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“Remy? Can you let go? It’s getting weird having my face all up in your bare chest.”
I heaved out a sigh. “Okay. good night.”
Then she was gone, disappearing into her room and quietly closing the door behind her. And I returned to my giant, fluffy, empty bed and went back to staring at the ceiling all night.
Chapter12
Remy
The last person I expected to find on my doorstep at seven on a Sunday morning was Paz. His BMW SUV parked next to my Chevy truck in the driveway only heightened the differences between us.
Paz had been born for something more than logging. He was the corporate type—smart, polite, clean cut. He had just survived another Northern Maine winter and still hadn’t grown a beard.
He didn’t want to be here, but after Dad died, he’d moved back and taken over the finance side of the business. Negotiated contracts, paid suppliers, and worked nonstop to get us out of the red. He and Henri were close, always in meetings behind closed doors and still treated me like the dumb younger brother who couldn’t possibly understand.
The winter had been brutal. It was the busiest time of the year for Gagnon Lumber, and on top of that, we were cooperating with law enforcement. After Henri’s accident, the logging companies reached a deal with the FBI to surveil parts of our logging roads for drug trafficking.
It had resulted in delay after delay, daily headaches, and far too many lost profits. All of which Paz had to manage. He was our corporate face, meeting with the governor, driving to Boston to sit down with the legal team, and constantly working to protect our bottom line.
And handling me. The liability. Because I’d lost the respect of my crews, thus ensuring I couldn’t work alongside them. I’d caused tens of thousands of dollars in damage while simultaneously putting us days behind schedule. I was of no use to him. So he’d written me off, some days chewing me out endlessly and others completely ignoring my existence.
If he had his way, he’d be out of here tomorrow. Back to the city, where he could collect fancy watches and hit up cool restaurants. Where he could be someone else entirely.
The Paz of my childhood, the wise guy who sailed through school on his wits and then through the rest of life’s challenges on his charm, was long gone. My older brother had always been the one to give me advice. He taught to ride a bike and bought me my first beer. Anymore, it was rare to find that brother of mine in the man he had become.
Outside the window, he marched up to the cabin, wearing his normal angry expression.
“Morning brother,” I said quietly, opening the door.
Paz pushed past me without saying a word.
“What crawled up your ass?” I asked.
“You,” he spat, his face twisted in what looked like disgust. “You need to stop being so fucking impulsive.”
I wished I could say I was surprised by his outburst. But this was the way he spoke to me these days.
“You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Always shooting first and asking questions later. What the fuck were you thinking?”
He wore a light blue dress shirt with a few buttons undone at the collar and a pair of jeans that probably cost more than my monthly truck payment. Paz was not meant for this life. Yeah, he’d grown up alongside us, climbing trees and jumping in lakes, but he’d always wanted more than small-town life. Smart and ambitious, he sailed through school, and when he headed off to college, he never looked back.
He would come up for holidays and family events, but he was settled in Portland. Had a sick condo with ocean views and traveled all over the world.
Seeing him here, in this simple log cabin, wearing those expensive shoes, always felt strange. He didn’t fit. It was obvious to everyone, but most of all him.
My parents had encouraged him to do what he needed to do, go where he needed to go. But when Dad died, he wasn’t here. He’d missed out on years and years of working alongside him like the rest of us had been doing. And he was angry about that. About what had been lost. And he was taking it out on everyone and everything around him. And lately, I’d been the easiest target.
The realization that Dad’s death had not been an accident only made things worse. Thing had been so tense since Adele’s discovery that the four of us could barely communicate without finding ourselves in a shouting match. Everyone had theories and questions, and we were all blaming ourselves.
My sister had retreated. Adele blamed herself, and these days, if she wasn’t working nonstop in the shop, she’d disappear. She was dating someone, that much we knew, but asking for details was a sure-fire way for one of us to get our head ripped off.
Paz had been back for two years, and he was still renting a small apartment, still kept a crazy schedule, still wore his Brooks Brothers shirts around town. He was biding his time until he could get out. Our business needed him. So out of loyalty to Dad’s legacy and to Henri, he’d come back, stepping in as CFO and starting the long process of modernizing a fourth-generation family business.
I had always respected him. He worked hard and was good to our family, especially our mom. But we didn’t have much in common. Not anymore. He had regarded me as the fuck-up little brother since birth, making it pointless for me to strive for anything more than the obligatory distant brotherly relationship we had.
“Lower your voice,” I snapped. “What are you talking about?”
He pinched the bridge of his nose, already exhausted by my idiocy, I was sure. “Why the fuck would you go out and get married? I got paperwork from HR asking for my signature of approval for Hazel’s health insurance yesterday. Along with a copy of your marriage license. You jaunted off to Bangor last Tuesday and got fucking married? What were you thinking? Never mind, I know that answer. You weren’t.”
