Page 9

But most people miss these details, drawn instead to my favorite part of the home: the massive picture window framing the main living area. It opens up to a sweeping, panoramic view over the rolling green hills of the vineyard, stretching all the way to the tree line. Pop used to stand here every evening. “Watching the grapes grow.”

Standing here now, though, the view feels more like a clock ticking down to my worst nightmare.

I hand Sebastian a glass and fill him in on the brutal reality of the last week. The deer tearing through the wild border, the discovery of the powdery mildew, and the backbreaking labor of trimming and washing the clusters before the whole harvest rots. I rub my sore fingers against my pants leg in an attempt to ease the sting.

“Hey, at least you caught it early,” Sebastian says quietly, taking a slow sip. His voice sounds frayed. Is he as worried about my inability to save the vineyard as I am?

I turn my back on the window, unable to keep staring out at the land. Defeat sits heavy and dry in the back of my throat, tasting a hell of a lot like dirt. It probably is. I’m sure I likely inhaled a ton of it over the course of the week. Or maybe it’s the proverbial rock stuck in my throat I’m sensing from trying to hold back the grief I feel at letting my grandfather down.

I can’t even look Sebastian in the eye right now, or I’ll probably lose it. He’s built a life, a career, and a family, making it all look so effortless. And me? I’m the precise screw-up my mother always predicted I’d be. A self-fulfilling prophecy whose calloused hands are stained purple and covered in scratch marks.

God, if I’d just spent more time with Pop during those college summers instead of yachting trips with friends, maybe I could’ve absorbed an ounce of the business instinct he had when he built Sutter Creek. Instead, after getting my heart broken and having my naive dreams crushed, I chose the easy way out. I partied. I burned through cash like there was no tomorrow, surrounding myself with fair-weather friends and meaningless distractions.

My parents set a horrible example when I was growing up. They spent lavishly, lived carelessly, each of them taking lovers and leaving disaster in their wake. Why worry about tomorrow when you can numb today?

I knew their behavior was wrong. It’d be convenient to blame my DNA for my choices. But I’d already given up before my adult life had begun. I’d allowed my mother’s poison to infiltrate my brain.

You’ll never amount to anything, Sam. Why would any girl settle for you once they set their eyes on your brother?

My head falls forward. Her mocking insults haunt me on a loop now that I’m watching my grandfather’s dreams go up in smoke.

“What am I even doing with this? It feels insurmountable. Like trying to swim through quicksand. And I don’t have the right mindset to tackle this effectively. I groan every time the alarm goes off in the morning.”

“Then fix that first. Then go from there. Rome wasn’t built in a day. I try to end each night reading something that will resonate with me while I sleep. Needless to say, I have a ton of motivational self-help books I can lend you. I’d start with Mel Robbins’ book, The 5 Second Rule. She actually came up with the practice because she was drowning in the same boat. She was completely overwhelmed by her life and didn’t want to get out of bed. I’ll drop it off here for you.”

My brows lift in surprising solidarity with this popular motivational speaker.

“I really struggled when my health took a nosedive,” Bas continues. “I didn’t understand what was happening. It felt as if my world as I knew it was slipping from my grasp like grains of sand between my fingers. So I made my mental health a priority. Get back in the gym or run in the morning. Take a yoga class. Meditate.”

“C’mon, Bas. I’m not a woo-woo kind of guy.”

He shakes his head before taking a sip of his drink. “It can make all the difference. Try giving yourself ten minutes a day to clear your mind. It doesn’t have to be anything formal. Just reset your intention for the day. Connect with the things about Sutter Creek you and Pop loved.”

My heart aches at the very thought. How broken our dreams have become since we stood amongst the vines in my childhood. Is there really a chance I could fix this?

Sebastian reads the dark silence in the room and steps closer. His tone softens. “Hey, man. You can’t give up yet. You’re a smart guy. Give yourself some credit.”

I look back at him, my expression completely blank, hollowed out by a week of sixteen-hour days under the unforgiving Hanover sun.

“You don’t see it the way I do,” he adds. “I had to bust my balls to get marks worthy of applying to med school. But you? You were out there playing football, soccer, juggling an active social life, and you’d still pull an A on every assignment without cracking open a book.” Sebastian glances down at my hands. My knuckles are raw, my fingertips chapped and stained from a week of manual labor in the heat.

I let out a quiet sigh and shrug. “That was different. School came easy to me somehow. It’s not like I retained any of it. Clearly, I haven’t put my business degree to good use,” my voice comes out raspy from dust and exhaustion. And perhaps the strain of my self-loathing.

My brother crosses the room, sitting in the heavy leather chair opposite mine before leaning forward with his forearms on his knees. The disappointment that usually fills his eyes is gone, replaced by an intense, unwavering focus. “But you could.” His gaze stays locked firmly onto mine. “There is not a single doubt in my mind that you could turn this place around, Sam.”

A sudden stillness settles over the room. The absolute conviction in his voice gives me pause, settling into my chest with an unfamiliar heaviness.

“Well, that makes one of us.” I take a sip of my scotch, hoping the burn will dissolve this bolder stuck in my throat.

I’ve spent years assuming Sebastian viewed me the exact same way our mother did. A hopeless, selfish playboy who couldn’t be trusted with anything real. Realizing that he actually believes in me doesn’t make the burden lighter. It makes the panic more real.

Because if he believes I can save Sutter Creek, and I still manage to watch it burn to the ground, I won’t just be proving our mother right. I’ll be letting down the only living person in this family who actually thought I was worth a damn.

Chapter Five

Lexi

I slide my key into the lock of my front door and step into the stillness of my home. It’s a sanctuary of clean lines and untouched surfaces, built entirely around a singular view. The small open floor plan immediately draws the eye across the polished floors to the back of the house, where a large picture window frames my vibrant backyard like a living piece of art.