Chapter 1 #2
“Morning, gentlemen,” Hudson says, drawing out ‘gentlemen’ like he’s challenging us to live up to the word.
“Morning, boss.” Silas grins, immediately taking a swig from a giant tumbler that could contain a little vodka mixed with coffee. “Tanner, you look like ten miles of bad road. Rough night?”
I ignore the bait and launch straight into the agenda. “Let’s get this over with. I’ve got contractors showing up in an hour to fix the north fence line.”
Hudson gives me a hard look. “Someone’s in a mood. Maggie warned us you’ve been nursing the little injury for all it’s worth.”
“Little injury, my ass,” I snap back, even as I realize how uncharacteristic that is. Usually, I’d find some way to make a penis joke out of “north fence line,” but my sense of humor is currently on backorder. “I’m dying over here.”
There’s a micro-pause, just long enough for Silas to interject, “Do you need me to take you to the emergency room for a little Band-Aid, bud?”
I have no idea why I expected sympathy from these fuckers.
“Bite my ass,” I say.
“Enough,” Hudson cuts in. “Let’s focus. The Charity Rodeo is two months out. Vendor placements need to be finalized today.”
I glance at the shared screen, where a color-coded map of the event grounds glows with an anxiety-inducing array of dots and labels.
Normally, I’d launch into a standup routine about our “Festival of Sausage” food court or the “Lone Star Massage Zone” that Silas tried to book three years running.
Today, it all feels like one big set of headaches that I’d rather be shot than deal with.
“Let’s start with the vendor layout,” Hudson says. “I moved the barbecue tent closer to the main ring to boost sales. Tanner, your notes?”
He wants a fight, and I’m just angry enough to give him one.
“My note is that putting the barbecue tent that close to the arena is a fire code violation,” I say. “Last time we did that, we had to pay fines out the ass.”
Hudson’s mouth flattens. “We’ll have extra volunteers monitoring—”
“Volunteers? You mean the same group of hungover frat boys who nearly set a Porta Potty ablaze last year?” I let the words hang.
The meeting is only three minutes in, and already I want to punch my own laptop.
Usually, I live to give my brothers hell just for the fun of it. Today, I’m not in the mood.
Silas laughs, which just makes it worse. “That was epic, though. I still have the video. Hold on, lemme—”
“No,” Hudson and I say in perfect unison.
“Jesus, y’all are tense today,” Silas says, like he’s calling bingo numbers.
“Maybe if we could stick to the plan for once, I wouldn’t have to waste half my week cleaning up everyone’s mess,” I say, voice climbing despite my best efforts.
Hudson raises a brow. “You mean my plan, or your plan?”
I clench my teeth. “The one that doesn’t end with lawsuits.”
Hudson leans forward, filling the screen with his unblinking glare. “Then next time, draft a proposal and submit it like an adult.”
“Maybe if you read my emails—”
“Maybe if you stopped hiding insults inside your spreadsheets—”
“Gentlemen,” Silas drawls, “let’s circle the wagons before the whole damn thing goes up in smoke.”
Hudson and I glare at each other, neither willing to break first. Silas uses the silence to interject, “Why don’t we just split the difference? Barbecue tent goes halfway between the ring and the food court. Fire marshal gets a walk-through. Everybody wins.”
It’s a perfectly reasonable solution, but my brain is done with reason. I’m tired, the headache is back, and for reasons I can’t articulate, the thought of another “compromise” makes me want to set something on fire myself.
“For Christ’s sake, it’s not rocket science!” I yell, slamming my hand on the table. “It’s just barbecue! You pick a spot and move the tent! We do this every year—why are we reinventing the damn wheel?”
Silas’s mouth drops open. Hudson sits stone-faced, eyes hard as cattle prods.
The silence is total. Even the email notifications on my phone have the good sense to stop popping up.
Hudson speaks first, voice flat as a dry creek. “We’ll table vendor placement for now. Tanner, handle whatever you want, just let me know if the fire marshal calls. Silas, you take care of the entertainment schedule.”
Silas gives me a sideways look, lips twitching with either concern or amusement. “You good, bro?”
I realize I’m breathing hard, knuckles white on the edge of the desk. I flex my fingers, willing the tension out. “Fine,” I say. “I’ll send an updated map by noon.”
Hudson nods, then adds, “You’re really hurting, Tanner?”
Duh. Asshole. “No shit, Sherlock,” I growl and hang up before I make an even bigger fool of myself.
I sit there, listening to my own breathing, the rush of blood in my ears. My fingers start drumming on the desk—first fast, then slow, then not at all. Fuck. I need to get my back fixed.
My phone buzzes again. I glance down, fully expecting another digital middle finger from Maggie, but nope. This time it’s Hudson.
Asshole #1
Dr. Ellis. Chiropractic. Book today. Tell him I sent you. 254-332-5555.
I stare at the screen for a solid ten seconds, debating if I should ignore his demand. But I’m fucking desperate. Instead, I dial the number and schedule an appointment for later this afternoon.
Me
Booked. Happy now?
He replies with a thumbs-up emoji and nothing else.
My phone rings, vibrating against the marble island. Maggie again. I consider tossing it into the sink and running the disposal, but I know my little sister. She’ll show up in person if I ignore her any longer, and she’ll bring back-up in the form of Todd or Silas.
I swipe to answer and don’t bother with hello. “What?”
On the other end, Maggie’s voice is all honey and weaponized innocence. “Nice of you to finally answer.”
“I live to be nice,” I say, glancing out at my empty backyard.
She ignores my sarcasm. “Hudson said you’re still hurting pretty bad.” I can hear the concern in her voice.
“I’ll survive. I have a chiropractor appointment this afternoon.”
Maggie doesn’t skip a beat. “What time’s your appointment?”
I glance at the confirmation text. “One-thirty.”
“Perfect. I’ll pick you up at twelve-forty-five. You probably shouldn’t be driving, considering you act like you’re eighty and have a broken spine. Plus, you’ll have to actually talk to me on the way.”
I can’t help it. I roll my eyes, but the stab of pain in my back is brutal, hot, and sharp, and honestly?
The idea of being trapped in Silver Spoon Falls traffic with my spine in open rebellion does not exactly set my soul on fire.
“Fine,” I bite out. “Be here by twelve-forty-five or I’m leaving you behind. ”
She snorts, the sound loud and rolling. “I’ll be there.”
“Thanks for the warning.” My voice is dry as dust.
“Ha-ha.”