Chapter 11

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JOHN

JOHN SANK into his chair and put his head down on his desk, letting out a heavy sigh. It felt like the first time he'd been still for three days. Between work that had piled up during Wine Fest and Ward being distracted all the time, John felt run off his feet, trying to accomplish anything.

He hadn't even been able to drive out to the riesling fields and enjoy the calming view. John had been needed everywhere else. There were hundreds of acres of grapes to monitor, not to mention keeping tabs on the barrels and tanks and other equipment, as well as coordinating with people. John had to be constantly looking forward, planning for harvest and bottling and distribution. He needed to be on his game. To consistently put out the best product he possibly could, since so many livelihoods depended on that.

Despite a tough economy, nobody at the vineyard had been let go, and that all boiled down to the entire operation remaining profitable. It was frustrating how few people understood that concept. People who had never run a business were especially guilty of condemning profit. Granted, John had never owned a business himself, but he'd been at Vista Robles long enough to have worked closely with upper management and to have seen the books.

The years without pinot noir grapes had been rough. The vineyard had barely broken even, which had meant no money to put back into upgrading or even just repairing old tools and equipment, let alone accommodating their staffing needs.

Of course, it hadn't helped that the old boss was more of a people person than a businessman. John had respected the hell out of him since the man had always treated his people well, but things had definitely improved all around when Everett took over. The former big-city CEO had cleaned up the vineyard's finances, eliminating unnecessary expenses and injecting capital into all the right places, where the money would show the best return. It meant the vineyard was stronger than ever, but it was up to all of them to help keep it that way. Every single one of them had to maintain their high standards and work ethics, contributing to the overall functionality of the place. Doing so was job security. Pure and simple.

And, for John, it also meant not letting Everett down. He couldn't fail another person whom he respected. His heart simply couldn't take it.

But right then, all he wanted to do was stop everything so he could have a chance to think about Adam. About what he was going to do to take care of the boy, to help him through his grief and guilt. Not to mention dealing with his own. But those problems had to keep being pushed to the back of his mind. People often said that focusing on another issue allowed one's brain to work on the first problem in the background, but it hadn't happened for him so far. He felt no closer to a solution now than he had three days ago. More than anything, he wanted it solved and done with. Behind them for good.

John breathed a humorless laugh. Actually, what he really wanted to do was go home, take a long, hot shower, pour himself a glass of wine, and kick his feet up on the coffee table with his guitar in his lap. That sounded just about perfect. Second only to getting Adam into bed. But since the latter wasn't going to happen that night, he'd gladly take the former.

Except he still had work to do. He knew he wouldn't be able to go home and relax unless he got a few more things knocked off his list.

He heard his door open. John jerked upright in his chair as Ward strode into the office.

"Truck's dropped off," Ward announced. "They said it should be ready tomorrow afternoon."

John gave a nod in acknowledgment. One of their vineyard trucks had come due for service, so when Ward had made a passing joke about pestering his brother—who apparently worked at the shop where they took their vehicles—John had sent Ward to drop it off, just to get the man out of his hair for a few minutes.

"I can go pick it up tomorrow when it's ready, if you want," Ward went on. "Need to drop off my own truck one of these days, anyway." He shrugged. "Unless you need to get out for a bit."

John cocked an eyebrow in question.

"If you don't mind me saying," Ward said gently, "you look like you could use a break."

John snorted a laugh. Ain't that the truth . But he didn't have time for a break. Not when so many people were depending on him to keep things running smoothly.

Ward sank down into the chair opposite him, putting them at eye level rather than towering over him. "Look, John. I know I've been distracted the past few days, and I apologize for that. I'll try to do better about keeping my personal shit at home and being one-hundred percent here. If that's been adding to your stress, I'm sorry." He paused. "But if there's something else, if you want to talk…" Ward trailed off and laughed. "Stupid question, I know, since you never talk about anything personal, but the offer's there. Even if you just need someone to listen and commiserate and buy you a beer." Ward shrugged. "We all need help sometimes."

John conceded the point with a nod, but didn't say anything. Despite realizing that he could use some advice, he hadn't been able to make himself seek it out. Not even when he'd had Everett standing right in front of him the other morning. And Everett might have been the perfect person with whom to talk. The man was not only a daddy but was also in a committed, healthy relationship. Second to his parents, or even his brother, someone like Everett might have been ideal. Or maybe even Beau. Hell . Any one of the daddies in the group.

Except he couldn't bring himself to actually ask for help. This was his boy. His responsibility. He had to fix this problem himself.

John held back a sigh. He wished they could simply jump forward in time and get the anniversary of Frank's death behind them. Having it slowly but steadily approach was making the anticipation that much worse.

The coming date had been bad enough when it was just him. In years past, John had always been tempted to take the day off work, worried that he'd be too distracted to properly focus on his job. Then he'd wound up going in anyway, not wanting to let his people down. It hadn't been easy, but he'd pushed through the clamoring memories that the date always brought to the surface, then got the job done.

But now? With Adam to think about? How did Adam get through the anniversary each year? The poor kid had so much more loss to deal with surrounding that time.

First, John kicking Adam out of his bed, making him feel unwanted, even though that had been the furthest thing from the truth. Then his dad's sudden, unexpected death. Coming home to find John had moved away, leaving him with no support. The loss of his birthdays, since Adam had to wake up on the morning of his eighteenth and remember he was totally alone. The loss of his dreams to medically transition. The loss of whatever other plans the boy had made for himself. College? Auditions? A steady gig with a band? Not even John knew what the boy's dreams had been back then, and the two of them had spent more time together than Adam had with any of his high school friends.

Adam had been forced into adulthood overnight. Not because he'd turned eighteen, but because he had to handle everything on his own. Christ . John wished he could go back. Wished he would have chosen to stay and try to help Adam rather than running away from his own guilt. He wished he could give Adam some of his innocence back. Hell, even the excitement of a birthday. John couldn't care less about his own birthday anymore—he was too old for that—but Adam was still young. The boy ought to be able to enjoy his.

But John knew Adam wouldn't allow it. His birthday was just another subject that was completely off-limits.

John let out a heavy sigh. He'd have to be ready for anything as the date drew nearer. He knew he could get through it all—not easily, but he'd managed before—but could Adam do the same?

After the boy's drunken episode that past weekend, John wasn't sure anymore.

Before John's traitorous mouth could start blurting out his thoughts—all of them clamoring for release from his tightly held control—he got interrupted by the sound of a knock on his door. John felt equal parts relieved and annoyed as he called out, "Come in."

The door opened, and Everett peeked into the office. "Ah! Good. You're both still here."

John shot to his feet, but Everett waved him down with a gentle chuckle.

"I almost called," Everett said, crossing the room, "but I know how much you hate phones, and I needed the excuse for a walk anyway." He held out a sheet of paper, which John recognized, even at a distance, as a purchase order from the local warehouse that distributed their wines to stores and restaurants all across California. "I'll pass this on to our warehouse guys in the morning, but I wanted to keep you in the loop. The estate cab is officially on the approved list for distribution to local chain grocery stores–"

"Finally!" John gasped, taking the purchase order from him.

"So the distributor is asking if they can get two pallets of it delivered tomorrow, since they've already got pending sales. I know they usually pick up from us on Mondays, but–"

"No, that's fine," John insisted. He'd get that wine shipped out first thing in the morning, even if he had to load it up and drive it over himself. "I'll make sure that's ready to go before I leave tonight."

John set the purchase order aside, right on top of his to-do pile. The damned thing seemed to keep growing instead of shrinking, despite how much he'd gotten done over the past few days. He wanted to finish up a couple more things there in his office before heading into the storage warehouse to have the two pallets loaded onto the flatbed. When he looked back up, he fully expected Everett to leave, but instead, the man sank into a chair and gave Ward a big smile.

"So?" Everett asked. "I haven't seen you since the party and I've been curious to know. How did it feel, if you don't mind me asking? Having a boy in your arms, I mean."

Ward blushed, and a shy smile took over his face as he shifted in the chair. "It felt…good. Weird, but good."

Christ . John inwardly sighed. The two men were going to sit and chitchat in his office? That was just what he needed. He snatched up the purchase order and stood, muttering an apology for the disruption before he strode across his office and headed out to the warehouse. Maybe they'd be done by the time he got back.

John paused just inside the warehouse, surprised to find it dark until he remembered the time. After six, so everyone had already gone home. He almost regretted having to turn on the lights, reveling for a moment in the dark, cool, silent space. Still, there was work to be done, so he flicked the switches, the overhead lights coming on in sections, lighting up the enormous space that housed all his finished products. The sight made him smile.

He crossed the loading bays and made sure the flatbed was accessible, then filled out the necessary paperwork to sign two pallets out of inventory before he strode over to the forklift and fired it up.

It took him a moment to get his bearings. Despite being certified, he didn't often need to operate the machine himself, so he took extra care to remember which lever did what before he flicked the shifter forward and began to move. John already knew where the pallets were, since he always heavily involved himself in inventory. He drove down the main aisle, endless rows of stacked pallets stretching off to either side of him, climbing up towards the high ceiling. Pinot noir. Chardonnay. Merlot. Sangiovese. On and on, they went, tidy pallets wrapped in plastic. He didn't even have to look at the signs to know what was where. The pallets of estate cabernet were down just past the row that held viognier.

John turned the forklift, lined it up, lifted down a pallet from its stack, and drove back over to the flatbed. He set the pallet carefully on the surface before going back and repeating the process.

He could have waited until morning and had their forklift driver take care of it all, but John wanted to see it done now. Otherwise, he'd sit around his house all evening, wishing he'd gotten it handled.

John parked the forklift, strapped the pallets down to the truck, then left a copy of the purchase order and a bill of lading in the truck's cab before he shut off the lights and went back to his office, hoping Everett and Ward would be gone.

Except they were both still there, deep in conversation.

Christ .

The two men barely even paused to acknowledge John's return. John stepped around behind his desk, trying to tune them out while he looked again at the to-do list he'd written for himself on Monday morning. Several items had been crossed off over the past few days, but plenty remained.

"I guess I've just never felt a true sense of companionship with any of the women I've dated," Ward was saying.

Everett breathed a laugh. "I hear you there."

"Like," Ward went on, "I want someone who will have my back, and I'll have theirs. Someone who sees things eye-to-eye. Not necessarily that they'd have to agree with me on everything, of course. That would be boring. But…"

"A partner," Everett suggested.

"Yeah. Exactly. Someone who can face me as an equal. Look me in the eye and know that we share the same values. Someone who wants to face the world together–"

John gave a start. "What did you just say?"

Ward cringed. "Damn. Sorry." He glanced at the clock. "We totally got carried away." He started to stand up. "I should get out of your hair–"

"No, really," John insisted, staring at him. "What did you just say?"

Ward gave him a puzzled frown, but he repeated several of the phrases he'd just used.

John kept staring, then swore under his breath, snatched up a notepad, and started scribbling it all down.

Face the world. Have my back. Eye to eye. He could almost hear the music beneath the words as his pen raced across the page.

"John?"

John froze, then dropped his pen and quickly flipped the notepad over, hiding what he'd written, hoping his cheeks weren't as red as they felt. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Yeah. Sorry." Before either Ward or Everett could say anything, John announced, "The pallets are loaded. I'll make sure they're delivered first thing."

Everett eyed him for a moment but didn't comment on the sudden subject change. He merely gave John a nod and thanked him. "You're right," he said to Ward. "We should get going." He checked his watch, then shot John a look. "Don't work too late."

John gave him a nod, but didn't verbalize any promises since he wasn't sure he could keep them. He muttered goodnight to them both as they headed out the door, the pair picking up their conversation right where John had interrupted them.

He let out a heavy sigh when his door shut, cutting off the sound of their chatter. After a moment, he slowly reached out and flipped the notepad back over, eyeing the phrases he'd written down.

John could almost feel the words weaving themselves together into a new verse. Maybe even the chorus. He'd have to sit down and think it all through. Maybe over that glass of wine he'd been craving earlier. John sighed. It would be a perfect evening. Just him, a bottle of syrah, his guitar, and fresh inspiration for Adam's Song .

Except, when he finally got home that night, he barely had time to eat and shower before collapsing into bed.

As John fell asleep—plagued by unfinished lyrics dancing around in his mind—all he could think was that the weekend couldn't come fast enough.