giving Anton or that it’s the literal definition of if looks could kill. She might be a former Miss Georgia—just like our mama—but she’s also a spitfire.
“We’re going to pretend that for a second you didn’t just insinuate that I don’t care about tug-o-war. Because that’s ridiculous.”
“Then you know we need Nash if we’re going to beat the Nobles this year!”
Willa huffs out a breath, her nostrils flaring like the dragons in that book she wouldn’t shut up about last summer.
“I want nothing more than for you to kick the boy cousins’ asses, reclaiming the Hayes family title that you lost last year when Jace ‘slipped,’” she says, her tone clear, almost mocking as she says the word slipped, making finger quotes to reference Jace’s lame excuses. “Because we are all tired of Z mentioning it at every town event.”
All six of us Hayes men let out a collective noise, lamenting that she even brought it up. The Hayes family and the Nobles have been competing against each other at tug-o-war during the Fourth of July town picnic for decades. It’s not fancy—only thing the winner gets is bragging rights, which in a small town is important—but it doesn’t need to be. It’s tradition. And the Hayes have the winning record.
However, last year, Jace screwed up. He maintains that he slipped, but I don’t know how much any of us are buying that. But whatever the cause, it gave Atlas, Ezra, Landon, and Zachary—Z for short—Noble, aided by Nash and Noel Keller to even out the numbers, the in they needed. The boy cousins, as the Noble men are affectionately referred to around town, since the four brothers are the son of Rod Noble, whose brother, Ken, only has two daughters, Kenzie and Moira, have been bragging about it—boisterously—ever since.
“But I told Nash I wouldn’t interfere. Which side he chooses is his choice.”
“He’s a Hayes now; he plays for us,” Gus says, as if he’s reciting law.
“Is he though? They aren’t married,” Hux counters, his mouth full of cornbread. “Even then, that’d make her a Keller, not him a Hayes.”
“He’s a Hayes. Has been since he busted in here and gave us all that speech about choosing her,” Jace comments.
Willa’s smile grows bigger, unable to hold it back with the mention of that moment. I have to admit, it was a good speech. Who knew Nash Keller had that in him. I’m inclined to agree that Nash solidified himself as part of this family then—if not before that moment given how it all went down between them—but opt to keep my mouth shut.
“Just tell him that if he wants to get laid ever again, he plays for us,” Anton says.
“Well now,” Auggie’s deep southern drawl interrupts. He walks into the conference room, smirking and shaking his head, not bothering to stop and ask what we’re talking about before starting to make a plate. “That’s a threat if I ever heard one. ”
“Wait,” Ewan pipes up, pointing his drumstick at Anton like a gavel. “We can't just steal him. That’ll make things uneven.”
“They’ve got Jake, or even Dustin that they can pull from. Problem solved.”
I take another bite of chicken, shaking my head. This is why Munch is so special. We’re clearly solving all the world’s problems over fried chicken and cornbread.
“Had I realized chicken was on the menu today, I would have run down here before y’all grabbed all the drumsticks,” Auggie laments. I hold up one, offering it to him, but he waves me off. “For some reason I could have sworn Miss Harriett said we were having mac ’n cheese.”
The mention of mac ’n cheese jolts me, ripping my attention away from the discussion that is still ensuing. Instantly, my mind rushes back to a couple of weeks ago when I made it for Brenna. The look on her face when she realized what I was cooking. The excitement in her voice as she told me about her first day at Hickory Hills Drugs. The little noises she made while eating it, which were almost as good as the noises she made when I walked in on her the week before.
Most of all, the way her breath caught when I asked her on a date.
My pulse jumps, the subtle noise now on repeat in my head. At least until my brain skitters to the end of murder mystery night and her sigh as I kissed her. The hitch and the sigh mingle together, creating a remix that goes straight to my dick, making the rest of me long for a repeat.
Something that can’t happen. Because it shouldn’t have happened the first time. Even if kissing her again is something I’ve thought about pretty much nonstop since that night.
“More important than tug—Hayes Games. We ready to try log rolling again?” Hux asks .
“Only if you want to be disowned, son,” Auggie replies.
“Or castrated,” I offer, earning a few laughs.
Hux knows better. Log rolling was banned from Hayes Games—the series of competitions that the six of us boys do every year after we win tug-o-war—after I broke my ankle five years ago. The tradition started when I was in high school, thinking it would be more fun than the town picnic. Ewan, the baby of us boys, was just ten, but was still all in. We all were. None of us cared one bit about eggs on a spoon or a water balloon toss. So we created something better. The events have changed over the years as we got older, but it’s still a highlight of our year.
Just the thought of bringing back log rolling makes my ankle hurt, and I flex it under the table, trying to make the ache disappear.
“Fine, standard lineup then. I’ve got the axe throwing course all set. Ewan, if you want to bring the Tannerite for us to shoot, and Milo, you still got the toilet seats for horseshoes?”
I freeze. Well, my body freezes. My brain, however? That goes into a tailspin.
For the first time since I created the Hayes Games, I’m not going to be attending.
There’s a part of me that is sad. I invented this tradition. But there’s another part of me—the bigger part, if I’m honest—that is excited because I get to spend the day with Brenna. All day, just us. Okay, just us and the entire town. But still, us, with no agenda other than enjoying each other’s company.
“Yeah, they’re in storage at Pour Decisions. But I’ll have to bring them to you, since I’m not going to make the games this year.”
Everything in the room comes to a screeching halt, all eyes on me. Even Willa, who doesn't partake in the games. It’s like one of those scenes in a movie where the record scratches and bewilderment takes over. Can’t blame them really. I’d be the same way if the roles were reversed. Which means it’s time to come clean.
I mean, explain.
“I’m taking Brenna to the Fourth picnic.”
“Why?” Hux asks.
“Can’t she go with Mell?” Anton follows up.
“You’ve never missed Hayes Games,” Gus tosses in for good measure.
Thanks, dude, I know…
I swallow hard, trying to find the best way to explain this. I don’t want to betray Brenna’s secret. She confided in me because she trusts me. I can’t break that trust. I do need to find a way to help them all understand why this is so important though. Without betraying both her and the feelings I don’t quite understand—and that I certainly won’t be admitting to.
“Wait, is this…a date?” Willa asks. Her eyes go wide, like she’s suddenly discovered that secret vault of treasure in the desert like Aladdin. Actually, to Willa, this information might be more valuable than anything found in the cave. “It is, isn’t it?”
I nod. I’m a man; I can admit it. “Yes, I’m taking Brenna on a date to the Fourth of July picnic.”
Chaos erupts. Everyone talks at once, spouting off…well, it’s hard to tell with so many voices talking at once. Had I known that such a simple statement was going to make all hell break loose, I would have…you know, I don’t know what I would have done. But something different.
“Hold on, hold on,” Auggie says, calming everyone down. “Let him explain.”
Grateful as I am that our father put a stop to the ruckus, I didn’t realize that I would have to explain myself. Gosh.
“Figured that statement was pretty self-explanatory. ”
“You’re dating Brenna?” Hux tries to clarify.
“I’m taking her on a date.”
“What’s the difference?” Anton chides.
Ummm…good question. I don’t have the answer, but I do know there is a difference. Because of course I’m not dating her. That would imply there’s a future in this. Which there isn’t. It’s finite. Just the two dates.
“None of your damn business, is what it is,” I try.
“It is if you’re ditching us for some girl,” Gus states.
“Brenna’s not some girl!” I snap. The response is out of me in a nanosecond and significantly more terse than I expected. All of my brothers look at me, most of them with eyebrows raised, waiting on an explanation.
It’s the truth though. Brenna is not “some girl.” And not just because she’s Brandt’s sister. She’s smart and funny and easy to be around. I can’t remember the last time I had as much fun with someone who wasn’t one of my brothers, or Brandt, as I did at the murder mystery night. Much less out with a woman. Not to mention hanging out with her at the apartment. And, believe it or not, for the first time in my life I’m excited about the Fourth of July town picnic. Because if there is anyone who could make all that bullshit fun, it’s Brenna.
“You like her, don’t you?” Willa pokes. She’s good at that. And considering the crap I gave her about Nash, can’t say I don’t deserve it.
“About as much as I like you,” I retort.
“You love me, so…”
Damn it…
“Brenna and I are friends,” I defend. “And, as her friend, I’m taking her on a date to the picnic. End of.”
I look around at the group, and it’s perfectly clear that not a single one of them believes me. Which tracks, because I don’t even believe myself. But liking Brenna—whatever that even means at thirty-eight years old—isn't the first inappropriate crush I’ve had. That was Carly Adams, Gus’s first girlfriend. I kissed her too, but all that got me was a knee to the balls from her and a black eye from Gus. Thirteen-year-old Milo learned that lesson quick.
“You spendin’ the whole day with her?” Auggie inquires.
“Yup. Parade, pancake breakfast,” I list, nodding at Hux, so he doesn't flip out over me trying to skip his best friend’s portion of the day. He and Dolly have been besties since the third grade, and even though they vow that they’re only friends, I can’t help but wonder if he’s in the same boat I am right now. Although, Dolly’s engaged to someone else, so slightly different boat. “Tug-o-war, the picnic, then we’ll find a place for fireworks.”
It’s a full day, but my heart is light thinking about it. It’s the perfect second date. Plus, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about the idea that I’m the one who gets to take her on her first second date. Which means it has to be special. Something that all the others will be compared to. So that she knows exactly how someone who values her is going to treat her.
“Take Fishy Business ,” Auggie says, like it’s the most logical thing to suggest.
Which it’s not.
“What?”
My brain doesn’t have time to react to his words, my mouth working all on its own, spitting out my response. My brothers all have a very similar response, while Willa just smiles, looking like the cat that ate the canary.
Fishy Business is the thirty-three-foot cabin cruiser that Auggie bought Miss Belle as a gift when Willa graduated from college, since they were officially empty nesters and all seven of us were on the legit Hayes payroll and not his personal one .
As far as yachts go, it’s small and rather unassuming, with enough room for all us to hang on it for a day, and a compact cabin that is barely big enough for the built-in table, seats, and bed. But it’s more than enough for the couple of times that my parents use it, which always includes the Fourth of July, so they can watch the fireworks from Silver Lake.
Another important note—none of us kids have ever been allowed to use it solo. Ever . Not once.
“Take Fishy Business ,” he repeats. “It’ll be a good spot to cuddle up and watch those fireworks.”
Cuddle up and watch fireworks…yes, please…but wait…
“And you and Mama are gonna watch them…where?”
He waves me off. “We’ll find somewhere. Don’t you worry. Special girl deserves a special night.”
Yes, she does…
I open my mouth to respond, to try and defend that it’s not like that. Because it’s not. Sure, my dick wants it to be, but my head knows better. My heart…he hasn’t taken a side. Yet.
“Skipping the games and gets to use the sex boat…wow,” Jace mutters.
The room bursts into laughter, including Auggie, who doesn’t bother to correct him. Instead, our father just shakes his head, a knowing smirk taking over as he takes another bite of chicken. Which…is borderline TMI. I love that my parents are still very much in love after more than forty years of marriage and seven kids, but I don’t need any kind of confirmation about what they get up to. On that boat or anywhere else.
Time for a subject change.
“So, are we going to get to this agenda? I have a mash that needs attending to,” I prompt. “Or we might not have a new beer in time for Rhythm and Brews.”
One that still needs a damn name …
It’s enough for Gus to take the lead and launch into everything he has planned for today. Coincidentally, a lot of which has to do with the picnic and making sure that Hayes—a major sponsor—has everything ready.
Which we do.
So I zone out, my mind settling in the same place it has found comfort in the last few weeks. Brenna.
And maybe the sex boat.