Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Everett
“I want her gone.”
The words come out flat. Final.
“Everett—”
“Off my mountain. Today. Now. I don't care what it costs, I don't care what she threatens, I want Tara Greene and her entire crew packed up and driving down that road within the hour.”
Roman sets his coffee down carefully. “That's not a good idea.”
“I don't give a shit if it's a good idea.” My voice rises, and I don't bother to rein it in. “She recorded a private conversation. She posted footage of me fighting with my father. She's turning my family into content—”
“And if you kick her out,” Nolan cuts in quietly, “you prove every word of it.”
My spine snaps straight and I can’t move. All I can do is stare at him.
“Think about it.” He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, wearing that calm expression that makes me want to punch something.
“The narrative right now is that you're an opportunist who doesn't respect legacy.
That you came back for the inheritance and you're cashing in on your friends and your family name.”
“That's bullshit.”
“We know that. But if you throw Tara off the property the day after she posts damaging footage?” He shakes his head. “You're not the victim anymore. You're the guy who couldn't handle the truth coming out. You're the guy with something to hide.”
“I don't have anything to hide.”
I have everything to hide. Eleven years of everything.
But not this. Not the thing she's accusing me of.
“She wins if you react,” Roman says. “That's what she wants. One explosive moment she can spin into the climax of her story. Angry lodge owner throws out journalist after damaging exposé. It writes itself.”
“So what? I just—let her keep filming? Let her keep twisting everything?”
“For one more day.” Caleb steps forward, and for once, his face is serious.
“Tomorrow's her last day. We push through today, we do the auction, we smile for the cameras, show her and everyone else how completely unaffected we are by her cheap shit take, and we give her nothing else to use. Then she leaves, and we figure out how to fix the narrative.”
“Fix it how?”
“I don't know yet.” He spreads his hands. “But I know burning it all down today isn't the answer.”
I turn away from them. Stare out the window at the mountain I've loved my whole life. The mountain my family built. The mountain I left because staying hurt too much, and came back to because leaving hurt worse.
I don't recognize it anymore.
My father's voice echoes in my skull.
The worst part is, I don't know if he's wrong.
“You know I didn't—” The words catch in my throat. I have to force them out. “I didn't bring you guys in just to... I wasn't using you. I wasn't—”
“Everett.” Roman's voice is sharp. “Stop.”
I turn.
All three of them are looking at me with expressions I can't quite read.
“We've known you since we were ten years old,” Roman says. “You think some reality TV hack with an agenda is going to change that?”
“The internet seems pretty convinced.”
“The internet doesn't know shit.” Caleb's jaw tightens.
“They don't know you sat with Roman for three days after our mom's funeral because he wouldn't stop blaming himself for not being there.
They don't know you're the only one who noticed when Nolan was drowning a few years back—because the rest of us were too loud to see it.
They don't know you've been sending me business contacts for years because you believed in my ideas before anyone else did.”
“That's not—”
“That's exactly what it is.” Nolan pushes off the doorframe. “You're our brother, Everett. Blood or not. You have been since we were kids, and some edited footage of you fighting with your dad doesn't change that.”
The pressure in my chest shifts. Doesn't disappear, but... loosens.
“Besides,” Caleb adds, a hint of his usual grin returning, “if we thought you were using us, we wouldn't have invested. We did the due diligence. We saw the numbers. We know what this place needs to survive, and we know you're the one who can get it there.”
“Even with Mountain Daddy Tour?”
“Especially with Mountain Daddy Tour.” He waggles his eyebrows. “That was my idea, remember? If anyone's shaming the Morgan legacy, it's me.”
A sound escapes me. Not quite a laugh, but close.
“Speaking of which...” Caleb's grin widens. “Mechanical Rudolph. Auction preview. You in?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, man.” He spreads his arms wide like he's unveiling the eighth wonder of the world. “It's for the auction preview! The ladies need to see what they're bidding on tonight. And honestly? After this morning? We need to show everyone that everything is fine. Normal. Fun, even.”
“Fun.” I repeat the word like it's in a foreign language.
“Think of the optics! Happy lodge owner, surrounded by friends, riding a mechanical reindeer while the whole town cheers. That's the counter-narrative. That's how we fix this.”
“By me riding a fake reindeer.”
“A mechanical Rudolph.” He says it like the distinction matters. “There's a red nose and everything. It lights up when you hit the eight-second mark.”
“Sometimes I really hate you.”
“No you don't.” He pulls out his phone, scrolling with the enthusiasm of a man who's never met a crisis he couldn't monetize. “Plus, silver lining? You're trending for something other than the dad fight now.”
“That's not comforting.”
“It should be. Check it out.” He shoves the screen in my face. “Mount Everett. That's your new name. #ClimbMountEverett is everywhere. People want to, and I quote, 'summit that peak.'”
“Great. I've been downgraded from a person to a geological landmark. And I thought Mountain Daddy was rock bottom.”
“You're going to be famous.” He pockets the phone. “Look, Tara gave them the tragedy. We give them the thirst. By tonight, nobody's going to remember the fight with your dad—they're going to be too busy bidding on a chance to climb Mount Everett.”
“So your solution is to whore me out to the highest bidder.”
“For charity.” He says it like that makes it noble. “Can’t really call it whoring if it’s for charity. There’s a huge difference.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Besides, maybe one of those ladies will volunteer to polish your knob after. Give you a little reprieve from this shit spiral.”
Roman pinches the bridge of his nose. “Caleb. For fuck's sake.”
“What? I'm just saying—the man's wound tighter than a snare drum. A little... release... might do him good.”
“Please stop talking,” Nolan says flatly.
“I'm helping!”
“You're really not,” I grind out.
Movement in the doorway catches my eye.
Sierra.
She stands just outside the office, camera hanging around her neck, face unreadable. I don't know how long she's been there. Long enough to hear the brothers defending me? Long enough to see me fall apart?
Long enough to hear Caleb volunteering strangers to polish my knob.
Her jaw is tight. Just a little. Just enough for me to notice.
Our eyes meet.
Something passes between us. Something I can't name but feel all the way down to my bones.
I saw what she posted.
I know.
Are you okay?
No.
And if anyone's polishing anything, it's going to be—
I shut that thought down before it gets me in trouble.
“Sierra.” Roman turns, noticing her. “Good timing. We're doing damage control. Tara posted footage of Everett and Bruce's fight.”
“I saw.” Her voice is steady, but I catch the slight tremor underneath. “It's all over social media.”
“We're pushing through,” Caleb says. “Today's the auction, tomorrow's Tara’s last day. We just need to get through the next thirty-six hours without giving her anything else to use.”
Sierra's gaze flicks to me. Back to her brothers.
I watch her calculate. Watch her weigh the options. Watch her decide, once again, that silence is safer than truth.
And I can't even blame her.
Because now I'm doing the same thing.
“What do you need from me?” she asks.
“Keep documenting,” Roman says. “The real stuff. The stuff that shows what this place actually is. We're going to need counter-content once Tara's gone.”
She nods. Professional. Controlled.
But when she looks at me again, there's something raw in her eyes. Something that looks a lot like I don't know how to fix this either.
“The Rudolph ride starts in an hour,” Caleb announces. “Everett, arms out. Ladies love arms. Sierra, get your camera ready. We're about to give the internet something better to talk about.”
I want to fight it. Want to rage against the absurdity of riding a mechanical reindeer while my reputation burns.
But Roman's right. Nolan's right. Even Caleb, in his chaotic way, is right.
Reacting is what she wants.
So I'll give her the opposite.
I'll smile. I'll ride the damn reindeer. I'll let the Barrett brothers drag me through this circus like the fifth-generation showman I apparently need to be.
And tomorrow, when Tara Greene finally drives off this mountain, I'll figure out how to put the pieces back together.
All of them.
Including the ones Sierra and I have been too scared to pick up.
“Fine,” I grind out. “One ride. Eight seconds. And then we figure out how to bury Tara Greene's career.”
“That's the spirit.” Caleb claps me on the shoulder. “Now let's go make some content that doesn't make your ancestors want to disown you.”
“Too late for that.”
Sierra falls into step beside me as we head toward the staging area.
“For what it's worth,” she says quietly, “those comments are wrong. All of them.”
“I know.”
“Your dad was wrong too. What he said—”
“Sierra.” I stop walking. Turn to face her. “Don't.”
She blinks. “Don't what?”
“Don't defend me to me.” I keep my voice low, aware of her brothers just ahead of us. “I know what's true. I know what I did and why I did it. What I need is—”
I stop myself.
What I need is for you to defend us to them. To everyone. To stop hiding and finally choose us.
But I can't say that. Not here. Not now.
“What do you need?” she whispers.
You. Just you. The way it should have been eleven years ago.
“Get through today,” I say instead. “That's what I need.”
She nods slowly. “Okay.”
“Okay.”
Her jaw works for a second. “And for the record? If anyone's polishing anything—” She cuts herself off, cheeks flushing. “Never mind.”
Finish that sentence. I dare you.
But she's already walking.
And I pretend I don't feel her hand brush against mine.
Pretend I don't notice the way she angles her body toward me, like she's trying to shield me from cameras she can't even see.
Pretend I don't know that she's fighting the same war I am—love versus fear, truth versus safety, us versus everyone else.
Tomorrow, Tara leaves.
Tomorrow, we figure out what comes next.
But today?
Today, I ride a mechanical reindeer and smile like my whole world isn't on fire.