5. Jason
Chapter 5
Jason
M y stomach growls, breaking my concentration—something I’ve battled to retain all afternoon and evening. Focus isn’t something I struggle with. If there’s work to be done, I can tune out a marching band. Hell, I can even ignore Tate if it means completing a task.
But the one thing I can’t keep from infiltrating my thoughts is Chloe.
Friday at seven. See you then.
I straighten my desk, make notes for later—leaving off a reminder to have Chloe work late on Friday—and then rise to my feet. My stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten since morning's breakfast bar, so I make my way to the kitchen.
The sun hovers on the horizon, bathing the house in a warm, muted light as I make my way through the foyer.
Chloe hasn’t mentioned dating anyone in a long time. I usually try to avoid those discussions, knowing they’ll wind up pissing me off. The two guys I know she’s dated haven’t known their ass from a hole in the ground. How do you manage to get her to date you and then fuck it up?
I don’t know what makes me want to fuck them up more—the fact they didn’t treat her right or that they’re obviously too stupid to have deserved a chance with her in the first place.
“Not my problem,” I mutter, opening the refrigerator. I find leftover chicken breast, brown rice, and vegetables and pop them into the microwave. The plate spins in a circle. My thoughts spiral, too, reminding me of all the contracts I need to peruse before morning.
But before I can retrieve my plate and return to my home office, my doorbell rings.
“You good?” Tate shouts before the door closing echoes through the house.
“In the kitchen.”
Steps tap across the hardwood, getting louder as they grow closer. Tate and Renn round the corner and grab seats at the island.
The two of them together are hell on wheels. They’re the same height and mostly the same build now that Renn has lost some of his rugby muscle, thanks to his retirement. I’m not sure who is cockier between them, but I know that I’d call Gannon or Ripley if I had an emergency. By the time Renn stopped trying to be a hero and Tate had taken enough selfies to post on Social, I’d be dead or in jail.
“Calvin was in the guardhouse and said you were home,” Renn says. “Do you know what I don’t understand?”
“Mathematics? Tact? How to properly eat spaghetti?” I ask, taking my plate from the microwave.
He rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand how Calvin works in personal security. Where did Landry Security find that guy? He just tried to big dog me.”
Tate snickers at Renn’s annoyance.
“I really think he expected me to cower to him,” Renn says, pointing at himself. “ Me . A professional rugby player. What does he think is gonna happen? Nothing his little lanyard can save him from, I’ll tell you that.”
“ Former professional rugby player— ow !” Tate says, rubbing his shoulder where Renn punched him. Hard.
I chuckle at them.
“I mean it,” Renn says. “The only scary thing about Calvin is that he might just be dumb enough to think he could take me.”
“Have you been talking to Foxx?” I ask, getting a fork from the dishwasher.
His brows pull together. “No. Why?”
“Well, Foxx isn’t a big fan of Calvin’s either,” I say. “I guess Bianca used Calvin to make Foxx jealous, and although she was kidding, Foxx doesn’t kid.”
“ Ooh . Bet that went over well,” Tate says.
I shrug, pouring myself a glass of wine. “Considering Foxx doesn’t joke around about anything, let alone our sister, let’s just say Calvin is lucky he can still form words.”
“Foxx Carmichael.” Renn laughs, shaking his head. “That’s one motherfucker I wouldn’t want to fight.”
“Do you two want a drink?” I ask.
They shake their heads and follow me to the table. Renn sits across from me, and Tate takes a chair beside him. There’s a twinkle in Renn’s eye that makes my stomach tighten.
“You okay?” Renn asks. “You look a little putrid?”
“Learn a new word today?” I ask, spearing a broccoli floret.
“Yesterday, actually.” He stares holes through me. “Have you talked to Mom lately?”
Tate’s words from this afternoon ring through my mind as I take a bite of my dinner. “He just wants to talk to you and Gannon about buying the Tennessee Royals.”
This isn’t about Mom, and we all know it.
I stare at Renn and take another bite.
Tate leans back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “This is about to get interesting.”
“Is this about the Royals?” I ask, watching him over the rim of my glass.
“Who told?” Renn groans, looking at Tate. “ Fucker . I wanted to be the one to bring it up to him.”
“Why? So you could blindside him, and he could tee off on your face?” Tate asks.
Renn laughs. “You think that old man could hit me?”
The glass clinks as it touches the tabletop. The sound causes my brothers to stop squabbling and look at me. I lift a brow.
“Kidding.” Renn clears his throat. “But, yes, it’s about the Royals. I want to buy the team.”
“And I want— a lot of things ,” I say, catching myself before Chloe’s name pierces the air, and I can’t take it back. “Doesn’t mean either of us will get those things.”
And neither will Thomas if I can help it.
“I was on board with you starting an airline,” Renn says.
“I had a business plan and no reason to have Towlin’s number on standby.”
Renn rolls his eyes. “Will you just think about it? I can get everyone on board but you.”
I sigh and watch my brother squirm like a little boy in his seat.
Renn and I have never been wildly close—mainly because I was the kind of person he liked to pester, and he was the kind of kid I wanted to throttle. I wanted to read books; he wanted to kick a ball at my face. So I’d challenge him to combat or a test of physical fitness, and all he’d run was his mouth. Despite being a physical phenom, he knew I’d kick his ass.
But it’s different now—for all of us. Gannon gets the calls about finances. I get the calls about safety and logic. We all call Bianca for strategy sessions, and Tate provides entertainment. Ripley is always there to ride for any of us.
But Renn has seemed to turn to me even more over the past few months. He had me help upgrade his security system. He wanted my advice on what car was safest for Blakely. He had me help him hang a television in his living room—something he would’ve paid someone to do a year ago. Now that he’s married, he’s suddenly Mr. Fix It … with my help.
I want to blow him off, but the look on his face stops me. I can at least hear him out … then tell him no.
“Would you manage it?” I ask. “Does Blakely’s brother want to be involved? If so, what roles do you and Brock want to play?”
“We want to be involved. We don’t know much about running a professional sports organization, but that didn’t stop Gannon from buying the Arrows.”
I roll my eyes. “Which is why I suggest holding off for a while. Let’s consolidate what we already have and give ourselves time to breathe.”
“ But I can’t breathe . That’s the thing. I need something to do, or Blakely is going to kill me.” His bottom lip sticks out. “She told me yesterday that if I didn’t find a hobby, she’d get a job.”
“What about your charity program?” I ask.
He makes a face at me. “I have a lot of energy, Jase. And you don’t know what it’s like being married.”
“Of course, he doesn’t,” Tate says, snorting. “Jason will never be married.”
The tone, coupled with the assuredness of his statement, hits me sideways. I set my fork on the edge of my plate.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” I reach for my glass.
“It’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?” Tate asks. “You’ll never marry and know what having a wife is like. Period.”
“What makes you say that?” I ask.
Renn leans forward, resting his elbows on my table, and grins. Heathen .
“I’m sorry,” Tate says, amused. “Is there something I don’t know? Did you suddenly decide to be social enough to meet a woman, ballsy enough to do something as crazy as fall in love, and then have the guts to agree to be with her for all of eternity?”
Renn’s grin widens.
My cheeks heat as their gazes fix on me. I’d blame it on the wine, but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the questions than the two drinks of alcohol.
My brothers and I have never discussed my relationship status, mostly because I avoid discussing anything too personal with them. Even if they didn’t require every moment to be about them, I still wouldn’t talk in-depth about how I feel about women or my private life. Giving them too much information is akin to handing them the knife to torture you.
And they would because they’re assholes like that.
But something about their quick assumption that I don’t have the guts to be married irks me.
I take a long drink and absorb their amusement. Then I do something I never do. I let them get to me.
I sit back, narrowing my gaze. “What makes you think I’ll never get married?”
“Seriously?” Tate asks, on the verge of laughter.
“Yeah, seriously. I’m dying to know why you think I’ll never have a wife.”
“Do you want the list or a quick synopsis?” Tate asks.
I lift a brow.
“For the record,” Renn says, his eyes darting between us. “I’m the Switzerland here. If you two start fighting, I’m taking no sides. Only videos so the family can enjoy watching Tate get pummeled.”
Tate gasps. “I’m hurt.”
“You will be if you fuck with Jason.”
“You have such middle-child energy,” Tate says, glaring at Renn.
I sigh. “Can we get back to the topic at hand? I have shit to do tonight.”
Tate rips his attention from our brother and turns it on me. “If you’re serious and have never realized that you’re not marriage material, let me break it down.”
“Here we go,” Renn mumbles, scooting away from Tate.
“You’re hardheaded as fuck,” Tate says. “You’re used to being in control … of situations, airplanes, and corporations. We don’t help your hero complex because we defer to you, too.” He groans. “Of course, we can’t help it because you generally know how to do everything, and Foxx is the only person I might call before you in an emergency.”
I shake my head. “You’re full of shit.”
“Fine. You’re also too busy for a woman, and I’ve never seen you with someone for more than two months—three at best. You’re decent at interpersonal skills but suck at intrapersonal ones.”
“Not true,” I say.
“How do you figure?” Tate asks.
I sweep my hand across the room. “Take this situation as an example of my intrapersonal skills. You two came here because you value interacting with me. I must be decent at it if you want it so bad.”
“If we don’t come here, we won’t see you.” Tate gives me a fake smile. “And Renn needs you to sign off on moving forward with the Royals acquisition.”
I want to pause and remind Renn that I am not signing off on his fuckery but am too invested in this conversation with Tate. I shift in my seat, focusing on my youngest brother.
“Why does this bother you so much?” Tate asks.
“It doesn’t bother me. It’s just annoying that you seem to think I’m incapable of finding a wife because … why? I work too much? I like things orderly and planned? I’m intelligent?” I smirk at him to get under his skin. “I know you tell yourself that women don’t like intelligent men to make yourself feel better, but that’s not true, Tate.”
Tate folds his hands in front of him and settles in. “So this means you think you will marry someday?”
My insides twist as his words fall on my ears.
He has no way of knowing that I’ve been considering this question a lot lately, nor does he realize that the idea has been weighing heavier and heavier on my mind. I should blow him off and get on with my night. But his conclusion that I’ll be alone forever ticks a fear I only recently discovered.
It’s not one I really want to face.
“Yes,” I say, my voice void of the rising emotions welling inside me.
“Interesting,” Tate says.
He leans back and exchanges a look with Renn—one full of bullshit and mischief. Fuck .
I steel myself for what’s coming next. I don’t know what it is, but I know, yet again, that I won’t like it.
Tate licks his lips. “Do you remember how we bet fifty thousand dollars a few years ago that Gannon would wreck his sports car within six months?”
“I still feel bad about that one, but yeah. Why?”
“And then you had to donate it to a charity of my choice because … who won? Oh, right. Me,” Tate says.
I hold my hands out, hurrying him along. We seem to be on a meandering path to nowhere, and I want to get to the end as quickly as possible.
“Do you remember when we also had a wager that Renn would be the leading scorer on his team in his last season?” Tate asks, side-eyeing him.
“What?” Renn sits up, his eyes wide.
Tate grins. “Jason bet you wouldn’t be the leading scorer, and I bet you would. Because I believed in you.”
“And I won,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Can we focus here?”
“You bet against me?” Renn asks, mouth hanging agape.
“Yes, and you came in second, just like I predicted.”
“Fucker,” Renn says, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head.
“So … wanna have another little wager?” Tate asks, smiling cockily.
Renn stands and plants both hands on the table as if bracing himself.
I take a deep breath. “A wager for what?”
“I bet you one hundred thousand dollars that you won’t get married and stay married for six consecutive months,” Tate says. “I’ll give you three years to make it happen. Winner gets the money deposited into their preferred charity, per usual.”
“You’re out of your mind,” I say, standing and collecting my dishes.
“Is that a yes ?” Tate asks, following me into the kitchen.
I place my plate and glass beside the sink and spin around to face my brothers. Renn stands behind Tate, mouthing something to me I can’t understand. The two of them together are like two errant toddlers in adult bodies.
I’d laugh if I weren’t annoyed.
“I would never marry someone to win a fucking bet,” I say, exasperated with the conversation. “Who does that?”
If I weren’t so determined to end this conversation with Tate, I’d warn Renn to wipe the smug look off his face.
“I’m not saying to marry someone to win a bet,” Tate says like I’m a child. “I’m just saying that in three years, you’ll almost be forty.”
“Your point?”
He laughs. “If you haven’t found someone, fallen in love, and married them by then, my point stands. And, therefore, I win.”
The swipe at my age—something Tate loves to point out at every opportunity—isn’t lost on me.
Bastard.
“I have work to do,” I say. “Scram.”
They head for the door, chuckling to themselves. I follow them to ensure they actually leave.
“I’ll let Gannon know the Royals is a go,” Renn says.
“Waste his time. That’ll be fun for you,” I say.
Renn groans.
“Be nice to Calvin on your way out,” I say. “Otherwise, I’ll have Ford assign him to your details.”
The sun dips behind the trees as my brothers step onto the porch. I gaze across the lawn, inhaling a lungful of clean air. Renn and Tate chatter back and forth as they head to the driveway.
“The bet stands,” Tate says, opening his car door. “I’ll be researching charities. I might go for something new this time. Maybe an animal rescue or a clean water initiative.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
“Love you, too.” He laughs. “See you later.”
“Later.”
“Bye, Jase,” Renn says.
“Bye.”
I shut the door and lock it, wishing I could lock out the non-possibilities from floating through my head … along with Tate’s words.
“You’re hardheaded as fuck. You’re used to being in control … of situations, airplanes, and corporations. We don’t help your hero complex because we defer to you, too.”
This is true and not new information. I’ve known this for years. But what gets me—what rubs me the wrong way—is that Tate seems to think I’m destined for a life alone. Does he think I’m incapable of love? Or unlovable?
I hate that it bothers me, but it does. And I can’t deny that I wish this were a bet I could win.
I groan and head back to my office.
But I can’t deny it’s impossible to win this one, either.