Aiden nods and makes a note, looking so much like Dad for a second that I pause with the glass halfway to my nose. I feel like I’m fourteen again, watching Dad work and desperately hoping for him to look my way.
“Tristan?” My older brother looks up and blinks at me through his glasses. “Everything okay?”
“You just look like Dad sometimes.” I bury my nose in the glass, inhaling deeply of the caramel-spice-smoke.
Aiden winces. “Not exactly a compliment.”
I shrug and sip the whiskey. It’s good. Better than most other twelve-year whiskey I’ve had. Mac was a genius with new products.
“It’s not good enough.” I set the glass back down.
“Are you sure? Grandfather wants to announce the new product when we announce your promotion.”
I wince and take another, bigger sip. Aiden’s brows fly upward. “It needs to be better. I want to have something special to announce.”
“This is special. It’s a new product. We haven’t had one in our lifetime.”
“It’s not enough.” I shake my head, then push back from the tasting table and pace to the windows. “I want something big, you know? Something that cements my legacy.”
“Tristan, you’re a brand-new CEO. It’s going to take a while for that.” His voice is even and patient, because he’s Aiden and he epitomizes the perfect older brother—half father, half friend.
“I need it.” I trace the wood grain of the deep-set windows. “It’s not supposed to be me, you know. As CEO.”
“Of c-course it is,” he counters. “It could have been either of us.”
“No one wanted it to be me, Aiden.” I look out the window, at the grass that unfurls below the window. “Dad would be rolling over in his grave.”
“Dad would be proud.” My brother’s voice is firm and he doesn’t stutter. “Like I am, Tris.”
My gaze slices to his. He’s smiling faintly at me.
“Is this why I see your light on all the time now late at night?” he asks.
“Maybe I’m just partying.”
He levels me a look.
“Fine. I’ve been looking for something that I can present when I’m promoted. A new yeast. A new head distiller. A perfect whiskey. Something like that.” My pacing reaches the corner of the room, where the sun bends through the dusty crystal decanter and the engraved glassware set infront of it. These glasses have been forbidden to us since we were kids. The dust on the one with Dad’s initials gets thicker every day. I run a finger along the delicate edge. He’d be furious if he saw me now.
Tristan, stop bothering your father.
You’re not supposed to be here.
“What does that change if you find this perfect thing? Will you finally let us announce?”
I don’t look at my brother. I can’t. Not when he’s like this—allunderstanding. Coaxing. Acting like the dad I wish we’d all had.
“I don’t want to feel like this,” I say hoarsely. “I’d rather not feel at all.”
He sucks in a breath. “Tris, come on.”
There’s a knock at that moment, and my sister-in-law pops her head in. “Aiden. New bill from the builders for the distillery roof. Can I come in?”
He nods, and Emory walks in, wearing a slim red dress and carrying a stack of papers. “Ten under estimate,” she says and slaps them on the table with a triumphant grin.
I breathe a sigh of relief at her interruption and slump back into the chair at Aiden’s right.
“Did you threaten them with bodily harm again?” My brother is leaning back in his chair, eyes only for his wife as she reaches over and snags one of the whiskey glasses.
