Chapter 2
SAWYER
“ D oes it look like I give a shit how you get it done? Because I don’t. Just get it fucking done.”
“Yes, Mr. Hayes,” my brother says in his signature sarcastic tone.
“Don’t be a dickhead, Dallas.”
“So, do you only cuss out the employees you’re related to or is this the way you’re going to run the distillery now? Man. I don’t remember Dad cussin’ on the job.” He looks off into the distance, pondering his question in an annoyingly patronizing way.
“Dallas,” I say, barely holding my shit together, “hire someone. I don’t care if you agree with it or not, but we are moving forward with hosting events here. It will benefit the company and the community. You’ve managed to toss out every single application we’ve received thus far. Do I need to task someone else to get it done?”
“You’re the boss, Sawyer. I’ll get it done. But I don’t agree with this, and I think we’re opening ourselves up to a shit show. We aren’t a vineyard, we don’t need to open house and welcome everyone and their mother in to see what we’re doing.”
“Point noted. Are we done here?”
“Yep. I’ll keep you updated. Boss.” He mock salutes me like the dickhead he is and leaves my office, shutting the door behind him.
I lean back in my chair and roll up the sleeves of my shirt. Becoming CEO of Aspen Ridge Distillery was always the plan for me. My great-grandfather started the company and it’s been passed down through four generations. When my father was ready, I knew it would be passed to me. Did I expect it to happen at twenty-nine? No. But six months ago my father suffered a series of strokes that left him with physical and cognitive challenges that made running a company difficult. So here I am, running our family’s business.
With my asshole brothers.
My phone vibrates on my desk with an incoming text. Unfortunately, my siblings and I are extremely close and none of them have boundaries when it comes to communication. We have a sibling group chat, and my phone is usually going off multiple times a day with a message from one of them.
Dallas: Better watch your backs. CEO Shithead Sawyer is on the warpath
Liam: Fucking hell. What’d you do to piss him off?
Me: You know I’m on this text thread right?
Dallas: Yup. Just don’t give a fuck.
Me: Yeah? You tell them your new nickname?
Kinsey: Ooo! I love updated nicknames. Spill it
Carter: So Dumbass Dallas is out
Me: Dickhead Dallas is in
Kinsey: Ah ha ha
Liam: Okay that’s pretty good.
Dallas: Fuck you all
Kinsey: Can’t say I disagree. Sorry big brother
Carter: Sorry man it works
Dallas: How’d this turn into bashing ME? Sawyer’s the one being a dick throwing his weight around.
Carter: Walking into a meeting and am silencing you immature fucks.
Dallas: If by meeting he means going to Ruby’s to pick up someone to warm his bed tonight
Kinsey: Eww! Carter haven’t you slept with everyone in AR already? There can’t be anyone left for you to bang.
Dallas: I think the only free females left are Ms. Nettie and Ruby herself and neither would touch him.
They’re not completely wrong. Carter is a notorious playboy and has left a slew of broken hearts in his wake. Except, of course, the seventy-something-year-old Ms. Nettie and fifty-year-old Ruby. Ruby owns the only bar in Aspen Ridge, The Night Owl, and Carter frequents the place like he works there instead of the distillery.
Carter: Fuck you Dickhead. Those old women would be happy to have me in their beds
He’s probably not wrong. I roll my eyes.
Kinsey: Gross Carter
Liam: Wtf is wrong with all of you?
Dallas: Can we get back to Shithead being a shithead?
Me: Just get your head out of your ass Dickhead and we won’t have issues
Dallas: Bite me Sawyer you grumpy mofo
Me: Let’s go a few rounds at the gym this week huh? Might do you some good to have your ass handed to you again
Kinsey: Do you two ever stop?
Dallas: Bring it big bro. *Kiss emoji*
Liam: Don’t worry about them, Kins. You know they just need to get it out of their system. I’ll be there.
I run my hands through the short hairs of my beard and set my phone back on my desk, done with the conversation. My brother Dallas is two minutes younger than me and believe it or not, we are the closest relationship out of the five of us. We’re as thick as thieves, but driving each other fucking crazy has always been the norm. We’re fraternal twins, both of us have a short fuse and take no shit, but that’s where our similarities end. In our early teens, one heated argument got physical and we each walked away from it with black eyes, split lips, and Dallas with a chipped tooth. Surprisingly enough, our dad signed us up for boxing lessons. He said it would give us a safe outlet for our aggression and we’d learn some discipline. Now we’re nearing thirty and still knocking each other around the ring as a de-stressor and workout. Our dad called it “controlled violence.” Whatever it is, it works for us.
Being the oldest of five kids isn’t easy, especially when four of us work together at our family’s distillery. Dallas is my right-hand man at work and we go head-to-head most days. Since we’re twins, it started as a discussion about which one of us was going to take the CEO position from our father. It wasn’t much of one, though, because Dallas made it clear he didn’t want the pressure, even though he has fought me on every goddamn decision I’ve made over the last six months.
Liam works as our lead in quality control and carries a ton of pressure. He’s the mad scientist behind the scenes. Carter is the youngest son. It shows. Once the company boomed under our father, he created Carter’s position as a college graduation gift. Brand Ambassador. He lives for the spotlight that the rest of us can’t fucking stand.
Our family wouldn’t be complete without the youngest, though. Our sister, Kinsey, wanted nothing to do with the family business and just started her first year as a kindergarten teacher at the elementary school in town. She may be the smartest one of all for getting out and not working day in and day out with us clowns.
I check my watch and note that it’s already 7 p.m. Deciding that I’ve overstayed at work long enough, I pack up and finally head home to relax for the night. I was prepared to work long hours when I took over this position, and since no one’s at home waiting for me, I don’t mind them. It keeps me busy, and I enjoy the work.
I back my truck—a red 1990 Ford F150 that I’ve been driving since I was a teenager—into my detached garage and park it next to my motorcycle. The truck was handed down to me by my grandfather the day I got my license. It’s complete with rusted cab corners and a pretty little dent on the right side of the bed from a run-in with a mailbox when I was sixteen. With the money I’m making running the distillery, I could easily replace it, but I’m attached.
I close up the garage for the night and walk across my gravel driveway, eager to get inside. After kicking off my boots in the mudroom, I beeline straight to the kitchen to grab a beer and head for the back patio. Despite growing up in a distillery and appreciating what we create there, I’m a beer guy, and only reach for the whiskey when it’s been a shit day.
I drop down on my outdoor couch and take a long pull from the frosty beer. I relish the quiet and love late summers in Washington as the temperatures start to dip but it isn’t quite chilly yet. The piece of land that sits behind my house was one of the reasons I purchased this place. I built the wraparound porch myself to spend as much time as I could spare out here. There’s a breathtaking view of the Olympic mountains and the tall forests that lay at their feet. While the evenings are quiet and dark, it’s the mornings that I enjoy the most. Thick fog settles across the landscape, the only real sound, the rustling of trees and wildlife. When I found this house, sitting on five acres just on the edge of Aspen Ridge, I knew it was perfect.
It’s the first home I’ve ever purchased and when I saw it, I couldn’t help but feel disappointed that I didn’t have a wife by my side. There was even a time when I was convinced I knew who that woman was, but she left me a long time ago. I know without a shadow of a doubt that she was the one, and the reason I’m still single. I’ve slept around here and there but I’ve never wanted a relationship, none of them were Ivy.
While we went to school together our entire lives, we didn’t get to know each other until the sixth grade. She was late for the first day of school and walked into Mrs. Murray’s class wearing a dress that came down to her thighs, paired with leggings, ankle boots, and a thin little black tattoo choker around her dainty neck. Black hair was piled on top of her head, held by a crown of mini butterfly clips. She nervously stood at the door rubbing her hands together, unsure of where to go. Mrs. Murray directed her to the only open seat available. Right next to me.
She joined me at our desk, and I watched as she got settled with her backpack, notebooks, and colorful pencils.
“Hi, butterfly.”
“Hi. butterfly? It’s Ivy. I’m Ivy. Ivy Turner,” she stuttered nervously. I chuckled at her. She was so cute. I looked back up at all the little butterfly clips in her hair. For a reason I couldn’t understand, they suited her.
“Hmm. I like butterfly better. I’m Sawyer Hayes.”
I went back to Mrs. Murray my senior year of high school and thanked her for sitting my future wife next to me that day. She didn’t remember doing that of course, but I never forgot it. She sat us together and changed my life for the better. Or so I had thought.
As I sit here alone as dusk draws in, with no one but myself for company, I can’t help but wonder about her. In the decade since I’ve seen her, I’ve never been able to completely let her go. One way or another she always slips back into my thoughts.
A month after we graduated high school, her phone was shut off when I tried to call. My heart began to race and I knew something was very, very wrong. Dallas and I drove over to her house and her mom met us at the door.
“Hey, Ms. Jane, is Ivy home? Her phone says it’s been disconnected and it’s worrying me.”
“Sawyer, Dallas. Ivy left last night.”
I take a step back from the door, unsure what her statement means. Ivy wouldn’t just leave without telling me. Her phone is off, that’s it. My brother looks me over, concern etched into his face. What the hell is going on?
“I don’t understand. What do you mean she left? Where did she go?”
“She left, Sawyer. She doesn’t live here anymore. I can’t tell you where she is, but she won’t be coming back.”
Her words pierce me like a thousand shards of glass. I rub the spot on my chest where my heart is supposed to sit, before falling onto my knees.
“Shit. Sawyer. Are you okay?” my brother says as he reaches for me.
“I need more information, please. What are you talking about? Ivy wouldn’t leave me. What do you mean she’s never coming back? Please, Ms. Jane. Tell me.”
I’m desperate. I have to understand what’s going on and where my girl is. She wouldn’t do this.
“I don’t owe you an explanation, Sawyer. Look, I appreciate you being good to my daughter all these years, but now it’s time for her to live her own life. She’s left Aspen Ridge and she won’t ever return. This is childhood love. You’ll move on from her.”
I watch as Ivy’s cold, emotionless mother turns and shuts the door in my face as my world crashes down around me, the weight crushing my existence and everything I thought was real.
Agony. That’s what this feeling is.
I can’t breathe. This can’t be real. This has to be a nightmare.
I vaguely hear Dallas, but his voice is muffled like he’s under water.
Grasping at my brother’s arm, I frantically lift myself to stand. I stumble forward, banging my fist on the front door.
“Ms. Jane! You can’t do this to me! Please! I need to know if she’s okay. I need to know where she is! Please!!”
“Sawyer, come on, let’s go talk to Dad. Dad will help. We’ll figure this out.”
“I can’t. Ms. Jane! Open the door! Please! Dallas, I can’t live without her. Where the fuck is she? I need her, Dallas. I love her. Tell me where the fuck she is!”
“I know. Let’s get to Dad. Get to the car. I’ve got you.”
Dallas drags me to the car, taking the majority of my weight. My legs don’t work the way they’re supposed to. I sit in the passenger seat of my truck and am engulfed in her scent. She’s in this truck as much as I am. I rub my fist hard against my chest again, knowing that if there’s no Ivy, there’s no heart behind my ribs.
I did everything I could to look for her after she left, but I haven’t been able to find her. And I’ve really tried. My parents got involved and I begged her mother to tell me where she was so many times that she threatened my father she’d call the police if he didn’t get me under control.
She took Ivy’s secret to her grave.
When her parents passed away fifteen months ago, I waited with bated breath for her to come back. I thought for sure she would at least attend their funeral. The day of, I made myself physically sick with nerves waiting for her to show her face. When she didn’t attend the service, I slept in my car at the cemetery because I couldn’t take the chance of missing her sneaking in to say her goodbyes.
She never showed.
My best friend Reid’s dad handled the estate, and Ivy’s contact information was luckily in her parents’ will. He notified her of their passing and her inheritance of the house. But he refused to give me the information for privacy reasons. I was furious. I drank myself into an angry stupor the day after the funeral. Reid and Dallas had to forcibly drive my ass home and put me to bed after I showed up drunk to Reid’s dad’s hotel room demanding he give me her number and tell me where she was.
She has no social media and I’ve never been able to find her online. I considered hiring a PI on more than one occasion, especially because we’ve got one living in AR, but there’s a part of me that accepts that she doesn’t want to be found. That part wars with the other side of me that’s furious at her still.
She left me.
I toss back the remainder of my drink, lock up my house, and head to take a long shower to wash the day away. After stripping and tossing my clothes into the laundry bin, I walk into my massive stone shower and let the hot water spray over me, rinsing the stress of the day and my shitty feelings down the drain.
My mind chooses torture and stays on Ivy. All glossy black hair and emerald eyes. I try to imagine what she’d look like today, what makes her smile, what makes her feel good. I picture her sweet, plump lips and remember what it felt like to kiss them. The way her body would mold to mine anytime I put my arms around her. The physical chemistry between us was too strong to ignore. We were drawn to each other like two magnets, unable to resist the pull.
Feeling my cock pulse with need against my lower abdomen, begging for attention, I brace my hand on the shower wall, letting the water beat down on my back, and grab it firmly in my fist. I lose myself picturing what she would look like laying naked on my bed. Her raven hair sprawled out in a wild mess on my white sheets. I’d drag her ass to the edge of the bed, settle on my knees between her thighs, part her lips with my thumbs, and drag the flat of my tongue from her center up to her clit. I’d eat her until she was a squirming mess beneath me. I’d find her limit, seeing how many times I could get her to come on my tongue.
I never got to taste her like that and it’s a regret I have to live with.
I stroke myself brutally, my fist pumping up and down, imagining my tongue swirling over her slick center. I’d lick her until her hips bucked wildly, until she came undone under me, soaking my face, her sweetness dripping down my chin, my name on her lips as she screams out in pleasure.
Fuuck. I grip my cock tighter as I come harder than I have in months, hot ribbons of cum pulsing out of me and onto the shower floor. The calm that usually washes over me after an orgasm doesn’t arrive. Instead, I’m slammed with anger.
“FUCK!” I roar in frustration. I slam my hand against the shower wall, welcoming the sting of pain I get in return. “Fuck! Fuck!”
Feeling less clear-headed than before, my emotions go from anger to anguish and back again. I rinse my body and turn the shower off. Wrapping a towel around my waist, I brace my hands on the bathroom counter and stare at myself in the mirror, hating that she still has control over me.
Hating that even after a fucking decade apart, I still can’t get over her.
The ugly truth of it, though? She didn’t just leave me behind in Aspen Ridge when she ran off, she took my goddamn heart with her, and I’ve been fucking empty ever since.