Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
Everett
Bruce Morgan enters a room the way he does everything: like he owns it.
To be fair, for thirty-five years, this office belonged to him. The desk where I'm standing, the chair where Roman's sitting, the view through that window—all of it was his domain.
His kingdom. His legacy.
Until he handed it to me.
The handoff was supposed to be clean. Retire, travel with Mom, let the next generation take over. That was the plan. That was the deal.
He never quite connected that letting go was part of the arrangement.
“Everett.” He stops in the doorway, taking in the scene. His eyes move from me to Roman to Caleb to Nolan, cataloging their presence with the narrow-eyed stare straight out of an old Western. “Our reputation is crumbling to shit and you’re hanging out with your friends. Not a care in the world?”
Just let him vent it. Let him open that pressure valve for some relief so his head doesn’t actually explode before my eyes. “Nope, had a kickoff meeting.”
“I didn't realize we were having a meeting.”
“We just wrapped up.”
“I take it they’re partly responsible for the bullshit I watched take the top slot in the eleven o’clock news?” He gestures to Roman, Caleb, and Nolan whose gazes swing in unison to me.
Their expressions all say the same thing.
Your move.
“They were part of the planning, yes.”
“And since when are we letting just anyone make decisions about our lodge? This isn’t some frat party. It’s a legacy. And your beer buddies shit all over it.” He glares down at them and crosses his arms before pinning me with a hard stare. “Now what the hell are you going to do about it?”
“The first thing I’m going to do is clear a few things up.”
“Good. Now that’s more like it. Put your foot down.”
“Those “beer buddies” are my business partners.”
And there’s the sound. The sound that plays in a duel.
Cue the standoff music.
They wait.
They stare.
Then someone flinches and all hell breaks loose.
The flinch isn’t so much a flinch, more like a stroke in the making.
“Partners.” He repeats the word like he's choking on it. “Since when the hell do we have partners?”
“Since we needed them to survive.”
The temperature in the room drops about fifteen degrees.
“Would someone like to explain how the hell this happened?” Bruce's voice is dangerously calm. The kind of calm that precedes thunderstorms and family therapy.
Roman clears his throat. “Well—”
“Don’t. By someone, I mean him,” he says jabbing a finger in my direction.
“The lodge needed capital,” I say, calm now.
“At what cost?”
“Thirty percent and your pride?” The words come out sharper than I intended. “Because that's what this is really about, isn't it? Not the lodge. Not the legacy. Your pride. You can't stand that I'm doing things differently than you did.”
“I can't stand that you're making a mockery of everything we built.”
“We?” I laugh, and it sounds as hollow as I feel. “When did you start saying 'we'? Because I remember a lot of 'I built this' and 'I sacrificed for this' and 'I know what's best.' But I don't remember a lot of 'we.'”
Bruce's face goes red. “Watch yourself.”
I bite it down.
Breathe.
And recognize it for what it is.
The old pattern, the trap just lying in wait. He falls back on how irresponsible I've been. How I spent nearly a decade wandering instead of settling into my legacy.
I'm not giving him proof.
He wants adult? Fine, he gets adult.
He wants me to be responsible? Good, let’s do this.
“No.” I step closer, raw pain builds in my chest. “You handed me the keys and told me to make it work. Well, this is me making it work. This is me doing what you couldn't—adapting.” I don’t flinch even as he does.
I just step into adult and lay it all on the table.
“As for Roman, Caleb, and Nolan investing? They believed in it—in me—even when you didn’t. ”
Pain fills my chest, but still, it has to be said.
Because this is growing up. Saying the hard shit even when you know you’re going to hurt someone you love.
Especially when it’s going to hurt someone you love.
He doesn't move. Doesn't blink.
For one terrible moment, I see him—not the immovable force who ran this lodge for thirty-five years, but the man underneath.
Tired. Blindsided. Hurt.
Then his jaw sets, and the walls slam back into place.
“Well.” His voice is clipped. Controlled. The voice he uses when he's one wrong word from breaking. “I hope their belief was worth it.”
He pulls out his phone, tilts the screen toward me just long enough for me to spot the frozen frame of that goddamn TikTok video.
“Congratulations. You saved the lodge and shamed every Morgan who built it. I'm glad someone believes in what you're building. Because I don't recognize it anymore.”
He doesn't wait for an answer.
Just turns and walks out, his footsteps echoing down the hallway like a door slamming shut.
“Well,” Caleb says into the silence. “That was fun.”
“Caleb.” Roman's voice is a warning.
“What? I'm processing. I process with humor. It's a coping mechanism.”
“He'll come around,” Nolan says. “He's not mad at you. He's mad at himself for not seeing it sooner.”
“Maybe.” I move toward the window, staring out at the lawn where the Best Beard Competition is already drawing a crowd.
Somewhere out there, Sierra is documenting it all—capturing the moments I'm too busy fighting to witness. “Maybe not.”
A flash of blonde hair catches my eye.
There she is, camera raised, moving through the crowd with the quiet focus I've always loved about her. The way she disappears into her work.
The way she sees things no one else notices.
Always watching, but never letting herself be seen.
“Go,” Roman says, and I realize I've been staring. “We've got things covered here. Today's schedule is locked. Nothing else needs your approval.”
“The beard competition—”
“Is being judged by Uncle Seth, who is having the time of his life.” Roman grins. “Go. Be present. Shake some hands. Let Tara's cameras see you being the charming fifth-generation host instead of the stressed-out guy who just had a fight with his dad.”
He's right. I hate that he's right, but he is.
“Thanks,” I say, and mean it.
“That's what partners are for.” Caleb slaps my shoulder as I pass. “Now go charm some old ladies and make this lodge look like it isn't run by a family on the verge of a collective breakdown.”
“Inspiring pep talk.”
“I try.”