Page 12 of Fall is Brewing

He laughs, unbothered. “Come on. You enjoyed pissing Willa Hartley off last night, admit it. I could tell.”

“I didn’t enjoy it. I don’t like pissing anyone off.”

“Uh-huh. You always did like a challenge,” he says, sing-song.

Something in my chest tightens. “This isn’t a game.”

Jace’s grin falters just enough to notice. Evan’s jaw sets. The air shifts—old tension, old memories, the kind we don’t name anymore.

Evan clears his throat. “We can’t afford distractions,” he says pointedly toward me.

“I know,” I say. What I don’t say is that the last time I thought I had everything under control, it nearly tore us apart.

And none of us are willing to survive that again.

Evan closes the cover to the iPad a little too hard, the sound echoing in the quiet morning. “I’m serious, Brooks,” he says. “We don’t have room for mistakes this time.”

This time.

“Well…” I say, “This time, I have more help from you two. So it shouldn’t be a problem.” Unlike last time when they left the entire business in my hands. I was drowning. I was drowning and begging them to help me. Begging them to throw me a life preserver, but they just stood on the dock watching as our ship sank, then blamed me for it.

Jace shifts his weight, suddenly more interested in the gravel than the conversation. That alone tells me Evan’s about to cross a line we usually skirt.

“What exactly are you worried about?” I ask.

Evan exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m worried that we’re pretending this is just another business risk. It’s not. Not with the clause hanging over us.”

Jace groans softly. “Jesus, Evan⁠—”

“No,” Evan cuts in, sharp. “We’re not doing that thing where we pretend it doesn’t exist.”

I feel it settle in my chest, heavy and familiar.

The clause.

Our mom and dad’s last attempt at parenting from beyond the grave.

“All three of us,” Evan continues. “Together. Agreement on all major decisions. No splitting the money. No solo investments. If we fracture⁠—”

“We lose it all,” Jace mutters.

Silence stretches.

“That’s not going to happen,” I say, even as something tightens in my throat.

Evan meets my gaze. “It almost did.”

Jace looks up then, jaw tense. “That was different.”

“Was it?” Evan asks. “Because I remember lawyers. And sleepless nights. And thinking we’d lose more than money.”

I do too.

“We also all apologized,” Jace says sheepishly. “And we all meant it, right? We love each other. And we’re not going to let that happen again.”

I remember standing in a parking lot at two in the morning, my phone pressed to my ear while Jace yelled and Evan went quiet in that terrifying way he does when he’s done fighting. I remember thinking I’d finally pushed us past the point of fixing.

“Jace is right. This is why we came here,” I say finally. “Because this mattered to them. Because it mattered… matters… to us. Because Orchard Falls was—is⁠—”