24. Brandt
brANDT
“You look like shit.”
I look up from the keg I’m swapping out and glare at Anton Hayes, one of Milo’s younger brothers.
As number three of seven kids, Anton quickly became the instigator of the family, pushing everyone’s buttons for nothing more than shits and giggles.
Family friends weren’t off-limits either, meaning that my buttons were tested just as much as Milo’s.
“I have the power to cut you off, you know,” I throw back, not wanting to let him know that he got to me. It’s a small scratch—a surface wound, if you will—but it’s enough. Especially if he decides to rub salt in it. “Or worse, make you pay your tab.”
“I pay my tab…” he grumbles.
From the other end of the bar, Milo snickers. Shaking his head, he doesn’t make a comment, just continues to wipe down the pint glass in his hand, leaving me unsure if he’s laughing at Anton or me. Or both.
Likely both.
“Brandt doesn’t look like shit,” Milo comments.
See, thank you. At least I can count on my lifelong best friend to come to my defense.
“It’s worse than shit,” he continues. “He looks heartbroken.”
Fuck me. That’s worse than salt. Milo just squeezed a whole fucking lemon right over the wound.
“I do not.”
It’s the truth. I might be heartbroken, but I don’t look it. I’ve worked very hard to try and make sure of that. Smiling more, laughing harder—the whole nine. I’m the same old Brandt that left here a few weeks back. Nothing more, nothing less.
Even if I am dying on the inside.
Anton swivels on his stool, eyes studying me across the bar. “Yup, that’s what it is. Heartbreak.”
“Shut up.”
Both brothers snicker at my basic playground insult. Fair—I could do better. Or well, I used to be able to do better. Lately my head’s been too fuzzy to be a smartass.
“You wanna talk about it?” Anton presses.
Fucker…
“What part of shut up makes you think I want to talk about it?”
Anton shrugs, coming up short for an answer. Milo, however, sees his chance to tag in.
“The part where you said you were going to Tennessee for a weekend, ended up staying more than a month to play house with the owner of the company that was mildly threatening to sue us?” He throws his bar towel over his shoulder, turning to face me while leaning against the bar, giving off his best Sam Malone impression.
“Or maybe the part where the sound of your voice was different while you were there. That you’ve sounded more like yourself—like the guy who convinced me to build a still in the middle of the woods when we were sixteen. ”
I snort out a huff, shaking my head. I sound more like myself? He’s full of it.
“Like the guy who tried to convince me to blow off all my responsibilities and buy a last-minute ticket to Colorado for a Rocky Mountain adventure a couple of summers ago, telling me that all this would be right here waiting for me when I got back.”
“An opportunity you didn’t take, by the way,” I try reminding him.
Milo shrugs, the smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth paired with the glint in his eye telling me he has zero regrets about skipping out on Fort Collins that summer. Can’t blame him—at least not fully—since that was the summer he fell hard and fast for his better half.
Shoving the newly tapped keg underneath the bar, I turn to fully face my best friend, ready to defend myself. To tell him that he’s got this all wrong. That this isn’t as big of a deal as he’s making it.
The rattle of Anton’s phone against the rough-cut wooden bar punches through the air, cutting me off.
“Hey, baby,” Anton answers, pushing away from the bar.
I watch him walk toward the large, open, garage-style doors that lead to the grassy area out back that we covered with a pavilion a couple of years ago to start hosting food truck nights.
Anton’s voice fades the farther he gets from us, but that doesn’t stop a pang hitting me straight in the gut.
Just listening to him answer the phone like that, knowing that his person is on the other end, makes the image of Lindee flash into my brain.
Those incredible, unforgettable hazel eyes.
I rock backward, taking a step to try to catch myself, not wanting to lose my balance, feeling like I took a sucker punch to the gut. Reaching out, I lean against the bar to steady myself, closing my eyes to try and push her image out of my brain.
It doesn’t work.
If anything, it sears it into my gray matter even further, leaving a permanent imprint.
Fuck.
“She’s pretty special, huh?”
I look up at Milo, not bothering to respond.
“This Lindsay—”
“Lindee,” I correct him, faster than I can think.
He smirks again, his silent tell that he did that on purpose. To get me going. Damn it, it worked.
“Yeah, she was. Is.”
Sauntering toward me, Milo stops right before reaching the tap pulls, turning around to lean backward against the bar. He looks relaxed, happy, which only serves to make me that much more anxious. Because I know that feeling. I felt that way when I was with Lindee in her lab.
“I know you’ll never admit it, at least not out loud, but…you’ve been off for the last year or so. Not quite yourself. Ever since the wedding.”
I nod, silently agreeing. He’s not entirely correct—I’m willing to admit it. Sort of. Now, anyway. A few weeks ago I likely wouldn’t have been, but now—post Lindee—I see it. I feel it.
“I can admit it.” I shrug. “I’ve been…”
What? What have I been?
“Off?” Milo adds, using his same descriptor.
“I’ve been going with lost, but off works too. Things changed around here, and I’m not saying that any of it was bad but…”
“But it’s not just us anymore.”
“It’s not. And really, I’m happy for you and Brenna. I might not have understood it at first, but…I know how perfect you two are for each other. And deep down, there’s a part of me that’s…”
I trail off, trying to put this in a way that doesn’t sound weird. Or creepy.
“What?” Milo quirks an eyebrow.
“Jealous is too strong of a word. And…also feels wrong to say that about my sister.” Milo chuckles, thankfully understanding where I’m going with this. “But…I dunno. Our life has been this place for so long, and that was perfect, and then all of a sudden…it was like something was missing.”
“I get it. I also get the very weird and mysterious feeling of realizing just as suddenly that it’s no longer missing. It just took the form of a girl. A really smart, sexy brunette.”
“Still my sister,” I quip.
“But my wife.” He points at me, knowing he’s got me there.
“Thing is, Lindee isn’t just smart and sexy. She’s creative and clever, and has this blonde hair that shimmers in the sun, and these cute little black-framed glasses that slide down her nose when she’s trying to measure stuff in the lab, making her irresistible…”
“So everything you’ve ever wanted?”
Yeah…
Fuck.
Throwing my head back, I let out a groan, my insides shredding themselves all over again.
“So, why’d you do it? Errr…not do it?” Milo second-guesses his own question, still landing the punch the way only a best friend can.
He’s the only person on this earth who can ask without it being judgy or pushy.
He knows that I know that it was the dumbest thing I could have done. It doesn’t need to be said out loud.
“As lame as it sounds, it just never seemed like the right time.” I shrug, knowing full well how trite that comes off.
“At first, it was a fling. A one-night thing to blow off steam. Then, it turned into more, and throughout all the more, it never really seemed to come up in conversation. Not to mention, I didn’t have any real thought that it would place. ”
“You got the finalist email,” Milo points out, his tone harsher. “You told me about it; you could have told her.”
“I know.” I run my hand down my face, wishing I could turn back time and do just that. “But I didn’t want to take away from her excitement.”
“You’re a dumbass.”
The short, succinct, definitive statement catches me off guard.
I sputter out a laugh, not knowing how else to react.
He’s not wrong. And after all my waxing poetic and wallowing these last few minutes, I deserved a sucker punch like that.
I’m just glad he did it with his words rather than his actual fist.
“I am aware.”
“Then explain to me why you’re here and not trying to win her back?” He pushes off the bar as he issues his challenge, still looking at me like I’m the biggest idiot he’s ever laid eyes on.
“There’s no coming back from this. Not after both the comment I made on the video and keeping my drink entry from her. She’s convinced I was using her, and there’s no doubt her older sister is in her ear confirming that thought process.”
“Still gotta try.”
“Now you sound like your wife,” I lob at him. “I fucked up. I own it. And in the process, lost whatever future I thought we could have.”
“Soooo, what are you gonna do about it?”
The sassy, feminine voice complete with Louisiana accent stops me dead. Slowly, I turn to my left, taking in the fierce redhead standing on the other side of the bar, arms crossed in front of her chest.
Margeaux Finnegan-Hayes is a force to be reckoned with on a good day.
A powerhouse of a legal mind, with a quick wit and an even sharper tongue.
I’m damn glad she’s on our side of things when it comes to all the legal stuff.
However, right now—in this moment—something tells me she is not on my side of anything.
“Margeaux,” Milo greets, nodding at his sister-in-law.
She nods back, keeping her eyes trained on me.
“Where did you come from?” I ask, trying to figure out if we both missed the sound of the door opening or if she teleported into the bar. “What are you doing here?”
“Well, right now, I’m waiting on an answer to my question,” she sasses, not giving me an inch of wiggle room. “What are you going to do about it?”
“About what?”
I glance over at Milo, my brain whirring, trying to figure out if I missed something. If I owed her anything and totally spaced it. He shrugs, clearly on the same train of thought.
“Boys…” she huffs, exasperated and shaking her head. “About going and winning her back.”
The duh at the end of her sentence is silent, but I hear it loud and clear. It’s also written all over her face.
Right.
“I…errr…it’s not really like that,” I say, trying to brush it off.
It’s one thing to sit here and get all sappy pouring my heart out to the guy who has been my best friend since we were kids, but it’s another to admit it to a colleague.
One who is married to the executive vice president of our parent company.
Nope, the heart-to-heart portion of today is done. “Really, it’s—”
“You are so full of shit, Brandt.”
Margeaux tosses a manilla folder on the bar, letting the thwap of it hitting the wood ring out into the empty warehouse-like space of the taproom. I stare at it for a second, wondering what that has to do with anything, much less her calling me out like this.
“What’s that?” Milo asks.
“That,” Margeaux answers pointedly, “is the fully executed legal paperwork that waives Southern Brothers’ rights of sole sponsorship of Fire Lights. As of circa ten thirty this morning, y’all are now simply the official beer of Dustin’s bar, since the Rocky Top Double is the official cocktail.”
Oh, yeah…that…
“And that”—she points to the folder—“is how I know that you are full of shit by telling me that it was nothing.”
Busted.
“And you…” She turns to Milo, not letting him of the hook. “You need to step up the…” she trails off, snapping her fingers as she looks for the word. “I don’t know what to call it, but…you know.”
Milo shrugs half-heartedly. “I was getting to it.”
“Not fast enough.” Gesturing wildly, she turns back to me.
“There is no way you would give up those rights for nothing. I know how many other offers Dustin has received over the years and how y’all have never blinked in entertaining them.
How you cherish that relationship and that incredibly valuable sponsorship, all thanks to a handshake with a childhood buddy.
You even told me before you went to Tennessee that Fire Lights was off the table.
So, this means something. She means something. ”
I did say that. Margeaux’s right. Milo and I talked about it before I made the trip—what we would and wouldn’t be willing to compromise on. He brought up Fire Lights first, and I turned it down the second he mentioned it.
Then a few days later, I was standing in a distillery, mesmerized by a brilliant blonde, making the suggestion myself. Not because it was an easy give, but because she was worth it.
Is worth it.
“She means everything,” I mutter, hoping it’s not loud enough for anyone to hear.
“Exactly my point. So, back to the original question—what are you going to do about it?”
Good fucking question…
“What was the plan?” Milo asks.
“Huh?”
“You said you and Lindee were making plans for the future. What were they?”
“Oh, it was just…” I stop, the Rube Goldberg idea machine starting to crank up. “We wanted to…”
That’s it. I know what I need to do. How I can show her that I’m still in this and that one little mistake isn’t going to break us. Because we’re stronger than that.
She’s my forever.
I just need to get my ass in gear.
“I need hops and a cider press,” I say, bolting upright, suddenly energized like someone plugged me in.
My skin is tingling, my heart racing as I try to piece it all together. It’s going to take some doing, but I got this. Lindee is worth it.
“Those two things don’t go together,” Milo replies, one eyebrow quirked upward.
“Oh…but they do…”