Chapter 8
Chapter 8
Ryan
I stand just outside the window of the Airbnb, the rain-soaked earth beneath my boots making it easier to stay rooted to the spot. In the near distance, I hear the crashing of the waves. This is what I miss in Texas. My breath fogs the glass as I lean in slightly, the scene inside pulling at me with a force I can’t explain.
Candace sits on the couch, a half-empty bottle of wine on the table and a glass clutched in her hand. She’s staring at something in her lap, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs.
At first, I can’t tell what’s so important—what’s holding her attention with such raw intensity—but then I see it. Something that looks suspiciously like a hospital bracelet, its plastic band gleaming faintly under the dim light, and some kind of paperwork, yellowed at the edges as if it had been handled many times over the years. She runs her fingers over the bracelet, her movements slow, deliberate, almost reverent.
The significance of what she’s holding, what it might be that causes her so much pain hits me like a tank, flattening every rational thought.
My stomach knots, and I press my forehead against the glass, fighting the urge to storm inside and demand answers. But I already know what this is about.
Her words from earlier echo in my head: ‘ That I was pregnant? That I lost the baby? That I almost died that night?’
My father. He had to have known. He could have gotten word to me. Better yet, he might have taken her in.
The realization burns like acid in my veins. It all makes sense now. Her anger, her bitterness, the lengths she’s gone to in trying to destroy everything tied to me and my family. She’s not just doing this out of spite. It’s about what she lost—what was taken from her.
And she blames me.
A part of me wants to argue, to deny it, but I can’t. She’s right. Maybe I wasn’t the one behind the wheel of this disaster, but I didn’t stop it, either. I wasn’t there when she needed me. And my father… God, the man I spent years resenting, might have been the one who pushed her into the car that night, figuratively if not literally.
I watch her gulp down more wine, her tears falling freely now, and my chest tightens. She’s grieving—still grieving—over something I never even knew about.
The anger inside me grows, hot and consuming, but it’s not directed at her. It’s at myself. At my father. At the damn universe for letting this happen.
But there’s one question I can’t shake: Why didn’t she tell me? If not at the time, then sometime between then and now.
Why didn’t she call? Write? Reach out? I’d tried contacting her as soon as I could after joining the Navy, but she’d been gone. She’d taken my truck—at least that’s what I guessed—and vanished. I made sure the truck was signed over to her. After abandoning her, it was the least I could do. I’d never seen it as abandonment, but now with hindsight it is obvious that’s the way both she and Brennen saw it.
But she’d had plenty of time to reach out to me. Even though I hadn’t known about it, the baby had been mine, too. Why didn’t she tell me? Why did she grieve and suffer alone?
The answer doesn’t come, and I know it won’t—not today. Not while she’s sitting there with her grief so raw, and my own barely beginning to surface.
My hand rests on the door for a moment, my fingers brushing the handle. Part of me wants to go inside, to confront her, to demand that she stop keeping this pain to herself.
But I can’t.
Not like this.
I pull back, stepping away from the window, the rain slicking my hair and soaking through my jacket. The cold bites at me, but it’s nothing compared to the heaviness in my heart.
I climb onto my Indian, the engine roaring to life, and take one last look at the window. She’s still there, still lost in her pain, oblivious to me watching her.
I grit my teeth and turn the bike around, heading back to the vineyard.
Not tonight.
Not when she’s already been through so much.
But this isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
I pull into the driveway, the rumble of my bike cutting through the stillness of the evening. The rain has eased, but the storm inside me hasn’t. The house looks the same as it always has—quiet, unassuming—but tonight, it feels heavier, like the walls are holding on to all the secrets and pain that have lingered here for years.
I park the bike and step inside, brushing the water from my jacket. If my motorcycle jacket is all that gets ruined, I’ll call it good.
I’m back at the vineyard and I’ve pretty much had it with everyone and their brother. I slam the door open, rattling the walls as I stride into the fermentation room. My glare immediately finds Brennen, and his startled jump tells me he wasn’t expecting this. Good. Alex trails behind me, positioning himself near the door, his eyes fixed on Brennen. He doesn’t even glance at the woman beside him. That’s probably for the best. This isn’t going to be pretty.
“Brennen!” My voice echoes through the room, and I watch him pale before his expression hardens.
“What the—Ryan?” he snaps, his voice sharp with disbelief and anger. “What the fuck? I thought I made it clear that you weren’t welcome in my winery. I told you to stay away. The winery isn’t any of your business.”
“I told you the other day, Brennen,” I say, keeping my voice calm but firm, “this winery is my business. It’s our family’s legacy, and I’m not about to let it fall into the hands of a bunch of vultures.”
I rub the bridge of my nose, trying to rein in my frustration. “This isn’t just about the Celtic Knot anymore. You’re in over your head, and whether you like it or not, you need my help.”
Brennen’s jaw tightens, and his face flushes with anger. “Emma and I have been holding this place together just fine without you,” he sneers. “We don’t need your help, you arrogant asshole.”
The woman standing a few steps back, watching us like a deer caught in headlights must be Sophie Garrett. Her wide-eyed discomfort makes me think she wasn’t expecting to get caught in the middle of this.
I take a quick glance at her, but before I can say anything, Alex shakes his head subtly at her movement. She freezes, her expression turning suspicious as she narrows her eyes at him. Interesting. Alex hasn’t told her anything. Good man.
“You need me more than you realize,” I say, shifting my focus back to Brennen. My voice is quieter now, but it carries weight. “Why didn’t you call me? All you had to do was tell me you needed cash. I would’ve wired it to you—no questions asked.”
Brennen scoffs and crosses his arms, his expression bitter. “None of that matters any more, big brother.” His hand flies out, pointing at Sophie like she’s some kind of trophy. “Our new winemaker has a major hit on her hands. We’re already sold out. We won first place and best overall white wine in Atlanta yesterday. I did that. Not you. Me! ”
“Several hits,” says the winemaker.
I glance back at Sophie, and she looks like she’s trying to disappear. She shifts backward, and Brennen’s outburst draws my attention fully to her for the first time. “You’re Sophia Garrett,” I say, realizing just who she is, who her family is and where she comes from. “From the California wine family.” She blinks at me clearly nervous, but she’s got grit. “What do you mean by several hits?”
Sophie straightens her shoulders and replies, her voice surprisingly steady. “We’ll have at least four top-notch wines within the next six months. We just bottled a light red that is a masterpiece, and next is a drier white wine. I can promise it’ll be better than anything you’ve ever tried.”
I can be an intimidating sonofabitch, and while she might be intimidated, she’s determined not to show it. “Cocky little thing, aren’t you?”
Her chin tilts up, defiance flashing in her eyes. “You’re only cocky if you can’t back it up. And I can.”
I nod, unable to suppress a flicker of respect, and turn back to Brennen. “It doesn’t matter how many fucking cases you’ve sold. Based on my intel, it won’t be long before Sapphire Development can take ownership of this place. You wait much longer for help, and everything our mother worked so hard for will be gone. Come on, Brennen, do you honestly think you can stop what’s coming with just the orders for the new wine?”
Brennen glares at me, his silence stretching out as the muscles in his jaw clench and unclench. Finally, he growls, “How did you know about…”
I shrug. “Does it matter? I have my sources.”
Brennen shoots a glance at Alex and then turns to me. “You mean spies?”
“Well, yeah.”
“That’s why this guy shows up out of nowhere, isn’t it? And you had Emma plant him to spy on us?”
“And again, yep.” Sophie runs out. I turn to Alex. “Go get your girl, Alex. Brennen and I have some family things to discuss.”
Alex looks between them. “I don’t need to be told twice.”
Alex heads out after Sophie. I hope he can make her understand. From what I can tell, they’re perfect for each other.
The room falls silent as Brennen and I square off. I’m pretty sure we’re about to come to blows, and this time I’m not going to let him have a shot. I’m going to flatten him and then pay the fucking note off and go back to Texas. I need this shit like a hole in the head.
The door bursts open and baby sister walks in. Fuck. Things have just gone from bad to worse.
“What the hell is the matter with you two?” Emma asks. “I told you both that we are going to work together to get this mess figured out. But until then, I’m sentencing you both to a time out. Do not leave this room until you’ve sorted your shit.”
Emma storms out, the sharp click of her heels echoing down the hall. The door swings shut behind her, leaving Brennen and me locked in a silent standoff, eyes locked, tension thick between us.
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand through my hair. “Look, man, I’m sorry,” Brennen says, his voice rough with exhaustion. “I know you’re not here to tear me down. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t care.” Brennen shakes his head, the weight of everything seeming to press down on him. “The baggage is heavy, dude, and I’m just… I’m just trying to hold it together.”
Brennen’s expression softens—just a little—before he exhales and extends his hand. I take it. He grabs it like a lifeline and pulls me in for a hug. I’ve never been much on hugs, but this feels good, and I hug my brother tight.