Chapter 23 Ewan
EWAN
Sucking in a long, hard breath, I tell myself to just fucking do it. That it’s now or never. I’m a grown-ass man and this is no big deal. Just tap the fucking button.
Closing my eyes, I move my thumb quickly, hitting the little spot on my screen, letting the whoosh of the sent text fill the air and sending my anxiety skyrocketing.
Got time to talk?
At least it’s better than we need to talk. Although, not by much.
Gus
Always. At Pour Decisions. Need me to come to you?
My oldest brother’s reply is swift and succinct, as if I would expect anything less from him.
Looking up from my phone, I scan the parking lot, looking for Gus’s very distinct 1971 Glacial Blue Plymouth Barracuda.
A car that you could not miss in most crowds if you were blindfolded, but you most certainly don’t in Hickory Hills.
And you absolutely would not miss it in the all but empty parking lot of your second oldest brother’s bar in the middle of the day.
Although it’s convenient that he’s already here.
My plan had been to go drown my feelings while simultaneously filling myself with liquid courage while I waited for a response, but looks like that’s out.
On my way
Piling out of my truck, I make my way into the old, warehouse-like space that now acts as a taproom for Southern Brothers Brewing.
The large, open area is filled with tables, with a long roughcut bar on the far end.
Two garage-style doors behind it open to a grassy area that is now home to a picnic shelter and tables for their weekly Drafts and Dig In night, before leading to the actual brewery building on the far side of the property.
The whole operation has come a long way since Milo and Brandt started it up more than fifteen years ago.
“That was quick,” Milo comments from behind the bar as I weave through the tables toward him and Gus.
“What, were you sitting in the parking lot?” Gus quips.
“Actually…” I settle on the stool next to him, letting my non-answer linger. “Speaking of, where’s the ’cuda?”
“Spa day with Ken.”
Spa day?
I look at my brother incredulously. I know he takes that car seriously—a little too seriously, which is the only way Gus knows how to do anything—but calling your car going in for maintenance a “spa day” is next level.
Even for him. I also can’t imagine that Ken Noble, the town mechanic, is advertising spa days for vehicles.
Past that, why is he here waiting on his car and not the office?
Pour Decisions is closer to the center of town and A Noble Mechanic than Hayes headquarters where Gus’s office is, but it’s not walking-distance close.
At least, I wouldn’t have thought so. So why not get a ride to the office? And where’s Margeaux in all this?
Shaking my head, I turn to look at Milo on the other side of the bar, as if he’s going to provide some answers. Sassy smile firmly in place, Milo chuckles, tossing his bar towel over his shoulder.
“My advice, baby brother? Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answers to.” He nods, and I can’t disagree with him. Because I know no matter what I say, Gus will only have an even more ridiculous justification. Not worth it. “Drink?”
“It’s eleven a.m.”
Milo lifts one shoulder casually. “We don’t judge here. But if you don’t want a beer, I’ve got the lemonade we make the shandies with or some bottles of water out back. Or one of Bronwyn’s Diet Cokes—just don’t tell her.”
The fact that our marketing director has her very own stash of her preferred drink behind the bar says a lot.
Not that long ago, Milo and his business partner, Brandt, staunchly held to the line about not being a full bar, and therefore only served Southern Brothers beer.
He’s always kept water on hand too—whether bottles or simply from the tap—but for a long time that was the only other option.
Until Brandt came up with the Sobbin’ Shandy—mixing their hallmark ale with lemonade—and they started to keep that as well, even if not sold separately.
Then we hired Bronwyn, a non-drinker who might as well hook herself up to a Diet Coke IV.
So much so there’s some in the Southern Brothers mini fridge.
Soda isn’t what I need right now, however. This is definitely a beer conversation.
“Actually, a Party Mode sounds good,” I tell him, hoping he really meant that not judging thing. Given that I’m not the only brother in here, hours prior to the taproom opening, I think I’m safe.
Milo nods, grabbing a pint glass and tugging on the wooden handle, amber liquid pouring from the spout.
“So, what’s up?” Gus asks, closing a manila folder and pushing it to the side. “Everything okay?”
“It’s…yeah, it’s fine.”
Milo slides the pint glass across the bar in my direction, and I take it from him, the glass cold against my hand, sending a shiver through me.
I take a long sip, letting the taste of beer settle over my taste buds, distracting me from the wild swirl of thoughts and emotions trying to take over inside my brain.
“That’s not terribly convincing,” Gus replies, taking a swig of his own beer.
“Sorry, I…” Running my hand down my face, I try to gather my thoughts. “Didn’t get much sleep last night. I was up all night…thinking…and…”
I trail off again, still trying to muster up the courage to have this conversation.
To ask the fully loaded question. These are my older brothers, and for as much shit as we all give each other, I know they have my back.
I know there’s no judgment here. Not real judgment anyway.
Safe space or not, that doesn’t make doing this any easier.
“Ewan, out with it,” Gus presses.
It’s now or never…
“What would it look like if I signed The Booby Trap over to Hayes?”
Both of my brothers freeze, as if they looked Medusa in the eye and she turned them to stone. I don’t even think they blink. The whole warehouse is silent, the proverbial pin drop more than loud enough to be heard. Hell, I think a church mouse could fart and it would echo through here.
“What?” Gus asks, finally spitting something out, quickly followed almost simultaneously by Milo’s “Seriously?”
“What would it look like—” I start to repeat, but Gus cuts me off.
“No, I caught what you said. That doesn’t make it make sense though.”
No, it doesn’t. It also doesn’t make it hurt any less either.
I’m damn proud of the business I’ve built—on my own—over this last decade.
The last thing I ever thought I’d do was officially sign it over to the family company.
But, if that’s what it’s going to take to be able to make everything work… then it isn’t a question.
“I just need to know what it would look like. What my options are.”
“Why?”
Gus’s face turns skeptical, his brow furrowing as he searches me for some kind of answer. Like I’m hiding a major secret that will only come to light after he agrees to my demands.
“Does it matter? You’ve been pestering me about this for years. You brought it up at Sunday dinner a few weeks ago.”
“It does if you or the store are in some kind of trouble and it’s going to put the company at risk.”
Oh, fuck me. Seriously, Gus? That’s where your head went?
I roll my eyes, reminding myself that this is who he is, and that deep down, this is his way of showing he cares. He has a funny way of showing it sometimes.
“August,” Milo chides, giving him a serious case of side-eye. The only one of us who can get away with calling Gus by his full name, Milo takes advantage of that often, keeping him in check.
“You’re not in trouble, are you?” Gus follows up, this time with more concern in his voice.
“No. Exact opposite, actually, from a business standpoint. I’ve actually got a new partnership in the works to potentially expand my touring operation.”
“Fuck, yes!” Milo holds out his fist and I bump it, letting the excitement bubble up in me for a second. But only for a second.
“Then what’s really going on here?” Gus pushes. “Because I know you, and you haven’t been fighting me on this since day one to suddenly flip the second you’re about to level up.”
I sigh. Should have known better than to think he wouldn’t want all the dirty details.
“Maisey has a contract offer. In Reykjavík.”
Silence falls over us again, but this time it’s not as harsh. Nor does it last as long.
“I thought she was applying over in Tifton?” Milo asks. “Brenna said something about there being an open position in their ER, and how she apparently made all sorts of friends during your little field trip.”
I laugh, shaking my head and handing him a single finger salute for bringing up my accident.
Although, he’s not wrong. Maisey was the star of the show that day, and every medical professional we encountered made some sort of comment about it.
I’m still half surprised the boss lady nurse didn’t try to kidnap her right then and there.
The same woman she met with last week. Whose boss she’s interviewing with right now. No doubt nailing it too.
“She is, but…” I take another swig of beer, buying myself time. “Reykjavík is her dream city. It’s been number one on her request list for forever and a place she’s never been assigned. Careful mentioning the city around her though, ’cause you’ll get the Maisey ramble.”
The Maisey ramble—second only to the tornado tactic in verbal head-spinning maneuvers she has up her sleeve.
“She taking it?” Gus asks.
I shrug. “Not sure. She’s…conflicted. And…and I can’t be what stands in her way.”
“And you think signing over The Booby Trap to Hayes solves that?”
The door to Pour Decisions opens, all three of us immediately looking over at the interruption. Seth Jennings, local plumber and town council member holds up his hand in greeting, awkwardly smiling like he knows he interrupted something.
“Hey, you called about a clogged toilet?” Seth asks in way of greeting.