Page 5 of Tempting Max

MAX

“Fuck me,” I groan when I wake up far too early on the day of the soft opening. I feel flattened, like a parade of steam rollers took a turn through my bedroom.

I sit up and run a hand down my face as if I can physically pull the cobwebs from my brain. It doesn’t work. Nothing does. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since before…well, Sloane. And I doubt I will ever again.

My body screams at me when I stand, and I head into the shower to see if it will help. Cranking the heat all the way up, I let it wash over my shoulders, easing the tension that builds up every day.

It’s gotten worse in the last few days—I think because there is so much riding on this venture.

I know we’re ready. We’ve taken our time, done the research, gone through dozens of recipes, laid out a safe financial plan, and done all the right advertising. The building turned out better than I could have expected, and we have a staff that really seems to care about making Redpoint Brewery a hit.

But I learned the hard way that anything and everything can be taken away from you in the blink of an eye. A father, a brewery, a heart. The only thing I have left is my brothers and what becomes of Redpoint.

I have to make this work for them. I don’t really care what becomes of me, but I have to figure out how to take care of them, to make sure they’re set for the future. Since losing Sutton Brewing was my fault.

Groaning, I try to turn the temperature up, but it’s already on high. I welcome the way it burns, the way it makes mefeel, and just when my tension starts to release, Gus’ heart-shaped face pops into my brain.

“No,” I grumble out loud, banishing the thought with a shake of my head. She’s the very last thing I need to be thinking about, especially since she’s been popping up a bit too much in my dreams.

Determined, I grab the soap and finish the rest of my shower reciting the specials for the soft opening verbatim. To my utmost relief, it works.

“No one takes an angrier shower than you,” Elliot points out when I enter the kitchen after I’ve dried and dressed.

He’s at the tiny kitchen table of our small house eating Froot Loops like a five-year old, his design tablet opened next to him. “And no one eats a more childish breakfast than you,” I shoot back, heading to the pantry to grab my protein shake.

I flash back to memories of us all in our childhood home, fighting over the prizes in the cereal boxes, forced to wear matching pajamas at Christmas, playing catch with dad, building Lego sets for hours…

As awkward as it is to be living together in such close quarters after being on our own for so long, there are parts of it that I love. I feel closer to my brothers now than I have in years.

“Hey,” he argues around a mouthful of cereal, “you almost broke my arm once because I ate the last of the Golden Grahams.”

“Yeah, but my palette has matured.”

He eyes me as I sit down with my double chocolate protein shake. “Right. You know you basically drink chocolate milk for breakfast. I wouldn’t call that refined.”

“You both eat like children,” Liam tells us, looking refreshed and healthy after what I can only imagine was in his words ‘just an easy ten-mile jog’. I don’t know how he does it, I’ll pull myself up almost any mountainside, I’ll lift weights until I can’t move, but running is not in my DNA. The last time I tried to go with him, I made it six blocks, he went ten miles, and hardly looked like he broke a sweat.

Bastard.

“No, you eat like someone’s hippie mom,” Elliot says, ignoring the milk that spills down his chin as Liam lines up his chia, flaxseed, strawberries, and steel cut oatmeal for preparation.

He doesn’t turn to look at us. “It’s called nutritional balance,” he answers as he prepares the oatmeal on the stove. "You should try it, maybe you’d sleep better.”

“I sleep fine,” Elliot counters, drinking the remaining milk from the bowl with an obnoxious slurp designed to irritate Liam. “When I’m not finding better things to do in bed.”

Liam shakes his head but doesn’t comment. I know his sleep comment was directed at me rather than Elliot. And I know I’d probably sleep better if I wasn’t downing caffeine and sugar all day, but I also know that if I stopped, I’d be even crankier. I’m not sure the world could handle that. I’m two outbursts away from being visited by three ghosts at Christmas as it is.

“You should try it,” Elliot says to both of us.

“What? Being a playboy dickhead who can’t keep his pants zipped to save his life?” I ask after downing the last of my ‘chocolate milk’.

“No, you couldn’t pull that off, but the two of you could surely benefit from getting laid. I swear to God Liam is stiff as a board and you,” he throws his hand toward me. “And you’re wound so tight with anger that one of these days you’re going to blow and take this entire town with you.”

I lean back in my chair, and I see Liam attempt to relax his shoulders. As the youngest, Elliot isn’t always the most observant, but these shots are surprisingly accurate. Both Liam and I take on more than we need to and bottle it up like cavemen. Elliot lets everything out instantly. There’s no guessing game when it comes to him. I envy that about him sometimes, to just be in the moment, to be at ease enough with himself to be authentic one hundred percent of the time. It must be unimaginably freeing.

Knowing his barb was a little too accurate, Elliot pares back his tone. “All I’m saying is that you could both relax from time to time. You’ve done the hard work—you’redoingthe hard work. You don’t have to beontwenty-four-seven.”

“You trying to convince us or yourself?” I ask.

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