Chapter 18
Eighteen
Ryker
As I pull into my parents’ drive for the Sunday family dinner, my gaze catches on the rows of vines stretching toward the lake, their skeletal arms dotted with the first signs of life.
It’s late March, the time when everything stirs awake. Tiny buds peek through, fragile and full of promise. This is when we all hold our breath, praying the frost stays away so the vines can settle into the season.
One hard freeze could undo it all. I grew up watching this dance between hope and risk, knowing how much rides on timing and temperature. Even now, those buds feel like a heartbeat, one that belongs to all of us.
I love this season of the year. It’s a miracle every time.
I’ve barely shut my car door behind me when I hear the crunch of tires on the gravel drive. Greyson’s SUV pulls in. The back door swings open, and Trinity climbs out with a massive tote bag slung over one arm. In seconds, she has a wriggling baby in the other.
“We’re here,” she announces like she just crossed a finish line.
“Barely,” Greyson mutters, rounding the front of the car. His shirt’s streaked with something that might be formula, and one of his shoelaces is untied. “We forgot the pacifier. Again.”
“I told you to put one in the glovebox,” Trinity says through clenched teeth as she adjusts the bag on her shoulder.
“Didn’t we have, like, four of those things?” he fires back.
“None of which are currently in this car.”
“All right, hand him over,” I say, stepping in as Mom appears behind me.
“I have spare pacifiers in Theo’s room,” she assures them.
Mom has turned the old housekeeper’s room into a makeshift nursery in hopes that she’ll have plenty of time with Theo and, eventually, other grandchildren, I’m sure. She may be sorry.
Trinity sighs in relief and passes Theo to me. His tiny face is scrunching like he’s about to lose it.
“He needs to be changed,” Trinity says, practically tossing the diaper bag inside when we reach the front door. “And I think I sat on a burp cloth that used to be clean but is now…definitely not.”
Without missing a beat, Mom takes the bag and the reins. “Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get him sorted.” She collects the baby from me, and Trinity follows her into the house, already unbuttoning the top of her blouse.
I wave as they go. Greyson rests against the porch rail and scrubs a hand down his face. “Tell me it gets easier.”
I smirk. “You’ve seen the charts, right? Sleep deprivation peaks at six weeks, and he’s what—five?”
“Five weeks and three days,” Greyson says. “But who’s counting?”
I clap him on the shoulder. “You’re doing fine. You just look like hell.”
He huffs out a tired laugh. “Thanks. That helps. I’ve actually considered faking an emergency and going to the sleep room at the hospital for just one uninterrupted night.”
“I won’t tell Trinity.”
He shakes his head, and we go to the living room. I can hear Mom cooing in that high, ridiculous baby voice she only uses for her grandchild. Dad’s pouring wine. No one blinks twice at all the activity.
This is how my family works. Someone drops the ball, someone else picks it up. No questions, no guilt. Just instinct.
I follow Greyson into the kitchen, watching him automatically check the monitor even though Theo’s just two rooms away.
He catches me watching. “I’m not paranoid. I’m just…”
“In love with a tiny dictator,” I finish for him.
Greyson cracks a real smile. “Exactly.”
It doesn’t take long before Mom is back at her post, working on the dinner, the scent of beef stew and couscous filling the air. “Trinity and Theo will be out shortly. She’s going to nurse him and hope he settles down for a nap so she can eat some dinner.”
“Thanks, Mom.” Greyson gives her a side hug. “We really appreciate everything you and Dad have done.”
Dad grabs Greyson for something to do with one of his vats, and as they head out to the warehouse, I stick around with Mom.
“Hey, sweetheart.” She wipes her hands on a towel and walks over, pulling me into a hug. “Where’s your guest?”
I shake my head. “She’s not coming.”
Mom doesn’t ask why. She just holds on a moment longer, then pats my back and pulls away to look up at me. “Have patience,” she says softly. “It’s hard for her too.”
I nod, throat tight, not trusting myself to speak.
She’s not wrong. Being here, surrounded by the people who love me, should feel good.
But all I can think about is how much I want Ginny to see this, see us.
Not the feud, not the gossip or the expectations, just family.
But she’s not here. I hoped she would decide to take a risk, give this a chance, but she’s not ready to change her mind.
And hope, like those buds on the vine, is fragile, and too much frost can kill it.
“She said to tell you thank you for the invitation,” I manage.
Mom smiles gently. “She’ll come around. If she’s anything like you, it just takes a little time and someone stubborn enough to wait her out.”
I let out a breath, trying to chuckle. “I can do stubborn.”
She gives me a nod. “That’s my boy.”
Dinner’s almost ready. I take my usual seat, but tonight, it feels different. I wonder if it’ll always feel like something’s missing now.
And if Ginny never feels ready for this… I don’t know what that means.
Mom disappears into the kitchen, and I’m about to grab a drink when the front door swings open with Tarryn’s usual flourish.
“There you are.” She kicks off her boots and shrugs out of her jacket. “Took you long enough.”
“Nice to see you too, T,” I say, brow raised. “You planning on saying hi or just passing judgment?”
“Both.” She crosses the room and gives me a quick hug. “Hi. Now go pour yourself something strong. You’ll want it.”
That gets my attention. “Why?”
She grins. “Because when Kingston lands, I need you in the library. All four of you. Me, you, Beckett, Greyson, and our golden boy jetting in from the city.”
I frown. “You want a full sibling summit?”
“Correct.”
“What’s going on?”
Tarryn shakes her head. “Not until everyone is here. I don’t want to repeat myself.”
“Tarryn.”
“Nope.”
She pats my cheek like I’m five and moves toward the kitchen. “Go pretend it’s a normal Sunday night for Mom’s sake. I’ll come find you when it’s time.”
I watch her disappear into the kitchen. My stomach knots. Whatever this is, it isn’t dinner-table gossip.
Kingston’s boots echo down the hallway as he arrives. His duffel bag drops to the floor with a heavy thunk.
“Sorry,” he says. “I was in the lab and lost track of time.”
Tarryn doesn’t even blink. She’s already halfway down the hall, tossing a sharp, “Library. Now,” over her shoulder.
We exchange glances. Beckett lifts a brow, Greyson sighs, and I just follow. When Tarryn’s like this, it’s easier to comply than question. She’s been this way since she was born. We’re used to it.
Once we’re inside the library, Tarryn closes the door, but she doesn’t move. Her fingers tremble slightly as she crosses her arms. She takes a breath. “I think Zach is sabotaging the vineyard.”
The words land like a rock in the middle of the room.
Kingston blinks. “You think Zach is doing what now?”
Tarryn shifts her weight, chewing her lip before answering.
“Look, I know how it sounds. But I’ve been watching him.
Things are not right. Today, I discovered two barrels missing from the cellar.
” Her voice wavers for just a second. She presses her hand against her chest, like she’s trying to steady her own heartbeat.
“I’ve been documenting everything,” she continues.
“Little things that don’t add up. His timecards.
Tank temperatures. Where he’s working and when.
” She looks around at us. “And Ryker overheard him having a weird phone conversation weeks ago. That’s when I first started really keeping track. ”
“Are you sure you’re not just looking for a scapegoat?” Beckett asks. “Zach’s been working double shifts. That doesn’t scream saboteur.”
Greyson tilts his head. “Why haven’t you told Dad?”
“Because I don’t have anything real. Not yet. I wanted more before I said anything.” Her hands flex, curling into fists, then opening again. “But it’s starting to feel like waiting could be worse.”
Beckett edges closer. “And you’re sure it’s not just paranoia?”
“I’m not sure of anything,” she snaps, then immediately softens. “But something’s wrong. I can feel it. And if we wait too long, we won’t just lose the vines. We could lose a lot more than that.”
The door swings open before anyone else can speak.
Mom.
She scans the room, her expression sharp. “What’s going on in here?”
Tarryn’s breath catches. “We were talking about some things at the vineyard,” she says, voice lower now. Controlled. But I can see her swallowing hard.
“What things?” Mom presses.
Tarryn looks at us like she’s hoping for backup, but none of us moves. She draws a slow breath and forces the words out. “I think Zach’s been messing with the vineyard. On purpose.”
Mom stares. “Messing with—? Are you serious?”
Tarryn nods, hands clutched tightly.
Mom’s face twists in disbelief. “No. If you’re talking about sabotage, we’re not doing it in here. Come to the table. Tell your father.”
Tarryn opens her mouth as if to object but seems to think better of it.
We follow in tense silence.
Dad is already seated with his daughters-in-law when we arrive, sipping his wine, oblivious to the storm walking toward him. He looks up, brow furrowed. “What’s all this?”
“Tarryn has something she wants to say,” Mom tells him.
Tarryn’s throat bobs as she swallows, and she looks like she might bolt. But she doesn’t. Instead, she squares her shoulders and steps forward.
“I think Zach is undermining the vineyard. Quietly. On purpose.”
The room freezes.