Page 80 of Mended Fences

I had a chip on my shoulder, and he had a point to prove. It didn’t make for a great relationship. People thought that because we were twins, we should have that weird telepathy some do, but we couldn’t be more different.

Then again, we fell for two women who were best friends. Maybe we were more alike than either of us thought.

When Elliot finally released me, my brother looked like he hadtears in his eyes, too. We cleared our throats at the same time as we sat on the couch, averting our eyes and making things awkward as shit.

My fingers picked at a loose thread on my jeans as I shifted on the weathered leather. Elliot mirrored my position on the opposite end, one knee pulled up as he faced me. The morning light caught the blue of his eyes—a mirror of my own.

“I have a favor to ask...”

His face went blank, that careful mask he’d perfected over years of dealing with Tessa and every other thorn in his side sliding into place. “Go on...”

My throat tightened. “I was hopin’ you could give me a job.” He opened his mouth to speak, but I pressed on before he had a chance to reject the idea. “And before you say no, I want you to know how sorry I am about the shit I pulled earlier this year. I jeopardized this family’s legacy and livelihood. I was a selfish asshole. I can see that now, but I’m tryin’ to do better.”

A muscle ticked in Elliot’s jaw as he considered my words. The crease between his brows deepened—the same one Mom always said would give him premature wrinkles. A heavy breath escaped him. “There’s not much to do in the winter other than at the cidery, and I don’t know if that’s?—”

“I get it that you don’t want me there.” The sting of rejection burned in my chest.

“It’s not that, Chase. We all want you here, workin’ with us. I just don’t want it to be tough on you... ya know, bein’ around all that booze.”

The reality of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. The cidery—EdenTree, the new crown jewel of the orchard—all gleaming taps and amber bottles catching the light. My palmsgrew sweaty just thinking about it. “Yeah, I guess I hadn’t really thought of that. Maybe I could just, like, clean at the end of the night or somethin’?”

“You wanna be my janitor?” His lips twitched.

“Hey, I cleaned the fuck outta that nasty-ass place Elena moved into.”

“That you did.” A ghost of a smile crossed his face, and he drummed his fingers against his knee, weighing options. “Alright, let’s give it a try.”

Relief flooded through me. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.”

“You’re an Everton,” he said, his voice taking on that familiar authoritative tone. “And Evertons take care of their own.”

Dad’s words in my brother’s mouth. I dropped my chin to hide my smile, memories of countless family dinners and lectures washing over me. The weight of our legacy pressed against my shoulders—not crushing anymore, but grounding.

“How are things going with Elena?” Elliot’s question pierced through my thoughts.

The image of her tear-stained face from last night flashed behind my eyes. My chest ached.

“I don’t deserve her, El.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. But she deserves you. She’s been through hell and back so many times over, it’s hard to understand how she’s still standing. She loves you. All you can do is show up every day, do the best you can, and give her what she needs. And what she needs is you.”

The raw honesty in his words stunned me.

I don’t think I have ever heard you say so many words in a row before.”

“Shut up, dicksicle.” His playful shove caught me off guard—physicallyandemotionally. This was the kind of relationship I’d always wanted with my brother. Maybe now, I could finally have it. “You wanna stay for breakfast?”

“Are you cooking, or is Tessa?”

“Tessa, obviously. Mom has taught her to make all the good shit, and it’s real fuckin’ nice not having to walk up to the house in the cold just for some French toast.”

“Hell yeah, I’m staying.” I settled deeper into the couch cushions, already tasting that first bite of French toast. The normalcy of it all—sitting here in my brother’s house, waiting for breakfast—felt like a gift I didn’t deserve. But I was learning to accept those moments instead of sabotaging them.

Next stopon the Chase Everton Gets His Shit Together tour was the resort. Winter season meant they needed instructors, and Jackson said keeping busy was key. Two jobs seemed smart—keep me out of trouble and help pay back my parents for rehab. All eighty-four days of it.

The gravel crunched under my boots as I headed for my truck, keys cold in my hand. Another freezing December morning in northern Michigan.

“Chase, hold up a second.”