“You guys, don’t be mad,” I said. “I was making a joke.”
“It’s not you,” Cooper said. “Don’t worry about it.”
Chase cleared his throat. “It’s just that one time we tried—”
“Chase,” Cooper snapped. “We do not speak of it. Ever.”
I glanced between the two of them. “Wait, do you mean you tried a threesome?”
Cooper stood and walked into the kitchen. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Some things are not all they’re cracked up to be,” Chase said. “It was a disaster.”
I opened my mouth to ask a question—because oh my god, I wanted to hear this story—but Cooper poked his head around the wall.
“We do not speak of it,” he said, enunciating each word. “Not even to you, Zoe-bowie. So don’t ask. And don’t think you can get Chase to talk. It won’t work, because he knows what will happen if he does.”
“What will happen?” Chase asked.
Cooper’s eyes narrowed, and he made a slow cutting motion across his throat. “I know where you sleep.”
Chase chuckled, but I wasn’t so sure Cooper was kidding.
He came back with three beers, one for each of us. “You ready to talk about this? Or should we just get drunk?”
“Talk about what?” I asked. “I told you what happened.”
Cooper took a deep breath and jumped onto the couch, landing with his legs stretched out. I scooted to the corner to give him room.
“Chase, have a seat, buddy. Shit’s about to get real,” Cooper said. Chase sat in a tattered armchair, and Coop’s eyes moved back to me. “I don’t mean what happened tonight. I mean the rest of it. You need to get this stuff out, or it’s going to eat you up inside. And I’m a really good listener because I’m an awesome friend. So talk.”
I stared at the beer bottle in my hand. He was right, I did need to talk. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to say out loud what was going through my mind.
“I was settling,” I said. “I didn’t want to think of it that way, but that’s what it was. I was settling for something less than I really want.”
“Why?” Cooper asked.
I hesitated for a second, thinking Cooper would keep talking. A one-word sentence wasn’t really his style. But he just kept his eyes intent on me.
“Because it was easy,” I said. “I didn’t have to worry about whether Van and I had a future because I already knew the answer was no. And with none of the uncertainty of a relationship, there was no risk either. If I didn’t give him anything, I couldn’t get hurt.”
“But?” Cooper asked.
“But if I’m sleeping with some guy, I’m not really available either,” I said. “So I was giving up the possibility of meeting the right person in favor of something short-term and pointless.”
“Good girl,” Cooper said. “This is awesome. I feel like the wise teacher on a TV show who just helped a kid learn a valuable lesson.”
“Well, thank you, Mr. Miles,” I said.
He pointed his beer bottle at me. “You’re welcome. You know you’re my favorite, so anytime. But maybe quit being stupid and fucking dumbass pieces of shit. Seriously, Zoe, that pussy of yours is worth so much more. It’s a disgrace, if you think about it. I’m kind of grossed out that his dick ever touched you. Have some self-respect.”
I laughed and rolled my eyes.
“And don’t call me Mr. Miles,” Cooper said. “It makes me think you’re talking to my dad.”
I took a long pull from my beer, feeling better than I had in a while. Cooper and Chase might be goofballs, but they were my goofballs. And I loved knowing they had my back.
Sixteen
Roland
Cooper’s text was vague—all it said was bro it worked—but I knew exactly what he meant. Zoe had seen the footage of that jackass piece of shit being a douche at the bar the other night. And she’d revoked her status as his booty call.
Monday morning, I saw her downstairs in the lobby, talking with a client. Her hair was up, and she was dressed in a blouse tucked into pants that made her legs look a mile long. And those heels—fuck. She smiled and laughed with the woman like they were old friends.
It was irritating that she was so damn beautiful.
She had that perfect mix of classy with an edge. Like she could throw down in the boardroom and drink you under the table afterward. Her look was a far cry from the metal and alt-rock t-shirts and ripped jeans she used to wear. But this grown-up version of Zoe suited her. Made me wonder when she’d gone from the fearless girl with a propensity for crazy stunts to the professional woman running the very lucrative events department of my parents’ winery.
I’d begun to realize that Zoe was a large part of why Salishan Cellars was still in business. My mom was an incredible winemaker, and our products sold well. But the winery depended heavily on the income from events. Despite the other problems, the event spaces were booked year-round. Without that, they would have gone under a long time ago.
She glanced up at me as I stood watching her from the landing at the top of the stairs. Shit. I turned and walked down to my office, feeling like an idiot.
But also a little lighter, knowing that dumbass wasn’t ever going to touch her again.
Not long after I got back to my office, Leo answered my text. I’d asked him if I could come talk to him about a few things I’d found while going through Salishan’s records. I had a bad feeling about something, and I wanted to go to him first. Cooper would overreact, and I didn’t want to say anything to my mom before I was sure.
I hadn’t talked to Leo much since I’d been here. That wasn’t unusual. Leo kept to himself. He worked for the winery, handling all the tech aspects of the business, as well as being in charge of security. He had a lot of tech training and experience, so as long as it was something he could do from his place, he took care of it. In-person stuff wasn’t Leo’s style. Not anymore, at least.
I was worried about Leo. My brother had never been the life of the party—that was Cooper’s job—but he’d been a typical guy. Had friends. Dated girls. I didn’t know much about what had happened to him in the Army. His injuries were impossible to miss, but he had more than physical scars to contend with. Cooper had said Leo never left the winery grounds. It was hard to fathom. But not only did he never leave the winery, he didn’t come out of his house often, either.
He lived in what had once been the largest guest cottage. People had stopped calling it the Evergreen Cottage and now referred to it as Leo’s place. He paid rent to live there, which didn’t surprise me. The last thing Leo would become was a freeloader.
I walked out to his place and knocked. His muffled reply through the door sounded like come in, so I went inside.
The blinds were all down, keeping the light dim. Instead of typical living room furniture, he had an office setup with a large desk and at least half a dozen monitors. He had a TV mounted on the wall, and the other side of the room was filled with gym equipment.
Leo was in a high-backed office chair playing a computer game. He glanced back at me—over his right shoulder, like always.
“Hey.”
“What is this?” I asked, gesturing to his desk. “Your command center?”
He shrugged, and his cat jumped up and walked across his keyboard.
“Damn it, Gigz. Get down.” Despite shooing her away, he pulled the cat into his lap and started absently petting her. “What’s going on?”
“How much do you know about Dad’s business trips?” I asked.
He rotated his chair partway around, still keeping the left side of his face in shadow. “Some. Why?”
“He’s leaving again,” I said. “He was just gone for a few days, and now he’s headed somewhere else. It seems like a lot of these trips he takes are last minute.”
“Yeah,” Leo said.
“And he’ll be gone longer than he says. Last time he said overnight, but he was gone for three days. Mom never says anythin
g about it, though. I’d assume he calls to tell her when he’ll be back when plans change, but she told me the other day she doesn’t talk to him when he’s on the road. He claims he’s too busy.”
“Honestly, I’ve always assumed Mom and Dad aren’t happy and he just likes to be away,” he said.
I nodded. That much was obvious. “That’s probably true. But there’s something else going on. It’s like money is disappearing into thin air. And he’s gone all the time. No one is really running this place. A good portion of the problem is Dad not being here to manage things.”
“You get why I called you,” Leo said. “It’s been this way for years. The foreclosure letter was just the final straw.”
“Yeah, I get it,” I said. “I just can’t get over the feeling that I’m missing something.”
“Do you want me to find out where he goes?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “I mean, I can find out where he is.”
“Do I want to know how?” I asked.
“Probably not.”
I nodded. “Okay. Yeah, find out where he goes this week. I want to know what’s going on, and if it has anything to do with the way the bank accounts are bleeding out.”
“You got it,” he said, swiveling his chair back around to face his monitors.
“Thanks, Leo.”
I more or less forgot about putting Leo on my dad’s trail over the next few days. A disaster at work almost had me on a last-minute flight to San Francisco, but I was able to delay it a few days. I booked a flight home for Friday, which would give me time to wrap up more loose ends here.
With my dad gone so much, I was practically running the winery. He’d told me to stay out of things, but I’d started ignoring him and doing it anyway. I was streamlining the ordering and distribution channels. Working with Cooper to formulate output estimates based on the varieties of grapes he was currently growing. We had outdated contracts to revise, vendors we were still paying for services we didn’t need, and a long list of other issues Dad had been neglecting.
I still had moments when I wondered why I stayed. I could go home and get back to my life. Arguably, I’d done enough. But I still worried about their ability to keep things in the black, and I didn’t want to know what it would do to my mom to lose her family’s land.
And there was a challenge here. I was in my element when I was dealing with the winery. I understood the business inside and out. And my experience and education meant I understood how to make this business better. A lot better. I was making headway with things, and I had to admit, it was satisfying.
I told myself it was all about Salishan and my family. It had nothing to do with Zoe. Nothing to do with us both being single—completely single. Nothing to do with how I felt when I was around her.
Because, to be honest, I didn’t know how to feel.
I was drawn to her, and yet frustrated that she was so deep under my skin. She was like a drug I couldn’t quit. And I didn’t know whether it was an addiction that would ultimately be my salvation, or my downfall.
Leo texted me partway through the day. I was on a call with my office in San Francisco, but a strange sense of dread hit me when I read his text afterward.
Leo: You’re going to want to see this.
As I walked over to his place, I had a feeling I already knew what he was going to tell me. The folder filled with pictures and marked-up maps confirmed it.
Dad had a mistress.
The first few pictures I thumbed through could have been of Dad with a business contact or colleague. They were having a meal in a restaurant—a nice one. But the rest told a different story. There were photos of him walking with her, holding her hand. Kissing her. Ushering her into a car. Leading her into a four-star hotel.
Despite the fact that I wasn’t surprised, it still made my stomach turn and my blood run hot with anger.
I tossed the pictures aside. “Do you think Mom knows?”
Leo pushed some of the paperwork around on the table. “If she does, she’s been hiding it well.”
“Why would she do that?” I asked. “Why would she let him get away with this shit?”
“To protect us,” Leo said. “And the winery. She’s always been like that. Even though we’re all adults, she still does it.”
“Fuck,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose. “This is an absolute cluster.”
“What are you going to do?” Leo asked.
I almost snapped at him, asking why the hell this was my problem. I was supposed to be on a plane tomorrow, back to San Francisco. Why did I have to be the one to deal with this?
But if not me, who?
If I hugged my mom goodbye and told her I was sorry she’d just found out her husband was cheating, but I really had to get back to work… then what? She could kick him out. File for divorce. Cooper would be there to comfort her—he was better at it than I was. Leo would be here to quietly support her. She’d have Zoe. Brynn could stay with her for a while.
But who would make sure Salishan didn’t run itself into the ground?
Mom stood to lose more than her marriage. It was obvious that was already dead and gone. But without someone to run the winery—to oversee all the complexities of the business—they’d never survive. Salishan would die, and my mom would lose the place she loved.
Or worse, she’d take my dad back because she wanted him here for the business.
I took a deep breath. “I’m going to cancel my flight. Then I’m going to show all this to Mom. Cooper, too. And we’ll need to call Brynn. I’m not sweeping this under the rug. This has to come out and he has to be held accountable.”
I grabbed all the damning evidence and went in search of my mom.
She was over at the Big House, training the tasting room staff on the new wine selections. They all sat at the bar while she stood behind it, her face lit up as she described her new seasonal red blend. She poured them each a small glass so everyone could sample it for themselves. I took a seat at the long table on the other side of the room and waited, the knot in my gut growing.
After she finished, the staff gradually filed out, leaving the two of us alone.
She smiled and brought out two fresh glasses, then poured. “Want to try it?”
“Of course.” I walked over to the bar and took a seat, putting the file folder on the bar top next to me.
My wine tasting habits were deeply ingrained. I inspected the color, noting the deep burgundy. Swirled it a little to see its viscosity. Then I brought it close to my nose and inhaled the rich aroma while Mom did the same.
“It’s called Poetic,” Mom said. “It’s a blend of Syrah, Malbec, and Petit Verdot.”
I took a sip. It began with a bright berry flavor, leading to a smooth mid-palate with hints of coffee. The finish had a pleasant spicy quality.
“This is excellent,” I said.
“Thank you,” she said. “It’s a limited release, but if customers enjoy it, I want to put it into the regular production schedule.”
“I think you should.” I took another sip, then put my glass down. “Mom, there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“I know you have to go home,” she said. “When do you leave?”
“No, that’s not it.” I slid the folder closer. God, how was I going to say this? “I think Dad’s having an affair.”
The color drained from her face, but otherwise, she kept perfectly still. Her eyes were on her glass. I hesitated, wondering if I should say more. Wishing I didn’t have to break this to her.
Angry at my fucking father.
“What do you know?” she asked, finally, her voice soft.
“He was with her in Tacoma this week,” I said. “There are photos.”
“How long?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I suspected something was going on and asked Leo to help.”
She nodded, slowly, but remained silent for a long moment. I waited.
“I should have known,” she said, finally.
The sick feeling in my stomach spread. “This isn’t your fault, Mom.”
“No, it isn’t,” she said, meeting my eyes. “But I’ve been ignoring the signs for years. We had you kids, and the business. I let him take over everything, and I’ve regretted it more times than I can count.”
She poured herself more wine, but instead of tossing it back, like she needed the rush of alcohol, she moved slowly with it. Brought it to her nose and inhaled. Took a careful sip. Closed her eyes as she swallowed. Like the flavors of her hard work helped calm her more than the alcohol itself.
“I don’t know what to do, Mom,” I said. “I don’t know what to say to you, or what to suggest.”
She met my eyes again. “This is too big for you to fix. You should go back to San Francisco. You’ve been away too long as it is.”
“I’m not leaving,” I said. “There’s no way I’m going home in the middle of this.”
“I can’t ask you to stay,” she said.
“You’re not. You didn’t ask me to come in the first place. It’s my decision. You have enough to cope with. Don’t start making yourself feel guilty over me.”
She laid her hand over mine and squeezed. “Thank you.”
“What are you going to do?”
She took another slow sip of wine, then set her glass gently on the bar. “I’m going to kick his sorry ass out.”
Seventeen
Zoe
This is stupid. Why are we so stupid? I’m drunk. Should delete.
~Text from Zoe, unsent
It had been a long day. My bridezilla’s wedding was fast approaching, and her insanity kept growing. I’d fielded at least ten emails and text messages today alone. They were either questions I’d already answered—often more than once—or requests that made me want to tell her to go fuck herself and have her wedding somewhere else.
But I hadn’t. I’d replied with courtesy and professionalism, all while calling her cock-themed names in my head. It hadn’t helped very much.
Broken Miles Page 12
