Thirty-two
Greyson
T he dogs surround me as I park in the family driveway. I sit down on the concrete and am attacked by slobber, wet noses, and tongues. You’d think they don’t get any attention the way they’re behaving, but I know the truth. These four Humane Society rescue mutts are replacements for all my parents’ children, but I like to think they’re better behaved.
“What are you doing on the ground?” Mom asks.
I scramble to my feet. “They were the welcoming committee, and I couldn’t resist.”
Tarryn walks out of the house. “Have you got a minute?”
“Sure,” I tell her.
Mom waves us off, and I follow Tarryn into the vines. I know it’s serious if she wants to talk out here.
The late-afternoon sun bathes the vineyard in warm light. Tarryn is a few steps ahead, her long strides eating up the dirt path between rows of vines. She hasn’t stopped talking since we left the main house, her voice sharp with frustration.
“Uncle Max is driving me insane,” she snaps, tossing a glance over her shoulder. “He keeps calling me with ‘suggestions’ about how to ‘ maximize profits .’ As if I haven’t been running this place for the last five years.”
“Max has always been good at giving advice he wouldn’t follow himself,” I say, keeping my tone neutral. Family politics have never been my strong suit, and Tarryn’s complaints about Maximus are as old as the vines themselves. He’s always been a meddler, but lately, his meddling feels…pointed.
“It’s not just annoying. It’s disruptive,” Tarryn continues, her arms crossed. “He’s got half the staff second-guessing me because they think he knows better. And don’t even get me started on his pitch to turn part of the vineyard into a wedding venue. A wedding venue , Greyson. Not just the Grill to hold a reception.”
I suppress a smirk. “To be fair, some vineyards do well with that kind of thing.”
She whirls around. “Do you want to run this place? Because if you think you can do a better job, be my guest.”
“Relax,” I say, raising my hands. “I’m just saying, he’s not entirely wrong about diversifying.”
Tarryn groans and turns back to the path, muttering something under her breath. I let her vent, knowing she needs to let it out before she explodes. That’s Tarryn—stubborn, fiery, and as protective of this vineyard as if it were her child.
We round a corner, Tarryn stops abruptly, her hand shooting out to stop me. “What the hell is that?”
I follow her gaze to a cluster of vines a few rows over. At first glance, they look fine, but as we move closer, the damage becomes clear. The leaves are curled and browned at the edges, the grapes shriveled and dry. It’s subtle but unmistakable.
“This can’t be right,” Tarryn mutters, crouching down to inspect the nearest vine. “These were fine last week.”
“Maybe it’s a pest,” I suggest, though the words feel wrong even as I say them. Something about the damage doesn’t look natural.
“No,” Tarryn says, shaking her head. “We’ve been monitoring for that. This isn’t pests, and it’s not disease. It’s…something else.”
The sound of footsteps crunching on the path comes up behind us. Elise approaches, her face shadowed with concern. “What’s going on?”
“Look,” Tarryn says, gesturing to the damaged vines. “This isn’t normal.”
Elise kneels beside her and presses her fingers to the base of one vine, frowning. “Damn,” she mutters. “This looks deliberate.”
“Deliberate how?” I ask, stepping closer.
She points to a faint puncture mark at the base of the vine. “Here. Looks like someone might have injected something. It’s subtle, but it’s there.”
Tarryn’s frustration morphs into something colder, sharper. “Are you saying someone sabotaged the vines?”
Elise stands, brushing dirt off her hands. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
My stomach tightens, and I glance at the rows of healthy vines surrounding us. The vineyard has always felt like a fortress, a symbol of stability and legacy. The idea that someone would target it—target us—feels like a violation.
“This isn’t the first thing that’s gone wrong,” Tarryn says quietly. “The equipment breakdowns, the chardonnay vat turning to vinegar…and now this. It’s starting to feel like more than bad luck.”
Elise nods, her expression grim. “I’ll send samples to the lab and see if we can figure out what was used. In the meantime, we need to be careful. If this gets out, it’ll tank our reputation before we can get ahead of it. ”
I cross my arms, my jaw tightening. “Do you think it’s the Dempseys?”
Elise shrugs, but there’s a flicker of unease in her eyes. “Could be. They’ve never made it a secret how much they hate this place. But it could just as easily be someone trying to stir the pot.”
Tarryn exhales sharply, her frustration bubbling back to the surface. “Great.”
I place a hand on her shoulder. “We’ll figure it out. Whoever’s behind this, they won’t get away with it.”
Tarryn nods. “Yeah. We’ll find them. Please don’t say anything about it at dinner? I want to look into it before everyone starts weighing in.”
“Good idea.”
I follow Tarryn and Elise back to the house, and the aroma of roasted chicken and herbs like a comforting hug as we enter. It’s been too long since I’ve had Mom’s cooking, and even longer since we’ve all sat at this table together.
“Greyson, you made it just in time!” Mom exclaims.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I reply, returning her smile. I take my place among the familiar faces—Tarryn, Kingston, Beckett, Ryker, and Dad.
As we dig in, Tarryn’s eyes are on me, bright with curiosity. “So, Greyson, how was Vancouver?” she prompts.
“Vancouver was…enlightening,” I begin. “Trinity is moving back to Paradise for a while.”
“Really?” Kingston perks up. “How did you pull that off?”
“Actually, I interviewed at Mercy Hospital, and they offered me a job,” I admit. “I’d be willing to go there to be with her. But turns out, for now at least, she wants to be closer to her mom, and I guess…” I pause, feeling the gravity of my next words, “she’s good with us staying together.”
A collective exhale moves through the room, and I realize just how invested they all are in this part of my life. It’s strange but heartwarming. I lean back and bask in the familiar teasing and laughter that follows, the warmth of home. I wasn’t entirely certain they didn’t care for Anita until she’d moved away. But with Trinity, they’ve clearly been fans since the beginning, and I can see how different that feels.
I spear a piece of roasted potato, and just as I’m about to pop it into my mouth, Beckett leans forward, his gaze sharp and inquisitive.
“Would you really have moved to Vancouver?” His question turns all eyes on me.
For a moment, I hold everyone’s attention. “Yeah,” I say with a nod. “For Trinity, I would. And if she decides she wants to go back there in the future, or to Toronto, or the African jungle, for that matter, I’ll pack up and go without a second thought.”
A murmur ripples across the table, and from the corner of my eye, I catch a glance between Mom and Dad.
“Really? You’d just leave Paradise behind?” Tarryn asks, but before I can answer, the conversation escalates around us.
“Wouldn’t be the first time someone chased love across the map.” Mom’s voice cuts through the chatter. We all turn to her. “Your father chased me down on Vancouver Island, where I was working in a small community as a doctor.” She looks to Dad with a fondness that has spanned decades. “He stayed with me for a year until we decided to move back here to Paradise, and that’s when I started my own practice.”
Dad smiles. Love, it seems, has a way of carving paths we never expected to tread, paths that lead us not just across cities, but into the very heart of what it means to be family.
I push my plate aside, still conjuring the image of Dad as a young romantic, chasing after Mom like something out of an old love story.
“Wait, why haven’t we heard this story before?” Tarryn demands.
Dad chuckles. “Well, kiddo, had your mother decided to stay on the island, I would’ve handed the vineyard over to Max and found another job,” he says, nodding toward the window as if Uncle Max might be working among the grapevines right now.
“Ha! He must’ve been rooting for you to stay put then,” Tarryn quips.
Dad shrugs. “Max was just fine running his own ventures. Besides, Grandpa hadn’t retired yet. But anyway, for me, this place—” He spreads his hands wide, encompassing more than just the dining room. “—this is home.”
I watch him, understanding a bit more about the sacrifices woven into the fabric of our family.
Beckett folds his arms. “So, sacrificing for love…” he muses, casting a glance around the table. “Would any of the rest of us do something so bold?”
Ryker snorts. “Depends on the woman.”
It’s Kingston who ends the debate with a statement that rings like a gavel in a courtroom. “If you aren’t willing to give up something big for a woman, you don’t love her,” he says with quiet conviction.
A hush falls over the table, and as I clear my plate, a thought lingers. For Trinity, I’d do anything. But what does that look like? Sacrifice isn’t one big decision made in a vacuum. It’s the small, everyday choices. And for her, I’m ready to make every one of them count.
Over dessert, Tarryn tells us about the crush party she’s planning in a few weeks—live music, grape-crushing competitions, and food trucks galore. She’s given us all jobs and responsibilities. “We’re going to have a great time!” she declares. “You should be sure to bring Trinity.”
I assure her I’ll make the invitation, though Tarryn will likely invite her herself.
When everyone’s finished, I help Mom clear away the dessert plates. “Tarryn’s buzzing like a bee in springtime,” I chuckle, stacking plates with care in the kitchen. “She can’t wait for Trinity to join our circus of a family.”
Mom wipes her hands on a dishtowel. “Just make sure Trinity isn’t overwhelmed. Your brothers and this business can be a lot to take in. But she’ll find her place here,” Mom says confidently.
I turn to the sink, sleeves rolled up, ready to tackle the mountain of pots and pans.
“Speaking of which,” Mom adds, “when does she come back?”
“About a month,” I tell her. “She’s wrapping things up in Vancouver, and then she’s all yours to interrogate.”
A knowing smile dances across Mom’s lips. “Oh, I have no doubt we’ll get along famously.” She laughs. “I raised you boys to speak your minds. I expect nothing less from a woman brave enough to join this family.”
“Trust me, she’s got no problem there,” I assure her, plunging my hands into the sudsy water.
The rhythm of washing and drying becomes a meditative dance between mother and son until finally I dry the last dish and place it in the cupboard. I look at the time and tell Mom I’m headed out, but then I turn to find Kingston leaning against the door frame, a hint of a smile on his face. Mom scoots past him into the other room.
“Hey,” he says quietly as I shrug into my jacket. “Glad to see you took my advice for once.”
I nod, adjusting the collar. “Yeah, chasing Trinity felt right. Thanks.” A pause hangs between us. “I know I said this a long time ago, but I’m really sorry it didn’t work out with Cara.” While Kingston was working on building their new house, she was busy with his good friend.
Kingston looks away, his jaw clenching. Silence stretches, his lack of an answer speaking volumes. He’s always been the fortress among us, walls built high, especially after his heartbreak. “Take care,” he says finally, stepping back as I open the door to the cool night air.
“See you. Thanks again for the good advice,” I reply, stepping into the darkness.
The drive home is quiet, and as soon as I’m through the front door, I pull out my phone and dial Trinity. My heart picks up speed when she answers.
“Hey. I just finished dinner with the family,” I tell her, imagining her face on the other end of the line.
“Sounds cozy. How did it go?” Her voice engulfs me, and I’m reminded of the way she leaned into me the first night we danced, uncertain but trusting. That memory feels like a promise, one I intend to keep.
“Good, good. My parents are excited to meet you when you move here. Is that okay?” I ask, already knowing her answer but needing to hear it.
“Of course, Greyson. I’d be happy to,” she replies.
“Great. It’ll mean a lot to everyone, especially Tarryn. She’s looking forward to having another woman at the table,” I chuckle, sinking onto the couch.
“I don’t think she needs a friend at the table. I think she wants to look out for me,” she clarifies, and I can almost see her playful smirk. “Either way, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Can’t wait for you to be here. Paradise isn’t complete without you.” With her here, it’ll truly be home. “Are you going to give notice to your landlord?”
“I own the apartment, so I guess I’ll need to get it ready for sale.”
“Why are you going to sell it?” I ask. “I think you should keep it.”
There’s a brief silence before she responds. “Are you worried I’m not going to be happy and will want to come back?”
My heart lurches into my throat. “What? No way. I was just thinking it would be a great place to stay when we go back.”
“I don’t think I can afford that. It’s expensive. And if I’m living in Paradise…”
“Listen,” I interject, the solution clear in my mind, “you could move in with me. Your mom can figure out her place when she’s ready. And I’ll pay half the mortgage for your Vancouver place. It’s worth it to have that option available.” Generosity and practicality blend in my offer. I’d be happy to pay the entire mortgage, but I know she’d refuse.
“Half the mortgage?” Her voice lifts, hopeful and surprised.
“Absolutely,” I confirm. “It’s a smart backup plan. Vancouver’s housing market is doing nothing but going up, and keeping your place gives us options.”
“Okay,” she says after a moment, her voice soft with gratitude. “We can do that. I could always make it a rental, and the rent would cover the mortgage.”
“Whatever feels right for you.” My heart warms at the thought of sharing my space with her, making a home together, even temporarily. “Can’t wait for you to be here,” I tell her again.
“What would you do if I were there right now?” she asks, a playful lilt in her voice.
A deep sigh escapes as I close my eyes, imagining. “I’d give you a whole-body massage, start with your shoulders, work down your arms, and then your legs…” My voice drops lower, each word measured and heavy.
“Greyson…” She draws out my name, a moan threaded through it, and I know she’s feeling every word.
“Would you like that?” I tease.
“Very much,” she breathes, and I imagine the flush of her cheeks, the way she’d arch into my touch.
“Are you…touching yourself?”
“Yes,” she whispers, and that word sends heat coursing through me.
“Good.” My voice is a husky murmur. “Because I can’t wait to do that for you in person. Very soon.” I pull my shirt off and drop my jeans, leaving me in my boxers. I settle into bed, phone still clutched in my hand, and switch the call to FaceTime.
Suddenly, she’s right there on my screen, a vision of wanton need. She’s in a little T-shirt, and I’m already hard, throbbing with anticipation.
“See what you do to me?” My fingers wrap around myself, stroking firmly as I angle the phone to give her a full view.
“God, Greyson,” Trinity says, her voice laced with longing. “I wish I could be there.”
“Do you?” I grunt, thumbing the slick bead of pre-cum that has gathered at the tip. “What would you do?”
“I’d kneel before you,” she says, eyes locked on the movement of my hand, “and take that drop with my tongue.”
The thought alone is almost enough to undo me. “Yeah? And then what?”
“Then, I’d suck you deep. Worship you with my mouth.” Her words are like fire against my skin.
“Fuck,” I groan, feeling the pressure build. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you? My cock filling your mouth.”
“I’d stop only to suck your balls,” she adds, and though my eyes are closed, I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Trinity,” I hiss, tension ratcheting up. “I’m so close.”
“Where do you want to come, Greyson?” she asks.
“Your tits,” I rasp, the image of marking her as mine pushing me over the edge. “I want to claim you.”
Her moan reverberates through the phone, electrifying my senses, and with a few more urgent strokes, I reach my climax. The rush of release is intense, and as I spill onto my chest, I hear her own cries of pleasure.
The afterglow is warm, comforting even through the miles that separate us. We lie together, connected by our phones, silent save for the sound of our breathing slowly returning to normal. It’s not long before she’s drifted off, and I follow suit, the distance between us momentarily forgotten.
When the harsh blare of my alarm jolts me awake at five thirty, she groans softly through the phone. “The bed’s cold without you,” I murmur.
“Have a good day at the hospital,” she mumbles. “I’m going back to sleep.”
“Can’t wait to have you here,” I whisper again before ending the call, the promise of her warmth in my bed fueling me for the day ahead.