Worth the Fall (Sugar Mountain #1)

THE KINGS OF SUGAR MOUNTAIN

THOMAS

O nce Clarabel calmed down and got into bed for the night, my brothers and I headed into the living room and sat down on the couches, fresh drinks in hand. I hadn’t planned on having them over, but now that they were here, I could talk to them about the work ideas and issues.

“I’m glad you knuckleheads stopped by,” I said before taking a sip of beer.

“Eh, we were in the neighborhood,” Patrick said with a grin before Matthew laughed.

“And we heard that Mrs. Green made lasagna.”

Rearing my head back, I gave them a smile. “I knew it had to be something. Everything going well with your place?” I asked Patrick, and he gave me a curt nod.

He was in the home stretch of building his dream home about a mile down the road. It had come a long way from the initial pile of debris and dirt that it’d started out as. Patrick had purchased the old Aimsley farmhouse at auction and promptly torn it down. He had the architectural sketches and plans ready to go a week later. Gotten everything approved and gone to work immediately, like there was a fire lit under his ass.

None of us was sure what his rush was, but whenever we asked, he mentioned supply shortages and getting materials before they ran out. I had no idea if that was even true, but didn’t have it in me to argue with him over it. Patrick was fighting demons only he could see. Who was I to judge him for it?

“Should be done by next weekend,” he said.

My mouth dropped open. “Really? Move-in ready and everything?”

“Yeah. I have final inspections scheduled for Friday.”

“What will Dad do without you?” Matthew teased.

“Annoy me a lot less,” Patrick responded with a grin.

“And probably me more,” Matthew whined.

“You could always move back in with him,” I suggested, and Matthew practically choked.

He was currently renting a condo in a complex that was mostly rental properties. It never made any sense that he continued to rent when he had enough money to buy the whole damn building, but he seemed happy... enough . Whenever I asked him about buying a house or what his plans were for the future, he would say that it wasn’t the right time—whatever that meant. He wasn’t ready to talk either, so I never pushed. It was the O’Grady MO—have feelings, shove them down.

“Hell no. I’d move in here before I lived with Dad,” he said before shrugging a shoulder. “Speaking of, why didn’t you live here instead?” He shifted his gaze between me and Patrick, like there might be some nefarious response coming.

“I didn’t want to disrupt Clara. Knew it would be chaotic if I lived here, only to move out and leave her,” Patrick said thoughtfully.

“You didn’t offer, did you, Grumps?” Matthew pinned me with a disapproving stare.

“I fucking offered, dick,” I countered.

As if I wouldn’t give both of them the clothes off my backs if they needed it. Patrick and I’d had long discussions about him moving in initially. I’d told him he was more than welcome to stay here, but he always refused.

“I knew it was going to take about sixteen months to build, barring any delays. That was too long. We’d get into a routine here, and then I’d go and blow it to pieces when I moved out. I couldn’t do that to her.”

“She would have understood,” I tried to reassure him, but he was having none of it.

“But she would have been sad.”

“She definitely would have been sad,” I agreed.

“I get it.” Matthew nodded. “We don’t do things that make Clara sad.”

“She’s lucky to have you both,” I said, feeling myself get a little emotional. I needed to change the subject. Clearing my throat, I said, “Moving on. I got some news today.”

“What kind of news?” Matthew asked, his brow furrowed.

“Sierra is quitting and moving.”

“Shit. Really?” That was Patrick. “Who are we going to get to replace her?”

Taking a drink, I blew out a long breath. “She’s going to talk to Brooklyn McKay about the job,” I started to say.

“Oh, that’s actually a really good call.” Patrick nodded his head before taking a drink of his own. “She’s great. She’d be a good fit. Was always really nice back in high school and does a lot of events already. I’ve seen her around and heard a lot of good things.”

“Yeah? Well that’s actually nice to know. But I wanted to get your guys’ opinions on something else before I talk to Dad about it.”

Matthew leaned back into the couch, the cushions practically taking him captive. “This should be good.”

“It’s about the resort,” I said, and he looked instantly bored. “What else would I want to talk to Dad about?”

“I don’t know? A mom for Clarabel? A girlfriend for you? How to use your dick properly since it’s been on hiatus for the last hundred years.” Matthew listed with a shit-eating grin on his face.

“Why the hell would I need to talk to Dad about any of that? And my dick is not on hiatus, fuck you very much,” I growled.

“Your hand doesn’t count,” he fired back, and Patrick let out a laugh he couldn’t control before Matthew turned on him. “You don’t get to laugh. You’re in the same boat. Both of you, with your hiatus-having dicks.”

“Just because we don’t stick it in every puck bunny that skates by,” Patrick said, hoping it would shut Matthew up, but we both knew better. Our youngest brother lived to have the last word.

“First of all, puck bunnies don’t typically skate. Second, there’s nothing wrong with going above and beyond for a fan.” Matthew’s player lifestyle had been plastered all over social media gossip sites since he’d started playing professionally, and we’d unfortunately been privy to reading or hearing about it almost daily. “My dick is on the opposite of a hiatus. It’s trending. In the top ten. Has a billion streams.”

“A billion streams seems like a lot,” I said, finishing off the last of my beer.

“I hope you wrapped that shit up every time you used it,” Patrick chastised before looking at me with fear in his eyes.

“Please tell me you didn’t get anyone pregnant,” I added.

Matthew pushed off of the couch, finished off his drink, and crushed the can before heading toward the kitchen. “Always wrapped, fellas. No glove, no love. Never once have I gone without protection.”

“Thank fuck,” I breathed out, and Patrick gave me a look that told me he agreed.

“You guys want another?” Matthew asked as he held the fridge door open with his shoulder.

“I’ll take one,” I said.

“Same,” Patrick agreed.

Matthew grabbed three cold ones and tossed them at us before he sat back down. “All right, I’m ready to hear about boring work shit.”

To be honest, I thought Matthew hated his post-hockey life. It wasn’t that he didn’t love Sugar Mountain or our family’s resort. It was more that he wasn’t supposed to be working for it... yet . He’d always thought he’d retire from hockey sometime in his thirties, then come home and start a family and this new chapter. It had all happened too soon, too fast. He wasn’t ready.

I popped open the can, and it hissed and foamed before I brought it to my lips and took a drink. “You run all of our social media. You’ll care about this. Or at least pretend to.”

“Fine. I care,” Matthew groaned.

When he’d first come home, Matthew hadn’t wanted to do anything, let alone get off his couch. But he’d always been an incredibly talented photographer. At least with his phone. The guy knew how to frame angles and edit photos in ways that should have been impossible for a cell phone to do, but he was a master at it.

Asking him to oversee the resort’s social media was a no-brainer and seemed like a surefire way to ease him back into the family business. Up until he took it over, interns had been handling all it all.

“Hey, man, we know it sucks that you’re not playing hockey anymore,” Patrick cut in, sounding far more patient than I felt at the moment. “But we love that you’re home. We missed you when you were gone. And working at the resort was always part of our future. Remember when we used to talk about running this town together?”

“That’s just it. We do run this town,” Matthew proclaimed, even though I hadn’t felt that way in a really long time. “I think you two forget that Sugar Mountain is ours. We’re the three most eligible bachelors in the whole damn place, and the two of you won’t do shit about it.”

“I don’t think sleeping with half the town’s population is good for business,” I interjected.

Matthew looked like he wanted to say something else, but he swallowed it instead. Fighting over this was pointless and exhausting. We’d done it a million times before and gotten nowhere. Tonight wouldn’t be any different.

“Anyway...” He dragged the word out before blowing out a loud breath. “What do you want to talk to us about, Grumpy?”

I flexed my jaw. “That name will never not be fucking annoying.”

“That’s what makes it so much fun.” Matthew stuck out his tongue, and I pretended like my little brother didn’t act less mature than my eight-year-old daughter.

“Okay,” I said, my focus now on Patrick. “Is the barn still on track to open by spring?”

“Barring any unforeseen delays in weather or materials, I’d say we’ll be ready by early March to complete inspections and get all our permits.”

I nodded. “That’s good news.”

“But I wouldn’t book anything until mid-April. And even that might be cutting it close. I really won’t know firm dates until storm season hits.”

Winter could be a builder’s nightmare. Forecasters who promised a mild season tended to be wrong on more than one occasion. And a quick snowstorm could dump feet of snow that stayed on the ground for weeks. Mother Nature made planning difficult.

“That makes sense.”

“Sierra and I have already started building a list of interested parties. We have their emails and contact information.”

This was news to me. “Is there a lot of interest?”

Patrick nodded as Matthew chimed in, “We will send out a newsletter as soon as we are ready to start taking reservations. I was thinking no more than a year in advance. Anything else might get us into trouble. We should have certain dates set aside for typical weather-related issues and road closures, so we can move things around if necessary. I’ve already started researching weather patterns for the last three years.”

“That’s really smart,” I complimented Matthew. Sometimes, he was more than just a pretty face, but I thought he enjoyed playing dumb. “I hadn’t even thought of that. I just figured we’d book as far out as someone wanted.”

Matthew shook his head. “Yeah, no. If we’re booked solid back-to-back, it leaves us no wiggle room for potential problems.”

“Okay, well, you guys can talk to the new events coordinator about all that once I hire someone.”

“You mean Brooklyn?” Patrick said her name with a familiarity I didn’t have when it came to the woman.

“Sure. But I don’t even know if she’ll be a good fit. I know you said you think she will, but have you seen her lately? Know anything about her life now? Or do you just remember her from high school? Plus, she might not even want to work at the resort.”

Matthew laughed hard. “Give me a break, Thomas. Everyone in Sugar Mountain wants to work at our resort.”

“That is not true,” Patrick mumbled under his breath, his tone completely changed.

Matthew reached out to put a hand on his shoulder. “Have you heard from her lately?” he asked.

I jerked my head in their direction, surprise written all over my features. If Patrick talked to Addison regularly, it was news to me.

“You two still talk?” I asked, barely able to contain my shock.

I’d been under the impression that once Addi moved to New York, they stopped communicating altogether. I remembered Patrick unfollowing her on all social media because it hurt too much to see her living a life without him. When she unfollowed him in return, I thought he might lose his fucking mind. I’d never seen two people hurt each other more just by doing the right thing. That was when I knew that I’d never loved anyone with that kind of intensity. Not even Jenna.

“Only when one of us drinks too much,” Patrick said in barely a whisper, like he was wrapped up in memories only he could see.

“How often does that happen?” I asked.

“Not often enough,” Patrick said, “and sometimes too often.”

“So, you haven’t heard from her lately then?” Matthew asked again.

Patrick shot him a deadly glare that was a little scary. “No.”

Sometimes, Patrick’s heartache was hard to be around. It filled a whole room and suffocated it without warning. I needed to get us back on track; otherwise, before I knew it, Patrick would be storming out of the house, blaring “Chainsaw” by Nick Jonas—which was our sign that he was not okay emotionally—Matthew would be racing to the saloon to drink away his own issues, and I’d be sitting on my hands, no closer to an answer than I’d been before they came over.

“I don’t know what to say to any of that.” I looked between my brothers. “But back to the barn. I think we all know that with the addition of that event space, we’re going to run out of rooms quicker and for much longer.”

“For sure,” Matthew agreed. “We’re going to have capacity issues.”

“I’ve been thinking the same thing,” Patrick piped up in agreement, his head back in work mode.

“Which is why we need another building, right?” I suggested.

Patrick put up a finger to stop me. “Or which is why we need chalets to accommodate entire wedding parties or larger groups.”

“What are you thinking?” I asked, wanting clarification for anything regarding the resort and its finances.

Sometimes, I got locked into a single idea that I couldn’t see any other way around. Which was why I liked asking my brothers and the staff for their input. In the end though, we’d have to choose the option that would be the most profitable and make the most sense long-term. When it came to the resort, it was never short-term thinking. It was about adding to the legacy.

Patrick stood up, hustled into the kitchen, and pulled open a drawer. He returned with a notepad and a pencil and started sketching.

“Okay, so picture this.” He turned the notepad in our direction to show the rough drawings that were still somehow completely understandable, even to my untrained eye. “Mountain chalets with multiple rooms. Like three or four bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. A kitchen. A living room. Fireplaces.”

“More than one fireplace?” I asked.

“In some of them, yeah. It’s romantic,” Patrick noted as he tapped the pencil on top of the pad, his mind obviously racing with ideas.

“Why would people choose a chalet instead of just getting adjoining rooms in one of the main buildings? Or stay in a suite?” Matthew wondered out loud, and it was a fair question. One I would have asked too.

“So they can stay longer. Plus, our biggest suite is only two bedrooms. But it still feels like you’re in a hotel room. This would be more like staying in a home.”

It was a really smart idea. “I don’t hate it. At all. I’ll need the numbers so we can compare the building costs, and then I can run some projections.”

“Done,” Patrick said. “Plus, with something that size, the price could easily be double what we generally charge for a suite. Maybe even triple? I don’t know. That’s your area of expertise.”

“I’ll need your help selling it to Dad.” I pinned them both with a look that said we had to do this together.

It wasn’t that our dad didn’t listen or think our ideas were good enough to implement. It was more that he liked the three of us working together as a team.

One O’Grady got shot down every single time.

The old man’s response was always the same. “What do your brothers think?”

It was all of us or none.

That was the only way this resort worked. And I respected that.