Page 48 of Brewer Family Collection, Part 1

Jason

M y stomach growls, breaking my concentration—something I’ve battled to retain all afternoon and evening. Focus isn’t something I struggle with. If there’s work to be done, I can tune out a marching band. Hell, I can even ignore Tate if it means completing a task.

But the one thing I can’t keep from infiltrating my thoughts is Chloe.

Friday at seven. See you then.

I straighten my desk, make notes for later—leaving off a reminder to have Chloe work late on Friday—and then rise to my feet. My stomach reminds me that I haven’t eaten since morning's breakfast bar, so I make my way to the kitchen.

The sun hovers on the horizon, bathing the house in a warm, muted light as I make my way through the foyer.

Chloe hasn’t mentioned dating anyone in a long time. I usually try to avoid those discussions, knowing they’ll wind up pissing me off. The two guys I know she’s dated haven’t known their ass from a hole in the ground. How do you manage to get her to date you and then fuck it up?

I don’t know what makes me want to fuck them up more—the fact they didn’t treat her right or that they’re obviously too stupid to have deserved a chance with her in the first place.

“Not my problem,” I mutter, opening the refrigerator. I find leftover chicken breast, brown rice, and vegetables and pop them into the microwave. The plate spins in a circle. My thoughts spiral, too, reminding me of all the contracts I need to peruse before morning.

But before I can retrieve my plate and return to my home office, my doorbell rings.

“You good?” Tate shouts before the door closing echoes through the house.

“In the kitchen.”

Steps tap across the hardwood, getting louder as they grow closer. Tate and Renn round the corner and grab seats at the island.

The two of them together are hell on wheels.

They’re the same height and mostly the same build now that Renn has lost some of his rugby muscle, thanks to his retirement.

I’m not sure who is cockier between them, but I know that I’d call Gannon or Ripley if I had an emergency.

By the time Renn stopped trying to be a hero and Tate had taken enough selfies to post on Social, I’d be dead or in jail.

“Calvin was in the guardhouse and said you were home,” Renn says. “Do you know what I don’t understand?”

“Mathematics? Tact? How to properly eat spaghetti?” I ask, taking my plate from the microwave.

He rolls his eyes. “I don’t understand how Calvin works in personal security. Where did Landry Security find that guy? He just tried to big dog me.”

Tate snickers at Renn’s annoyance.

“I really think he expected me to cower to him,” Renn says, pointing at himself. “ Me . A professional rugby player. What does he think is gonna happen? Nothing his little lanyard can save him from, I’ll tell you that.”

“ Former professional rugby player— ow !” Tate says, rubbing his shoulder where Renn punched him. Hard.

I chuckle at them.

“I mean it,” Renn says. “The only scary thing about Calvin is that he might just be dumb enough to think he could take me.”

“Have you been talking to Foxx?” I ask, getting a fork from the dishwasher.

His brows pull together. “No. Why?”

“Well, Foxx isn’t a big fan of Calvin’s either,” I say. “I guess Bianca used Calvin to make Foxx jealous, and although she was kidding, Foxx doesn’t kid.”

“ Ooh . Bet that went over well,” Tate says.

I shrug, pouring myself a glass of wine. “Considering Foxx doesn’t joke around about anything, let alone our sister, let’s just say Calvin is lucky he can still form words.”

“Foxx Carmichael.” Renn laughs, shaking his head. “That’s one motherfucker I wouldn’t want to fight.”

“Do you two want a drink?” I ask.

They shake their heads and follow me to the table. Renn sits across from me, and Tate takes a chair beside him. There’s a twinkle in Renn’s eye that makes my stomach tighten.

“You okay?” Renn asks. “You look a little putrid?”

“Learn a new word today?” I ask, spearing a broccoli floret.

“Yesterday, actually.” He stares holes through me. “Have you talked to Mom lately?”

Tate’s words from this afternoon ring through my mind as I take a bite of my dinner. “He just wants to talk to you and Gannon about buying the Tennessee Royals.”

This isn’t about Mom, and we all know it.

I stare at Renn and take another bite.

Tate leans back in his chair with a shit-eating grin. “This is about to get interesting.”

“Is this about the Royals?” I ask, watching him over the rim of my glass.

“Who told?” Renn groans, looking at Tate. “ Fucker . I wanted to be the one to bring it up to him.”

“Why? So you could blindside him, and he could tee off on your face?” Tate asks.

Renn laughs. “You think that old man could hit me?”

The glass clinks as it touches the tabletop. The sound causes my brothers to stop squabbling and look at me. I lift a brow.

“Kidding.” Renn clears his throat. “But, yes, it’s about the Royals. I want to buy the team.”

“And I want— a lot of things ,” I say, catching myself before Chloe’s name pierces the air, and I can’t take it back. “Doesn’t mean either of us will get those things.”

And neither will Thomas if I can help it.

“I was on board with you starting an airline,” Renn says.

“I had a business plan and no reason to have Towlin’s number on standby.”

Renn rolls his eyes. “Will you just think about it? I can get everyone on board but you.”

I sigh and watch my brother squirm like a little boy in his seat.

Renn and I have never been wildly close—mainly because I was the kind of person he liked to pester, and he was the kind of kid I wanted to throttle.

I wanted to read books; he wanted to kick a ball at my face.

So I’d challenge him to combat or a test of physical fitness, and all he’d run was his mouth.

Despite being a physical phenom, he knew I’d kick his ass.

But it’s different now—for all of us. Gannon gets the calls about finances. I get the calls about safety and logic. We all call Bianca for strategy sessions, and Tate provides entertainment. Ripley is always there to ride for any of us.

But Renn has seemed to turn to me even more over the past few months.

He had me help upgrade his security system.

He wanted my advice on what car was safest for Blakely.

He had me help him hang a television in his living room—something he would’ve paid someone to do a year ago.

Now that he’s married, he’s suddenly Mr. Fix It … with my help.

I want to blow him off, but the look on his face stops me. I can at least hear him out … then tell him no.

“Would you manage it?” I ask. “Does Blakely’s brother want to be involved? If so, what roles do you and Brock want to play?”

“We want to be involved. We don’t know much about running a professional sports organization, but that didn’t stop Gannon from buying the Arrows.”

I roll my eyes. “Which is why I suggest holding off for a while. Let’s consolidate what we already have and give ourselves time to breathe.”

“ But I can’t breathe . That’s the thing. I need something to do, or Blakely is going to kill me.” His bottom lip sticks out. “She told me yesterday that if I didn’t find a hobby, she’d get a job.”

“What about your charity program?” I ask.

He makes a face at me. “I have a lot of energy, Jase. And you don’t know what it’s like being married.”

“Of course, he doesn’t,” Tate says, snorting. “Jason will never be married.”

The tone, coupled with the assuredness of his statement, hits me sideways. I set my fork on the edge of my plate.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I reach for my glass.

“It’s pretty self-explanatory, isn’t it?” Tate asks. “You’ll never marry and know what having a wife is like. Period.”

“What makes you say that?” I ask.

Renn leans forward, resting his elbows on my table, and grins. Heathen .

“I’m sorry,” Tate says, amused. “Is there something I don’t know? Did you suddenly decide to be social enough to meet a woman, ballsy enough to do something as crazy as fall in love, and then have the guts to agree to be with her for all of eternity?”

Renn’s grin widens.

My cheeks heat as their gazes fix on me. I’d blame it on the wine, but I’m pretty sure it has more to do with the questions than the two drinks of alcohol.

My brothers and I have never discussed my relationship status, mostly because I avoid discussing anything too personal with them.

Even if they didn’t require every moment to be about them, I still wouldn’t talk in-depth about how I feel about women or my private life.

Giving them too much information is akin to handing them the knife to torture you.

And they would because they’re assholes like that.

But something about their quick assumption that I don’t have the guts to be married irks me.

I take a long drink and absorb their amusement. Then I do something I never do. I let them get to me.

I sit back, narrowing my gaze. “What makes you think I’ll never get married?”

“Seriously?” Tate asks, on the verge of laughter.

“Yeah, seriously. I’m dying to know why you think I’ll never have a wife.”

“Do you want the list or a quick synopsis?” Tate asks.

I lift a brow.

“For the record,” Renn says, his eyes darting between us. “I’m the Switzerland here. If you two start fighting, I’m taking no sides. Only videos so the family can enjoy watching Tate get pummeled.”

Tate gasps. “I’m hurt.”

“You will be if you fuck with Jason.”

“You have such middle-child energy,” Tate says, glaring at Renn.

I sigh. “Can we get back to the topic at hand? I have shit to do tonight.”

Tate rips his attention from our brother and turns it on me. “If you’re serious and have never realized that you’re not marriage material, let me break it down.”

“Here we go,” Renn mumbles, scooting away from Tate.