Fall or Nothing (Alphas Fall Hard Collection #4)

1. Disappointed

ONE

Disappointed

CARTER JAMES MAGNUS

I dropped my bags by the door, kicked off my loafers, and took three steps into the open-plan living room before I stopped cold.

“Sunshine?” She was on her side, the pot on its rim, soil spilled, and the crown of the African violet now lay splayed and wilting against the warm pane of glass.

Jack came barreling out of my bedroom, trailing a cloud of cologne, buttoning the cuffs of a pink shirt that was once mine.

“Oh, shit, Carter? You’re back so soon?” He grabbed his keys—my keys to my Bentley—off the kitchen island without slowing down. “I thought you weren’t due until Wednesday.”

“It is Wednesday.”

“Oh. Right.” He checked his watch, er, my watch. “Welcome back. Can’t talk long. I’ve got a reservation at Le Jardin in twenty minutes, and Loyra is not the type of girl who waits.”

“Jack, did you forget to water my plants?” I rubbed my temples.

“Hey. Favor. Big one.” He ignored and pointed the keys at me. “Can you get me into that Magnus Music rooftop thing tonight? Loyra’s obsessed with some indie band, Purple Gaze or something. I told her I had a connection, and...”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. My head was still singing from a rager of a party in Dubai, and my plants were dying on the windowsill.

“Unless it’s too much trouble,” he stammered.

A normal man would have told Jack to piss off. But, as a member of the famous Magnus Music family, my life was anything but normal, falling into the easy rhythm of concert-going and entertaining, and parties around the globe.

The life of a playboy had its perks.

Lately, those perks had been fucking exhausting.

I pulled out my phone while he waited, twirling his keys around his finger. I thumbed a text to Vanessa in concert operations and made the request on his behalf.

“Done. Give your name at the south entrance for the VIP tickets,” I grumbled and set my phone on the counter.

“Hell yeah, man. You’re a legend. By the way, how was Dubai?” He pocketed the keys, grabbed his coat, came back for his wallet, and spun in a circle in the middle of the room like he was missing something.

“People trashed my suite at the afterparty and left me with damage control. Which I’m sure I’ll be hearing about from my lawyer any day now,” I answered, not that he really cared.

“Cool. Cool.” He checked himself out in the hallway mirror, smoothing his hair back.

“And then Bella showed up.” I glared his way.

“Uh, yeah. She was texting me, looking for you. Said it was urgent and called you a bunch of names. I told her you were in Dubai.” He shrugged.

“Thanks for that. She showed up and broke things off.”

“Damn. Brutal.” His phone buzzed. “Hey, that’s Loyra. I’m really late now.” He paused at the door. “I’d invite you, but Loyra’s bestie is Bella and, well, she’s tagging along to the music thing later… you know how it is.”

“Go on.” I sighed and turned to the window, as the door slammed behind him.

Besides Sunshine, an entire row of plants sat in worse shape. Most yellow-edged and thirsty. Only Antonio was holding on, the rubber tree in the corner, because he was a tank and God himself could not kill him.

A yellow sticky note stuck to the window, in Jack’s handwriting, said: Did my best! Your watering instructions are too long. Sorry, dude.

“Fuck my life.” I tore my jacket off.

An hour later I had my spray bottle in hand and sat on a kitchen stool in front of the window, wearing nothing but my tight black boxers, because it was past midnight and the penthouse was warm and I always thought better unencumbered by clothes.

I cradled Sunshine’s pot between my knees, tending to her carefully.

“The trip was a disaster,” I told her. “Dubai was loud. The band that played was great, but my room got trashed with the after-party. People ditched me after Bella showed up, and we had a screaming match. But that relationship lasted ten minutes too long. Yeah, I know, Sunshine, you warned me about her. I didn’t listen. Never do.”

I misted her crown and delicately nursed her back to life. Crazy what a little tender care, water, and talking will do for a plant. My hands were steadier than they had been all week.

“You never liked her, not since that time she dumped her wine into your soil. She called it an accident. I think she was just jealous.” Humans always disappointed me.

Father. Mother. Brothers. Friends. My plants never did.

They only asked for water, light, and a little talk—and they gave back something nice to see in my window in return.

I moved down the line and kept up the soothing conversation the whole time. They had had a rough stretch, and they needed to hear my voice. From here I could see texts lighting up my phone. Jack likely had spread the word, and more so-called friends wanted entry into the Magnus Music event tonight.

More like groupies. Fuck them all. What had my life become?

“I guess all I’m good for these days are free tickets.” Satisfied only when things were right again, I stood and surveyed my row of plants. “I’m so tired. Don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Sunshine’s last good leaf seemed to point across the apartment, and I followed it to my desk, and to the calendar on the wall above it.

A stupid, glossy thing the building owners gave away every year with a bottle of French champagne.

I didn’t need to flip to the last day of December, where I’d circled it in red.

My thirtieth birthday—the day my trust fund dissolved. The day my life was over.

The clock ticked down way too fast.

Unless…

I pulled the envelope out of the top desk drawer. The wax seal had been broken months ago. The corners were soft from being folded and unfolded over and over. Each time I hoped the words inside would change. But they never did.

I glanced at my plants and back at the calendar again. Then down at the page in my hand, signed by my late father’s illegible, scratchy scrawl, issuing a challenge to complete in order to earn my inheritance.

I had been living in denial for months.

“Right,” I said to Sunshine, Antonio, and all the others. To myself, mostly. “Sorry, my loves, but I have to go away again. I know, I know. Fuck Jack. I’ll hire the doorman this time to water you properly.”

A few phone calls later, I had one of the Magnus private jets and crew on standby at JFK, ready to take off to Montana in the morning. Carrying me off to my last-ditch hope.

Would it work? I’d get on my knees and beg if I had to. Because if it didn’t work, come December 31st, I’d lose it all. No trust fund. No inheritance. Nothing. And who would I be then?

The Ferrari was not built for the back roads of Montana, but that didn’t stop me from driving it like it was.

The moment the smooth stretch of pavement gave way to gravel and dirt, the engine protested, and the rear tires kicked loose on the curves. The undercarriage scraped where it shouldn’t, and the frame rattled with the complaint of a machine designed for asphalt being asked to do something uncouth.

A few months ago, I might have laughed and gunned it harder, knowing my trust fund would cover any damage. Today I tightened my grip on the wheel and kept going. Because this was my last chance.

The driveway curved, climbing higher, until the house came into view.

It didn’t look like anything I was used to from the concrete jungle of the city.

Here, there was a quiet authority in the stone and log exterior with a broad porch, and a view of mountains and trees under a blue sky that went on forever.

Owned by Chris, he’d completed his challenge, earned his part of the Magnus inheritance, and put it to good use running a couple of rescue ranches for horses. Both of which employed veterans. Men who needed somewhere to land.

I was just such a man.

I pulled in too fast, too loud, and cut the engine, dust blowing around me. For a moment I stayed where I was, hands on the wheel, staring through the windshield at the man stomping outside to greet me. My half-brother. The one who had every reason to turn me away.

I hesitated, then reached for the envelope. When I stepped out of the car, the thinner air caught my lungs by surprise. I hadn’t expected that.

Chris didn’t slow. If anything, once he recognized me, his stride sharpened down the front steps. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I pulled off my sunglasses. “Good to see you, Chris. I know it’s been some time, and I know we’ve never been that close?—”

“Close?” His snort was short and humorless. “Carter, the few times our paths crossed, you treated me like I was nothing but dirt under your boot—er, Italian leather loafers.” He snickered at my shoes.

“I was young and following Hugh and Oliver’s lead. You know I always looked up to them. But I know that’s not an excuse.” I shifted on the gravel. My outfit of linen shorts and a pink polo was less than practical for the occasion.

“You three called me the bastard half-brother who didn’t belong.”

A flicker of discomfort settled in my chest. “For what it’s worth, I don’t really feel that about you. I respect you for what you’ve accomplished.” I held out the envelope between us. “This is why I’m here. You won’t believe what Dad wants me to do.”

The moment his gaze landed on it, recognition came fast. “Ask me if I care. I never invited you here. You can leave now.”

He turned. Panic cut through the last of my composure.

“Please, Chris. You’re my only shot at this.” It came out stripped of everything I usually used as armor. “The letter says my brothers can’t help me earn my inheritance. But my lawyer says you’re the technicality. Half-brother.”

He stopped. Sighed. Slowly, he faced me again. “What could you need my help for?”

“I need a job.” The words were foreign in my mouth, like I was borrowing someone else’s life. Which was the whole point. “I could work on one of your ranches.”