Page 106 of No More Secrets
“Motion carries,” Carter nodded. “Now let’s move on to the discussion item of the brewery.”
When Jax returned, he found them rocking in silence sipping scotch.
Beckett passed him a glass.
“It doesn’t look like you have any slap marks on your face,” Carter commented.
Jax ran a hand over the stubble on his jaw. “I didn’t make a move on her this time.”
“Maybe you’re wisening up, Hollywood?” Beckett snickered.
“Is wisening a word, Mr. Mayor?”
“I’m the mayor, and it’s a word if I say it’s a word.”
Carter raised his glass. “I’m with the mayor on this one.”
“Jesus, I need to catch up.” Jax drained his glass and blew out a sharp breath.
Carter passed him the bottle. “Hurry up. You need to be in the same state of inebriation as your partners.”
Jax’s grip tightened on the glass. “Partners?”
“The brewery. If you’re sticking, we’re in. But if you’re even considering the slightest chance that you’re going to haul ass out of here again, then I want nothing to do with it,” Carter said.
Jax topped off their glasses. “I’m sticking.”
Carter could hear the earnestness, the excitement in his tone and knew. It resonated. Whatever demons made his brother run away would be faced. He would stick.
He nodded. “Then we’re in.” He raised his glass. “To John Pierce Brews.”
“After Dad,” Jax cleared the emotion from his throat. “Shit. That sounds good.”
“It sure does. Now don’t fuck it up,” Beckett said, bringing his glass to theirs.
“To John Pierce Brews,” they toasted.
“Let’s call Calvin tomorrow and get him out here to look at the barn and see where we need to start.”
Jax nodded. “As soon as the hangover wears off, I’ll call. What were you thinking with scotch, anyway?”
“I texted Mom and asked her to come over and make us breakfast in the morning,” Beckett said. “It was as long as I could put her off, Carter. She wants to make sure her baby boy is in one piece.”
Carter rubbed a hand over the center of his chest. “Great. Now she’s gonna know that her kids are adults and still can’t hold their liquor.”
“Speak for yourself,” Beckett said, standing up to pirouette in a sloppy circle. “I’m sober as Great-Aunt Margaret.”
“Are those sweat stains or are you spilling scotch?” Carter teased. There was no relief from the heat of the day. It just settled into a night so thick with humidity he imagined the fireflies had trouble staying aloft.
“You remember what we used to do when we were kids when it was hot like this?” Jax asked, smiling with the memory.
Air-conditioning was relatively new to the farmhouse. And many a night in their childhood had been spent engineering complex sheet and fan ventilation systems. But on the nights when even fans didn’t help, the brothers snuck out and raced to the pond.
“You remember the time Dad caught us and jumped in in his pajamas?” Beckett said wistfully.
The image of their father swan diving off of the dock in his t-shirt and underwear loosened something in Carter’s chest.
“That was one of the best nights in my life.”
