by Liz Crowe
She leaned into Austin’s ear as they walked down the wide aisles between the hundreds of beer booths. The place was still empty but that would change, quickly, the second the doors opened to welcome the day’s beer expo visitors. “Thank you.” He shot her that killer grin, the one she’d seen the first time in a back hallway of a beer store, that damn smile that had melted her soul on the spot.
He knew what she was talking about, no need to explain. He gave her a squeeze.
“Anything for you.” His normally rough voice sounded hoarser than usual. She glanced up at him, as the eager public flowed around them. Her heart pounded. She needed him to understand, now.
“No, Austin. Thank you. For everything. I—” She looked down. The teeming, raucous crowd faded. She looked up and cradled his face between her shaking hands. “I want to be with you. Forever. I’m sorry I’ve been so prickly and unreasonable. You really are the best thing that ever happened to me.” His tense face softened and he gathered her in his arms, kissing her with a fierce passion that turned her knees to jelly. She sensed the room filling up, heard the wolf whistles and cat calls but didn’t care. When she broke away, he brushed the tears off her face.
“We’re nothing if we aren’t together,” he said, sending her heart into palpitations.
“Oh my God, I’m gonna be ill.” Zeller strode by and yanked Evelyn away, pulling her laughing and only half protesting to sit by him. She looked back and saw them, her men, standing together. The dark and the light, the long, lean beauty of Austin side by side with the strong, broad, rugged handsome of Ross. Their shoulders touched and they moved apart. Ross had to sit with his new employer, she knew. She broke from Zeller’s drunken grasp and found two seats, accepted a beer from someone next to her and settled in for the awards.
Austin’s head pounded in a wholly unwelcome and familiar way. He plucked a couple of pain pills from his pocket and dry swallowed them, unwilling to admit that he would just as soon be lying in a completely dark and silent room as sitting here, but it had to be done. This was his moment. He felt it. After accepting two awards for beers, one for their black lager and another for an experimental old ale, he sat, staring straight ahead, willing the pain away, Evelyn’s hand clutched in his.
“You all right?”
He shook his head.
“No. I’m not gonna make the tap takeover after party, Evelyn. I’m sorry.”
“Well, not to make it worse but—” She jerked her chin, making him turn. His father stood at the back, looking about as out of place as a human could look, staring straight at him. Max Fitzgerald waved and gave them a jaunty thumbs-up.
“Holy shit.” He closed his eyes.
“It’s okay.” She rubbed his thigh.
He felt the room narrow a little more.
“Honey?”
His gut churned. There were two more awards, one for Distributor of the Year, one for the Pro-Am competition, before the brewery awards were announced. He winced and put a hand on Evelyn’s leg. “I may not make the tap takeover.” They’d contracted with a local famous beer bar to replace ten of their tap handles with Fitzgerald’s brews. It would be a gigantic party for the public, featuring their best-selling products. “It’s a bad one.” He’d been getting migraine-level headaches off and on for years, but usually a few hours of sleep did the trick. This one had a crappy sense of timing, however.
She kissed his cheek. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this, then get you back to the hotel.” Worry etched her face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. Which meant that his father was staring at him, at them, at her. The man hadn’t spared a civil word for him since…well, since he’d paid him off for his initial investment then turned around and started living with Evelyn.
He’d decided that, until they acknowledged how happy he was with Evelyn and with his brewery, his parents could sit in their godforsaken too-big house and rot. Their own stupid close-mindedness has cost them one son already. But the tickling reminders that he no longer had his parents to fall back on did not help ease the vise currently crushing his temples.
He’d planned to break that news to Evelyn once they returned to Michigan. Not that he was worried about her reaction—he knew she’d welcome independence from the elder Fitzgeralds’ overwhelming disapproval. And he’d had the sense to wait until the year his trust fund released completely to him so he could at least maintain his mortgage, groceries, and the basics of living.
The addition of the Ross wrinkle had not been something he’d anticipated, however. And the necessary machinations of the night before—the unbelievably hot hook-up Evelyn had encouraged him to have while Ross watched, then her seeming inability to go any further with it—combined with the ongoing, run-of-the-mill stress he was under—no wonder his body was rebelling by ushering in what promised to be a real whopper of a brain squeeze.
“Here we go.” Ross’ accent tickled his ear. He smiled at the sight of the other man, who’d thrown off his new boss and come to sit beside them for this last part of the awards. He tightened his grip on Evelyn’s hand. They were a long shot at best, an impossibility at worst.
The Small Brewery of the Year accepted their award, had pictures snapped, then all eyes turned to the man at the podium. He launched into a brief history of the mid-size brewery winner and Austin’s headache clamped down, making it hard to hear. Evelyn gasped at one point, then wrapped her arms around his neck. His eyes popped open before he realized he’d closed them when he heard, “Fitzgerald Brewing Company, Grand Rapids, Michigan.”
They’d done it. He and Evelyn had truly made this happen.
He grinned, and without thinking, tugged Ross to his feet along with Evelyn.
“Nein.” The tall, handsome German shook his head. “Go with Evelyn. Congratulations, my friend. You deserve it.”
Evelyn pulled him out into the aisle, and they made their way down, accepted the trophy, and had photos taken, making lights dance around in the corners of his vision. He could barely hear and his heart pounded in his ears as he smiled, accepted kudos, and tried to find Ross in the crowd. Finally, he appeared and put his arms around him and Evelyn as they smiled for more pictures.
Austin sensed his vision narrowing from the outside in. Ross’ grip tightened around him. “Get me out of here,” he whispered.
He barely remembered the cab ride back to the hotel but could hear the whispered conversation between them. Evelyn wanted to go to the ER. Ross advised water and sleep. “He used to get this way in Germany. It will fade. He’ll be fine.” Evelyn’s hand touched his face and he leaned into it.
“I love you,” he mumbled as they half carried him to the elevator and down the hall to their suite. Evelyn’s lips were against his ear. He had a panic moment and grabbed her hand. “I’m sorry, honey. I…oh, dear Christ, it hurts.” He lay back. “Turn off the lights when you go.” He was asleep before the lights faded.
Chapter Nineteen
Ross leaned his head against the cool taxi window. This day had been such a whirlwind, so incredibly intense, almost more than he could handle. He sucked in a breath and had to sit on his hands to keep from pulling Evelyn close. He watched as she rolled her head around, trying to relax for about two seconds before her phone rang. Frowning, she answered it.
“Hey. Everything set?”
Ross continued to study the Denver metroscape, trying to come to terms with the depth of his feelings for the woman next to him and his own desire to have her, while keeping Austin as his friend. When tension crept into her voice, Ross started paying attention.
“What do you mean the kegs are ‘bad’? What the fuck is that about?” Unable to stop himself, he put a hand on her leg. She glared at him. “Listen, I’m about three minutes away. Tell the manager to turn them off, all of them. I won’t serve them if…what? No, God damn it! Put Kyle on the line.”
When the taxi pulled up at the beer bar where Fitzgerald was supposed to be featuring th
eir brews, she jumped out and ran through the crowd. Ross paid and followed her, attempting not to be rude to the many people who waylaid him with congratulations on his new job. Out of the corner of his eye, he noted two five-tap vans with the bar’s logo emblazoned on the side parked toward the back of the lot.
By the time he joined her in the huge, smelly basement where ten Fitzgerald kegs were lined up and tapped, she was ripping the bar manager a new asshole, her voice rising every second. Ross touched her shoulder and she flinched but stopped yelling and took a breath. He jumped in before she got enough air in her lungs to resume the reaming session.
“Unhook them all, now,” he said. The manager made a feeble protest. “What part of ‘now’ don’t you get?” Ross used his very best intimidating stare, one he knew damn good and well would melt the resolve of the strongest personality. “Your lines are filthy. I can see them from here.”
He pointed to the plastic tubing that ran from the kegs up through a hole in the ceiling. What should be clean-flowing beer looked murky, cloudy and disgusting. “I don’t know what your line-cleaning schedule is, but you obviously need to change it. In the meantime, Fitzgerald’s will not tolerate you ruining their beer by sending it through these tubes full of shit. Unhook them.” The man gestured and two waiters started unhooking the kegs. “Well done. Now, get the keys to those vans, pull them around front so we can hook the kegs up out there. You’ll announce that the first round is on the house. You have fifteen minutes to make this happen or I call the health department.”
He put a hand up to stop Evelyn from jumping in and kept his gazed fixed on the smarmy manager. Her anger roiled around the room and he knew he’d be dealing with that later, but for now, this potential disaster had to be averted and fast.
Within twenty minutes, the front parking lot and large patio were full of happy beer drinkers with fresh glasses of clean-flowing Fitzgerald brews in their hands. The owner of the bar had shown up and fallen all over himself apologizing to Evelyn. Ross watched, proud of her ability to handle the guy diplomatically. She dropped into a seat next to him and pushed her hair off her face.
“Nice save, Hoffman.”
He sipped, not looking at her. “Ja.”
“But don’t ever cut me off like that again or you’ll pay for it.”
“Ja.” He kept watching the happy throng of drinkers. She poked his side. Her blue eyes sparkled with restrained humor. “I just did what Austin would have done.”
“Well, maybe.” She moved away from him a few inches. He reached out and pulled her back, keeping his arm around her, not giving a shit who saw them as he leaned into her ear.
“It’s fixed. Just go with it, no?” No longer willing to resist the compulsion to make the first move, he bit her earlobe. When she shivered, a wave of pure lust washed over him, making his cock slam against the back of his zipper. He kept whispering. “I could fuck you right now, you know? And I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Evelyn?” He tightened his grip on her shoulders, could smell her perfume as it became tinged with a hint of her own need.
She shuddered as he nuzzled her neck. The dark corner he’d found on purpose served him well as he trailed his hand down her shoulder and touched the top of her full breasts. “Mmm-hmm… Let’s go back to the basement. I need to show you something.” Ross’ whole body was clenched tight with the urge to prove something to her, even as a tinge of disloyalty hovered, reminding him that he had not received permission from Austin for any of this.
“Evelyn?” A deep voice pierced his fuzzy brain and she leapt away from him as if burned. Confused and bone-deep horny, Ross attempted to process that a man who looked like a sixty-year-old version of Austin Fitzgerald stood in front of them, glass in hand.
“Mr. Fitzgerald.” Evelyn shook his outstretched hand. The deep freeze between them was palpable. “What a surprise.” The older version of Austin sipped his beer and appraised them.
“I see that.” The man’s voice was lighter than Austin’s and his eyes were cold and calculating. But after about thirty seconds, he seemed to relax, or give up. He grabbed Evelyn’s hand again. “Congratulations. You guys have really done it.”
“Thanks.” She kept her voice neutral, Ross noted. He stood beside her, held out his hand. “Oh, um, Maxwell Fitzgerald, this is Ross. Ross Hoffman.”
“Ah, yes, Austin’s friend from Germany.”
“Ja.” He couldn’t think of anything more to say. Max’s negative energy oozed around them, poisoning what had turned into a great party. He found himself wanting to put an arm around her, to protect her from this asshole. But he didn’t. The silence was awkward at best.
“Where’s Austin?”
“He’s not well. Had to rest back at the hotel.”
Ross sensed her anxiety at this encounter as if it were a live thing he wanted to strangle, to banish from her forever.
“Ah. Headache?”
“Yes. A bad one.”
“Yes, he had them as a teenager. But doctors never found any reason for them, and they stopped after a while.”
“Oh, well. Anyway, that’s where he is.”
“Evelyn.” Austin’s father took a step toward her and Ross felt his entire body tense, ready to pounce, although he knew that was utterly irrational. She stood her ground.
“Yes?”
“I want you to know that I’m… We… I’m very proud of my son. Of what he’s done.”
“I’m sure he knows that, Mr. Fitzgerald.”
The man seemed to collapse in on himself, grow older by fifteen years before his eyes. Ross grabbed a chair and helped him into it while Evelyn stood, watching.
“Please, please, my dear. Call me Max.” He sighed. “No, he doesn’t know it, and that’s my fault.”
Ross sat, and she sank into the chair next to him.
“You see, my wife, Austin’s mother, she thinks, well, she poured so much of herself into the boys. They were her one reason for living it seemed. And now…” He shrugged, saying more in one gesture than in a thousand words.
“She did a fine job.” Evelyn’s words made Ross stare. She put a hand on the Max’s thin knuckles. “Truly, Mr…um…Max. Austin is an incredible man, an amazing, loving, giving human being. I know that doesn’t happen by accident.” She sat back. “I just wish—” She stopped, shook her head. “I wish I could have known Brock.”
Maxwell Fitzgerald’s eyes narrowed as he regarded her. “You realize Austin has reduced our ownership share of the brewery to one percent? He paid me back my initial investment with interest, keeping us on the board because we shared a last name. He told me that was the only reason.”
Ross stared, but Max kept his eyes trained on Evelyn.
“I see you didn’t know that.”
“No, I didn’t. But I’m sure he was going to tell me.”
Ross frowned, shocked that Austin had given up the parental safety net. He was pretty sure Fitzgerald operated in the black but just barely, given the expansion plans he’d seen. What had come over him? He smiled, watching Evelyn relax and talk with Austin’s father.
He’d never claimed anything resembling introspection, but at that moment, with Evelyn, knowing that Austin had taken a step to bring him into their relationship on purpose, Ross experienced the sort of gut-deep happiness he’d not felt…in his entire life.
Chapter Twenty
“Dear God, if I say one more word about these beers, I’m gonna puke, or kill somebody.” Evelyn pulled her hair off her neck. The bar had been a sweltering oven in the unseasonably hot Denver fall. Her throat ached and her heart pounded. She kept checking her phone, hoping Austin had revived enough to contact her, but the screen stayed blank except for all the Facebook, Instagram and Twitter notices she kept getting about their win as Mid-Size Brewery of the Year.
Sighing, she stuck her phone in her pocket and leaned against Ross’ back in a move that felt more natural than anything.
Without realizing it, she’d relied on him as she would Aust
in and he’d rallied, solving the immediate problem—albeit without much of Austin’s diplomacy, but solving it, nonetheless. And the bombshell Max had dropped, about Austin cutting him off from brewery ownership and in the process cutting them off from his family and their financial safety net, had settled in her gut like a stone, making it hard to concentrate.
Surely, he knew what he was doing. She trusted Austin implicitly and figured he would have told her eventually.
They watched the party progress, standing close enough that she could lean into Ross’ strong torso and take some of the pressure off her aching feet. Eight of the ten kegs were blown, and the last two were on their last few pours so the bar was beginning to empty.
She’d had at least two beers spilled on her as people hugged their congratulations—she felt sticky and smelly. Exhaustion stole over her, combining with the incessant worry about Austin’s health. As if sensing her distress, Ross put an arm around her and brought his lips near her ear.
“Let’s get out of here.”
She nodded, sensing her thighs tighten and her nipples harden against her will. Guilt washed through her, pouring ice-cold water on her libido.
“He texted me.”
She looked at his phone’s screen.
Hey. I’m lonely and sad and feeling sorry for myself. Can’t get Evelyn’s phone. Come back. Bring food.
She grinned, let herself relax for the first time in hours, and followed Ross out. “Let’s walk. It’s not far. I need the air,” he said as he draped an arm around her and they made their way through the milling crowds on the Denver sidewalks. After they stopped in an all-night market for some cheese, fruit and bread, she tucked her arm through his and took a deep breath, pondering the interesting, odd new shape of her life. He stopped, tugged her into a darkened doorway, and held her close.
