Page 2 of Fall or Nothing

I cradled Sunshine’s pot between my knees, tending to her carefully. “The trip was a disaster,” I told her. “Dubai was loud. The band that played was great, but my room got trashed with the after-party. People ditched me after Bella showed up, and we had a screaming match. But thatrelationship lasted ten minutes too long. Yeah, I know, Sunshine, you warned me about her. I didn’t listen. Never do.”

I misted her crown and delicately nursed her back to life. Crazy what a little tender care, water, and talking will do for a plant. My hands were steadier than they had been all week.

“You never liked her, not since that time she dumped her wine into your soil. She called it an accident. I think she was just jealous.” Humans always disappointed me. Father. Mother. Brothers. Friends. My plants never did. They only asked for water, light, and a little talk—and they gave back something nice to see in my window in return.

I moved down the line and kept up the soothing conversation the whole time. They had had a rough stretch, and they needed to hear my voice. From here I could see texts lighting up my phone. Jack likely had spread the word, and more so-called friends wanted entry into the Magnus Music event tonight.

More like groupies. Fuck them all. What had my life become?

“I guess all I’m good for these days are free tickets.” Satisfied only when things were right again, I stood and surveyed my row of plants. “I’m so tired. Don’t know what I’m doing anymore.”

Sunshine’s last good leaf seemed to point across the apartment, and I followed it to my desk, and to the calendar on the wall above it. A stupid, glossy thing the building owners gave away every year with a bottle of French champagne. I didn’t need to flip to the last day of December, where I’dcircled it in red.

My thirtieth birthday—the day my trust fund dissolved. The day my life was over.

The clock ticked down way too fast.

Unless…

I pulled the envelope out of the top desk drawer. The wax seal had been broken months ago. The corners were soft from being folded and unfolded over and over. Each time I hoped the words inside would change. But they never did.

I glanced at my plants and back at the calendar again. Then down at the page in my hand, signed by my late father’s illegible, scratchy scrawl, issuing a challenge to complete in order to earn my inheritance.

I had been living in denial for months.

“Right,” I said to Sunshine, Antonio, and all the others. To myself, mostly. “Sorry, my loves, but I have to go away again. I know, I know. Fuck Jack. I’ll hire the doorman this time to water you properly.”

A few phone calls later, I had one of the Magnus private jets and crew on standby at JFK, ready to take off to Montana in the morning. Carrying me off to my last-ditch hope.

Would it work? I’d get on my knees and beg if I had to. Because if it didn’t work, come December 31st, I’d lose it all. No trust fund. No inheritance. Nothing. And who would I be then?

The Ferrari was not builtfor the back roads of Montana, but that didn’t stop me from driving it like it was.

The moment the smooth stretch of pavement gave way to gravel and dirt, the engine protested, and the rear tires kicked loose on the curves. The undercarriage scraped where it shouldn’t, and the frame rattled with the complaint of a machine designed for asphalt being asked to do something uncouth.

A few months ago, I might have laughed and gunned it harder, knowing my trust fund would cover any damage. Today I tightened my grip on the wheel and kept going. Because this was my last chance.

The driveway curved, climbing higher, until the house came into view. It didn’t look like anything I was used to from the concrete jungle of the city. Here, there was a quiet authority in the stone and log exterior with a broad porch, and a view of mountains and trees under a blue sky that went on forever.

Owned by Chris, he’d completed his challenge, earned his part of the Magnus inheritance, and put it to good use running a couple of rescue ranches for horses. Both of which employed veterans. Men who needed somewhere to land.

I was just such a man.

I pulled in too fast, too loud, and cut the engine, dust blowing around me. For a moment I stayed where I was, hands on the wheel, staring through the windshield at the man stomping outside to greet me. My half-brother. The one who had every reason to turn me away.

I hesitated, then reached for the envelope. When Istepped out of the car, the thinner air caught my lungs by surprise. I hadn’t expected that.

Chris didn’t slow. If anything, once he recognized me, his stride sharpened down the front steps. “What the hell are you doing here?”

I pulled off my sunglasses. “Good to see you, Chris. I know it’s been some time, and I know we’ve never been that close?—”

“Close?” His snort was short and humorless. “Carter, the few times our paths crossed, you treated me like I was nothing but dirt under your boot—er, Italian leather loafers.” He snickered at my shoes.

“I was young and following Hugh and Oliver’s lead. You know I always looked up to them. But I know that’s not an excuse.” I shifted on the gravel. My outfit of linen shorts and a pink polo was less than practical for the occasion.

“You three called me the bastard half-brother who didn’t belong.”

A flicker of discomfort settled in my chest. “For what it’s worth, I don’t really feel that about you. I respect you for what you’ve accomplished.” I held out the envelope between us. “This is why I’m here. You won’t believe what Dad wants me to do.”