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“Don’t worry. He’d never hurt you,” I whisper, giving her a reassuring pat on the behind as I pull my shirt on, not bothering with the buttons. “It’s me he has a beef with. You two unlock the door, smile pretty, and head straight out the front toward the gate. I’ll get an Uber to meet you there and take you home.”

I lean in to press a quick kiss to each of their cheeks before spinning on my heel toward the glass doors leading to the veranda. I’ll sneak back to get my car once he’s calmed down. If he hasn’t already towed it by then.

Unlocking the back doors, I burst into the crisp morning air, flying down the stone steps two at a time. Seconds later, a massive chocolate lab bursts from the side bushes and nearly topples me to the ground.

“Not now, Boomerang!” I yell.

However the dog takes this as an invitation, barking happily, hot on my heels as I sprint across Sebastian’s expansive, manicured backyard toward the perimeter fence. My pants leg jerks, and I fall to the ground. The overweight retriever lands on my chest, that giant wet tongue dragging from my chin to my forehead. “Ugh. Stop, you big lug. Can’t you see this is a life or death situation here?”

“Sam!” my brother’s voice roars behind me.

Shit! I shove the dog off of me and spring to my feet, hurdling toward the road. He continues to tug at my leg, my unbuttoned trousers nearly falling to my feet. Not that this would be a first.

Spending an evening at a woman’s home is also not something I entertain any longer. I still have nightmares about the unfortunate occasion when a date’s husband returned early from his work trip to surprise her, and I had to jump out a second-story window with my underwear clutched in my teeth. It was the only article of clothing I had time to grab before making a clean getaway. That was the day I started asking more questions about the relationship status of the women I met. Given they were each a one and done, I hadn’t cared much before my naked jog that night. I’d never been so glad to see my friend, Shepherd. Even if I had to take a ribbing for it for months.

Okay, who am I kidding? He’s still busting my balls for that one.

Glancing over my shoulder, I discover I’m almost home free. I just need to stay out of Sebastian’s way long enough to let him cool off. Maybe offer to watch the kids so he and Bella can get away for the weekend. Not that my brother, or his wife, will entrust me with their children any time soon after this fiasco.

Vaulting over the iron gate at the end of the drive, I don’t stop running until I’m three blocks down the residential road, breathing heavily and pulling out my phone to call an Uber. Scratch that. Two Ubers: one for me and one for those girls.

Hell… I really need to get my shit together. Sure, I’ve said it before, but I really mean it this time. No more women and alcohol. I’ve got enough trouble on my plate without continuing to serve up more.

As I wait on the curb, constantly checking to ensure the coast is clear, the adrenaline begins to fade. In its wake is the hollow, familiar ache that settles in after a night of bad decisions. Sebastian’s fury isn’t just about a broken rule, invading the sanctity of his family home with my shameless behavior. It’s the haughty disappointment I knew was on his face. It’s the same look I see reflected back at me in the mirror time and time again. That of a man who has given up on himself and accepted the easy way out. Hell, my parents practically predicted as much.

“It’s a good thing you come from an attractive gene pool, Sam,” my mother’s cutting voice echoes from my memories, sharp enough to slice through the remaining brain fog. “You should thank your lucky stars that you were born with a silver spoon in your mouth to support your playboy lifestyle. But I guess it was too much to hope that both of my sons would possess intelligence and ambition. Face it. It’d be senseless to pretend you’re built for anything more than this.”

I swallow past the familiar tightness in my throat that develops when her words come back to haunt me and stare down at my scuffed shoes in shame. For years, I’d leaned into it. If everyone expects you to be a useless, charming party boy, it was a hell of a lot easier to just play the part than to try to prove them wrong, only to fail miserably.

My mind drifts to a time long ago. When life hadn’t stolen my dreams. To the endless days spent under the summer sun, covered in dirt, my hands stained with grape juice. I lower myself to the curb, close my eyes, and suddenly I’m fifteen again, sitting on the grass overlooking the valley. My best friend seated right next to me.

“This place is going to be all yours one day, Sammy,” she’d whispered, her fingers accidentally brushing against mine in the dark. The tingling sensation it evoked was both surprising and a bit confusing. When had she gone from being the girl next door who spent hours under the summer sun playing on our neighboring farms to this? Someone whose hand I wanted to hold? Whose lips I wanted to lean in and kiss? I bet if I had tugged on one of her long, blonde braids, I could probably have brought her face close enough to mine to go for it.

Her eyes had been so bright, completely devoid of the judgment the rest of the world held. She looked at me like I hung the damn moon. “You love these vines as much as your pop does.”

“Yeah? And what are you gonna be doing while I’m working from sunup to sundown?” I’d joked, my heart hammering against my ribs from her proximity under the stars. She was so close I could practically smell her cherry lip gloss. I’d lost count how many times I’d come up with reasons to whisper in her ear, just to take a whiff. Was it her shampoo that made my mouth water, or her?

“Making sure you don’t accidentally turn the Pinot into vinegar.” She’d giggled.

The corners of my lips curl with a melancholy grin. Oh, that sound. That glorious, tinkling laughter never ceases to make me smile. Even after all of this time. It could cure whatever ailed me. I massage my tight chest with the palm of my hand. But it’s clear the ache there isn’t due to the morning calisthenics, escaping my brother.

When will I be able to forget that time and move on?

We’d been inseparable in our younger years. Playing hide and seek amongst the vines, Pop bellowing to be careful of the grapes. Little did she know that precarious insecurity hid behind the easy smiles of the boy she thought she knew. The one who dared to believe he could continue to cultivate something as precious as my grandfather’s vineyard. And back then, before I let my mother’s venom eat away at me, eventually convincing me I wasn’t worthy of a real future, or of a girl like her, I’d believed we’d be living out this dream together.

A loud honk shatters my memory. A black Prius with an Uber sign in the front windshield sits next to the curb, the driver looking at my disheveled state with a mask of apprehension.

I stand to my full height, wipe the dust from my pants, and step toward the back seat. The warmth of that memory has burst like a fragile bubble, replaced by the cold weight of my current humiliation. Just as well. I haven’t shared more than a glance with her in years. Not after the spectacular way I’d trashed our friendship and pushed her away, cementing my reputation as the heartless playboy everyone said I was.

But the writing was on the wall with our future. Or lack of it. And after enduring the shit show that was my parents’ farce of a marriage, I had no plans to enter into such a venture. And she deserved the happily ever after. So, I justified it was easier to avoid her than to have a front-row seat at witnessing her moving on to bigger and better things. Because I had no doubt she would. And whether she deserved my rebuff or not, I can admit I’m not man enough to stay friends and watch it happen.

“Where to, buddy?” the driver asks.

“Sutter Creek Vineyard,” I mutter, leaning my head against the cold glass window. My brain is pounding against my skull. I’m not sure if it’s from the events of last night, this morning, or the trip down memory lane.

“Sutter Creek. Got it.” His words bring me right back to the disappointment of yesterday afternoon. Returning to work means enduring another day at a job that underscores what a failure my life has become. Hell, balancing the books was the very reason I went on that bender, hoping to drown my sorrows once more.

My grandfather’s estate is a sinking ship I have no idea how to save. Not only has the place fallen into complete disrepair, but the bank letters and bills are a constant. I’ve had to lay off most of the employees, those who hadn’t already jumped ship. The few workers who remain have been working at the vineyard since Pop was alive. I’m reminded daily that he’s rolling over in his grave at the way my parents and I have allowed Sutter Creek to go downhill. If there’s a chance in hell at saving this place, I need to get my act together. Or pray for a miracle. Either way, I’m running out of time.