Page 13 of The Problem with Players

If it weren’t for the near financial ruin my father left us in when he passed, I would’ve probably stayed in Honey Creek instead of signing a baseball contract. Yet our family needed the money—bad—so it seemed like the best option at the time. I didn’t regret my choice. It ended up saving the family farm.

My family ran Honey Farms, one of the best farms in all the Midwest. We had everything you could think of, from goats, chickens, pigs, and cows to almost every vegetable known to humankind. We partnered with some stellar businesses across Illinois. Not long ago, I scored a contract to get all our produce into the restaurant owned by Avery’s brother-in-law, Alex. Alex and I were currently discussing getting some meat on his menu from our butcher shop.

My twin brothers, Evan and Easton, ran the butcher shop. They were two years younger than me and the complete opposite of one another. Not only based on their looks, as they were fraternal, but also on how they lived their lives. In a different realm, I wouldn’t have been shocked if Easton was a leading man in romantic comedy movies, while Evan would’ve been some grumpy surgeon who took everything far too seriously. Instead, the two of them ended up in a butcher shop. A shop that was our father’s dream.

As I walked through the door, Easton was at the register, chatting with a few customers about the oxtails they had in the store’s freezer section.

“You’ll be amazed at how tender these bad boys will get,” Easton told them. “Toss in some of our mom’s pork belly macand cheese and greens from the fridge section, and boom! You have a whole meal.”

“That’s kind of a high price tag for so little meat on the bones,” the customer remarked with a look of disappointment.

Easton shook his head. “You’re paying for quality with Pierce’s Meat. Hear me out. Let me ring you up for your first order of these, maybe four packs, and if you aren’t satisfied, come on back and I’ll refund you. But you also have to remember my cooking instructions, all right? I promise you, your family will be kissing your feet over these.”

I smirked as I stood back, watching my brother influence those folks into buying over one hundred bucks of oxtails.

Easton’s superpower was selling a product. Lucky for us, he wasn’t lying about the superior quality of the meat. If the Pierce family did one thing well, it was crafting great products. Easton was just a mastermind at making people spend money on said products. That big-ass smirk he always gave to people probably didn’t hurt. Being a friendly face came in handy. People trusted him and for good reason. After Easton sold the products, we’d always get happy returning customers.

As he rang up their items, he thanked them, walked around the counter, shook their hand, and handed them a flyer with the daily specials for the following week.

“I tossed my business card into your bag, too, with my private number on it. Give me a call if you need extra help with those oxtails,” Easton offered with a friendly wink.

After they left, he turned toward me with his big, goofy grin still plastered on his face. “Hey, big brother.” He playfully batted his fist against my chest. “You need to get back in the gym. You’re looking a bit small there, buddy.”

“Still strong enough to kick your ass,” I said, pulling him into a headlock. “Where’s Evan?”

“In the back, chopping up some ribs. You need him?” Easton asked, wiggling his way out of the headlock.

“Nah. It’s all good. I’m here to pick up the sample box to take over to Isla Iberia. We need Alex to add our pork to his menu.”

“Get him the pork belly, too!” Evan hollered from the back room. He came out with a slab of ribs, plopped them down onto brown parchment paper, and wrapped them up. “Give him this and the pork belly. I know he only asked for chops and bacon, but he needs to sample these too. The rest is in the storage locker.”

Evan rocked the same grimace he always did, but every now and then, the corner of his mouth would turn up in an almost smirk. When it came to the twins, Easton must’ve swallowed up all the smiling genetics. Evan lived his days frowning.

“You coming out for the birthday celebrations tomorrow?” Evan asked as he removed his gloves and tossed them into a trash bin. “River and Grant got us a table at O’Reilly’s.” He said hegot us a tableas if O’Reilly’s was a VIP situation instead of a simple hole-in-the-wall bar in downtown Honey Creek.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I mentioned, speaking about our other younger brothers, River and Grant, turning twenty-six. Yup, that’s right. I had two sets of twin brothers. I felt like the odd man out growing up. Whenever we had family drama when we were younger, it felt like everyone except for me had someone in their corner to turn to. I was bitter about it for a while, but over time, I realized that I did fine on my own. Plus, my brothers were good guys. They worked hard to make me not feel left out, even when it was next to impossible.

River and Grant helped Mom a lot on the actual farm. River ran the business side of things, and Grant tended to the animals and managed the staff.

For how hardworking they both were, they loved to celebrate their birthdays even harder. I knew a night at O’Reilly’s would end up being a drunken night where we wouldn’t end up home until well after five in the morning.

Correction—theywouldn’t end up home until after five in the morning. I took pride in my escaping skills. I was a professional at exiting stage left from any celebration that went past ten at night. I was too old to keep up with my younger brothers and their drinking, but I was more than willing to show up for a beer or two. The ten-year age gap between the youngest twins and I sure showed up when I tried to keep up with their drinking.

“Don’t pussy out and ditch us before midnight, Cinderella,” Easton teased, shoving my shoulder.

“You know I’ll turn into a pumpkin if I stay out past that time,” I joked as I opened the storage fridge and grabbed the container to take to Alex’s restaurant.

Easton smirked. “If you stay up late, there’s a better chance you could get laid, Grandpa. How long has it been since you’ve seen the beautiful workings between a woman’s legs?”

“Not everyone’s getting laid as often as you, brother,” I said. “Some of us have restraintsandstandards.”

“I have standards!” Easton dramatically exclaimed, slapping his hands over his chest as if I’d just told him he was the biggest scumbag on earth.

Evan huffed out laughter at the idea of Easton having standards. He moved over to the sink and washed his hands. “You having standards is the most absurd thing I’ve heard in a while. You’ll screw any woman.”

Easton shrugged. “That’s me having standards. I can’t help it that all women have this tempting mystical land resting right between their legs. It’s like an amusement park down there, and I’m just a man who wants to show them my raging bull while they allow me to tilt-their-whirl. Sure, each theme park is different. Some have more waterslides than others, but the price of admission is always worth it.”

I chuckled. “You’re ridiculous.”

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