Wright Rival (Wright)

I rolled my eyes. “You overheard that Bradley and I broke up?”

“Just looking out for you.”

“Ay Dios mio!”

He chuckled at my disinterest. “You’re coming to church tomorrow morning, right? Abuelita Nina misses you. You’re going to break her poor heart.”

I huffed out a breath. I adored my abuelita. She was in her eighties with more life than most people half her age. But church and I didn’t always get along, and it was her favorite place outside of the kitchen, where she admitted to worshipping Jesus with her cooking.

“I don’t know, Papa.”

“Don’t Papa me,” he said, pointing a pen at me. “Make your grandmother happy. Pray that we have many more years with her, but you need to spend the time with her now.”

“Fine,” I told him, feeling much younger than my twenty-nine years as he admonished me.

This was the best and worst part about working with my father. I loved him dearly, but the guilt trips sometimes put me over the edge.

I waved him off and returned to my own work. I had too much to do, and now, I had to attend church tomorrow instead of coming here like the workaholic I was.

7

Hollin

“Look at you,” Nora said when she entered the living room of our childhood home. “You almost look like an adult.”

“Almost?”

“You’d be a full adult in a tie,” she teased.

I ruffled her blonde bob, and she hopped away from me in her unbelievably high heels.

“Hey!”

“I put on a whole suit, and you’re upset over a tie?”

“Just saying,” she said with a grin. “Tell him, August.”

August, dressed in a black suit with a tie that complemented Nora’s teal dress, held his hands up. “Keep me out of this. I just do what she says.”

“See, he’s the smart one,” Nora said.

“Luckily, I’m not tied down to someone who requires a tie.”

It was a rare enough occasion for me to even be wearing a suit. A tie was next level. I’d do it for important nights, but I preferred to wear jeans and T-shirts. I liked cowboy boots and hats and belt buckles. It was Julian who had gone with me to get a few suits that were up to the Wright standards. I represented the winery now after all.

“You look nice,” my dad, Gregg, said as he ambled into the living room. He still wasn’t very fast on his feet and stepped into the room, clutching a cane.

Bad knees ran in our family, but my dad’s had started to fall apart at a young age. He was well past due for total knee replacements. He hated asking for help or admitting he was in pain. Instead, he suffered through most of it with a smile.

“Thanks, Dad,” I said. “You ready to go to church?”

“Waiting on one more,” he said, his smile widening.

“One more?”

At that moment, the doorbell rang, and a second later, the door banged inward. In walked my brother, Campbell.

“What the hell?”

Nora’s face lit up. “Campbell!”

She threw herself into his arms, and he laughed, wrapping her in a hug.

“Hey, y’all.”

“What are you doing here?” We fist-bumped and then hugged.

Campbell was easily the luckiest bastard in the world. The minute he’d graduated high school, he’d ditched Lubbock like a bad breakup and gone straight to LA with nothing but a few hundred bucks and his guitar. Five years later, he’d was part of one of the biggest bands in the world. They’d been this huge for three years, and it was unbelievable. Cosmere was his baby. He wrote all the lyrics, was the lead singer, and played guitar. As far as I knew, he was currently on a world tour for their latest album.

“I did two shows at Red Rocks in Denver and had two whole days off before I needed to be in Salt Lake City. So, I took a jet home,” Campbell said.

“Casual,” Nora said, but she was smiling like a kid in a candy store.

We hadn’t seen Campbell since January, when he kicked off the tour in Lubbock, of all places. He’d barely even checked in. And while it had only been a few short months, we’d gotten used to having him around again. It was one thing when he was in LA and Lubbock was the last place in the world he wanted to be. It was another to finally have him back and for him to leave again. That felt much worse.

“He called me when he got on the plane,” our dad said.

“It’s the best,” Nora said.

“A hundred percent,” I agreed. “Are you going to church with us?”

“Don’t I look like I am?” he asked with a smirk. The shithead was in ripped black jeans, a ripped black T-shirt, and a leather jacket. He looked like he was going to step his Converse-clad feet onstage.

“No,” Dad said. “But it’s okay. We’re just glad you’re going.”