Chapter 1
Chapter One
Max
Narrator: The house is quiet.
Not a soul in sight while Max lies half hanging off the bed, still in his shoes from his walk the night before. The sun is peeking in through the porthole window off to the right.
His mouth feels like cotton.
His muscles have been stretched in the most uncomfortable way.
And he’s not nearly close to being ready for the Christmas tree season to begin. Because despite being told he was crazy, he could not stop thinking about the invaders from the night before, leading to night terrors and thoughts of Evergreen Farm going out of business.
Remember when I said he leans toward the dramatic? Well, here we go.
“Do you really think that?”
Narrator: Um, you’re not supposed to be interacting with me.
“I respect that, but just out of curiosity, will you be here the entire time?”
Narrator: Yes.
“Good to know. Then if that’s the case, can I ask one thing?”
Narrator: Sure.
“The whole invader situation, did that really happen, or are you siding with my family on the he’s crazy thing?”
Narrator: It happened.
“I fucking knew it!”
Narrator: Now, please, on with the story.
I rub my eye as the sun nearly blinds me through the porthole window as I slowly sit up in bed.
“Motherfucker,” I say as I grip my lower back. “Jesus. Why did I sleep like that?”
I lower my feet to the ground, realizing I wore my boots and coat to bed. Did my family somehow shoot me with a tranquilizer, and I didn’t notice?
I shed my coat and boots, and head to the makeshift bathroom my dad and I built when I moved back into my childhood home.
At the age of thirty, the last thing you want to do is start a new chapter by shacking up with your parents again, but when my dad presented me with the idea of taking over the farm at some point and building my own home on the property, I knew I had one option: move back in so I could save the money to build my own place.
So here I am.
Living in my parents’ attic because my childhood room is now my mom’s craft room, and I prefer the privacy of the third-floor attic with low ceilings, even if I’m a six-four man and fear there’s a spider in my bed every night.
Not to mention the makeshift shower that consists of just a tub with a showerhead and a curtain circling around it.
It all screams I’m moving up in life—definitely not nearing rock bottom in the slightest.
Also, fun fact: I use the shower as a sink and a place to bathe. Really high-end over here.
Don’t worry, there’s a toilet too. I refused to use the bucket Ansel jokingly gave me when he heard I was moving into the attic.
I turn on the shower and start taking care of business, making sure to do an extra special clean of the teeth, flossing and using two rounds of mouthwash.
Once dried off, I slip on a pair of boxer briefs and a green robe.
My morning routine usually consists of sitting at the kitchen island in my robe with a protein drink while watching what Grandpa M refers to as rubbish on my phone.
I stick my feet into my slippers and then head down the creaky wood stairs to the second floor where I catch my parents’ bedroom door wide open. Odd. Mom is usually getting ready at this time.
Maybe she had an early start.
Heading back down the stairs to the main level, I pause at the entryway where the newspaper has been sent through the mail slot in the door but not picked up by my father.
That’s strange.
I pick up the paper, tuck it under my arm, and head to the kitchen, where not a single soul is present. Not a dish out of place, not a warmed toaster in sight.
I scratch the side of my head and do a tight 360, taking in the entire kitchen.
“Uh, Dad?” I call out as I set the paper on the counter. I peek around the corner to the den, looking for any signs of him at his desk, possibly looking through the books for the farm. But nothing.
Straightening up, I move toward the dining room table, calling out, “Mom?”
Nothing but the hum of the furnace fills the house.
Scratching my cheek, I cinch my robe tighter and walk out to the back porch, where my parents sometimes drink their coffee in the morning, taking in the expanse of our tree lot.
When I open the door, the cold mountain air makes my entire body break out into goose bumps, causing everything to . . . shrink.
Yeah, shrink. Okay, I’m not scared to say it. I’m living in a town that’s over ten thousand feet in elevation in the middle of the Colorado Rockies, and the only thing protecting my nether regions from windburn is a pair of cotton boxer briefs and a ten-year-old bathrobe.
I peek around the corner and call out, “Mom? Dad? You out here?”
When I’m only met with the sound of the wind blowing through the tall spruce trees, I quickly check the garage, where both cars are parked, and then tiptoe back into the house as the cold continues to seep into my body.
“Well, fuck. Where the hell are they?”
Needing my phone, I walk back up to my room and sit on the bed, where I shoot them a text.
Max: Hey, where are you guys?
I watch the text go through, waiting for the receipt that says delivered, but after a couple of seconds of it not appearing, the hairs on the back of my neck start to stand.
Okay, that’s weird.
The text message should say delivered.
“Let’s not overreact,” I say to myself. “Because this is exactly what they’d expect, for me to fly off the deep end and start assuming the worst, especially after what we talked about last night. Stay calm.”
I let out a deep breath and then head back down to the first floor.
I pull up my text thread with my brothers.
Max: Hey, do you happen to know where Mom and Dad went this morning? Woke up and couldn’t find them.
I set my phone down and head to the fridge, where I grab a gallon of milk and then reach for my protein powder and shaker bottle.
Pausing for a moment, I pick up my phone, but once again, my text has gone undelivered to my brothers.
What the fuck?
I decide to send a text to someone else to see if maybe it’s my phone.
Max: Can you read this?
I pop open my shaker bottle and start to pour the gallon of milk just as there’s a knock at the front door, startling the fuck out of me. I drop the milk and spill it all over the kitchen counter.
“Fuck.” I right the milk jug and start for the door.
I open it and take a step back when Cole moves forward, holding up his phone to me. “Why did you text this?”
I study his screen and then make eye contact with my less-than-charming best friend.
Nearly a mirror image of me with his messy brown hair and brown scruff lining his jaw.
The difference is I’m taller, far more attractive, with impeccable bone structure, and much more liked because of my stunning smile and cheery disposition.
“I wanted to make sure my phone was working.”
“Why wouldn’t it be working?” He scans me up and down. “And why are you in your robe? Dude, it’s almost ten.”
“Wait? Really?”
“Yeah. What the fuck have you been doing all morning?”
“Uh, freaking out,” I say as Cole enters the house. “Now, I don’t want you to think I’m acting crazy, because I’m not, but dude, I think—” God, he’ll think I’m such a fucking idiot, but I swallow my pride and say, “I think my family disappeared.”
“Jesus . . . Christ,” he mutters as he grips the bridge of his nose. “Actually, I think I’ll just head to the reindeer barn and start on my chores for the day. I can’t deal with this.”
He turns toward the door, but I grab him by the shoulder and turn him back toward me. “Dude, I’m not fucking around. They’re nowhere—”
“Probably because they’re out on the farm, helping everyone open up for one of the busiest days of the season while you traipse around the house in your robe.” He plucks at it. “This thing is disgusting. You need a new one. It’s pelting.”
“It’s fine,” I say, pulling away from him. “It does what it needs to do.”
“Really, because your left nut is hanging out.”
“What?” I glance down only for Cole to chuckle to himself. When I look back up, I can feel the fire in my eyes. “Not fucking funny. And no, they’re not on the farm, because if they were, then my text messages would have been delivered to them, and they weren’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
I take my friend by the arm and lead him through the family room and to the kitchen, where milk is now dripping down the face of the cabinets.
“What the hell are you doing in here?” Cole looks me in the eyes. “Your mom will kill you if she sees this mess.”
I grab a bunch of red napkins that are left over from yesterday and toss them at him. “Help me.”
Begrudgingly, he starts soaking up the milk, or at least attempts to. “These napkins are trash. Hand me paper towels.”
While grabbing the multipurpose cleaner, I also snag paper towels and toss them to him.
We both set out on cleaning up the milk while Cole says, “Now tell me what the hell you’re freaking out about.”
“My parents aren’t here,” I say, knowing in my brain that it sounds crazy, but seriously, why wouldn’t they have at least left a note or something? “Do you think . . . do you think they were kidnapped?”
Cole lets out a deep breath and then tears a few more squares of paper towel off the roll to start helping me again. “Maybe they’re busy and they can’t respond.”
“The messages are going undelivered, man. That means they’re not even getting them. And they always have their phones on. And I tried texting my brothers, but they haven’t responded, and the text says undelivered too. I really think something happened.”
Cole picks up the half-soaked newspaper that was on the counter and sets it to the side, only to pick up an envelope and say, “What’s this?”
I glance at it with a shrug. “I don’t know.”
“It has your name on it.”
“Really?” I snag the envelope. “It’s in my dad’s handwriting.”
“Hmm, maybe it’s a clue to the mystery you’re trying to solve,” Cole says with an eye roll.
“Maybe it is,” I reply, head held high. I will not let his sour attitude tear me down.
I open up the envelope while Cole finishes cleaning the counter.
I read it out loud. “Atlas, as you read this, we’re currently on an airplane headed for Europe.
” I look up from the letter and say, “Europe? Why are they headed to Europe?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you keep reading and find out?”
Clearing my throat, I continue. “I surprised your mom with a trip to Europe to check out all the Christmas markets.” I pause. “Ah, she’s always wanted to do that. What a nice thing for my dad to do.”
“Yeah, imagine that. They didn’t disappear, just took a trip.” Cole shakes his head.
“You know, I can do without the sarcasm.”
“I could do without the idiocy, and yet here we are.”
Ignoring him, I continue. “I didn’t tell you because even though I trust you with the farm, I don’t trust you with keeping a secret.”
“Isn’t that the truth?” Cole mutters.
I side-eye my best friend. “We will be gone until Christmas.” I look up. “Christmas?!” I shout. “What the fuck? They’re gone until Christmas?”
Annoyed, Cole snatches the note from me and continues reading.
“Everyone has been briefed about their responsibilities this season. Mitch will be watching over the day-to-day, while Kate will be taking over Mom’s responsibilities with the vendors.
They’re in training and will be looking to you for any questions they might have.
This is your chance to prove to us that you can really take over the farm.
I’m trusting you to do a good job . . . I know you will.
We’ll be in touch. Love you. Dad.” Cole tosses the letter to the side and takes a seat at the island.
“There you go, the chance you’ve been waiting for. The farm is yours to watch over.”
I pull on my hair. “Yeah, but . . . I mean, a little warning would have been nice. Everyone was briefed but me? He didn’t think I could keep a secret.”
“I wasn’t briefed, so maybe he didn’t think either of us could keep a secret. But with me, it’s because your mom always knows when I’m lying. You just can’t keep your mouth shut.”
I hate that he’s right about that.
“I just . . . I feel so unprepared.”
“Unprepared? You’ve been working on the farm nearly your whole life. If Mr. Maxheimer gave me the role, I’d be able to do it in my sleep just from watching you.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a compliment or an insult.”
“Who cares?” Cole says. “Just take this opportunity and run with it. You’ve been wanting your dad to retire for a while, so now is the time to show him that he can leave the farm with you and he can finally retire.”
I nod. “You know, I think you might be right.” I puff my chest, letting the lapels of my robe fall slightly more open to show off my pecs. “I think I’m going to take charge, make this farm mine.”
“Great,” Cole deadpans. “But can you do it with some clothes on? Because”—he gestures toward me—“woof, man.”