During the drive to the airport, I kept repeating bro code to myself over and over. If I pursued Cami, then I would have broken some unspoken rule between Palmer and me. He was in love with her, had wanted her for years, which meant she was off-limits to me, but the conversation I had stumbled upon replayed in my mind. Palmer had asked for another chance, which meant he had asked before, and she turned him down. I could tell from the slump of his shoulders and the way his head hung down that her rejection had crushed him. When she saw me in the window, her entire body seemed to relax, and I wondered if maybe she had been relieved that I was accidentally eavesdropping. Did she want me as much as I wanted her? That brought me right back to my current dilemma. Did I still have to seek permission from Palmer, or could I just go after what I wanted and ask for forgiveness later?

The flight down to San Francisco felt impossibly long, but that was because I was a ball of nerves. I fucking hated airports and airplanes. Before I had left Seattle, I’d called Ivan, the manager of my family’s vineyard, and asked him to pick me up. Ivan was the only person I wanted to see before the inevitable discussion with my father about my future happened.

The airport was crowded, and I walked quickly through it, dodging everyone and everything around me. Gift shops selling every cliché Bay Area souvenirs were a blur as I passed by them until one featuring wines stopped me. Hammond Wines were front and center. My stomach started to churn, and I suppressed the uneasiness because I knew it was time to take responsibility for my past actions and assume my role in running the family business.

As the oldest of the Hammond sons, I was expected to take the reins from my father when he retired. He had my entire life planned out for me: go to college to learn about running a business and a vineyard, then return home to learn my job until he was ready to retire. Instead, I joined the Army. No one was happy that I enlisted, and no one expected me to re-enlist over and over. With every deployment, I sent my father an unspoken message: I didn’t want to run Hammond Wines.

Down at baggage claim, I grabbed the large black duffel that contained the entirety of my life from the luggage carousel. I headed toward passenger pickup, and as soon as I stepped outside, I caught sight of a black Range Rover with the Hammond Wines logo emblazoned on the side parked front and center. This wasn’t Ivan’s usual choice of vehicle, which meant that he hadn’t come. I was facing my father sooner than expected.

Through the passenger window, my father saw me step out of the building, and he immediately opened the driver door and climbed out. I stood frozen, watching as he made his way slowly to the passenger side. We stared at each other in silence before he said gruffly, “Welcome home, son.”

“Thank you, sir,” I murmured as he unexpectedly enveloped me in a crushing hug. He held me longer than I expected before letting go. He bent down and reached for my bag, but I stopped him. “It’s pretty heavy. Let me do it.”

My dad nodded and walked back around to the driver’s side. I saw him quickly swipe at his eyes. He was crying? It was hard for me to picture my father exhibiting any emotion other than anger because he’d taught us that they were a weakness, and weaknesses were unacceptable.

After I finished loading my bag into the back, I hurried to the front and climbed inside. Now the only thing that lay between the airport and the comforts of home was two uncomfortable hours in the car with my father.

Silently, my dad navigated his way through San Francisco and onto the Golden Gate Bridge. From my window, I could see the fog dissipating from the bay, leaving patches of blue-green water in the midst of the gray murkiness. By the time we headed into Sausalito, it was raining, and I felt restless.

“Did you get the cases of Riesling and Gewurztraminer that I sent from Alsace?” The silence in the car bothered me. I glanced in his direction to see him nod.

“Yeah. Shit tasted like piss, but we got it.” His response didn’t surprise me, but I chuckled low. Last year, I spent my leave in Germany and traveled all around the region sampling many … things. But to my dad, if it didn’t come from California, then it was worthless.

“Well, that was some of the best tasting shit I’ve had.”

“You’ve been away too long. Wait until you taste what we’re pouring.”

“Speaking of tasting. How is Oliver doing?” Oliver was the middle child, the forgotten one who easily stepped into the role as the oldest, the role I was supposed to fill.

“He’s good. He and Tabitha are expecting their second baby.”

“Already?”

Oliver did everything that was expected of him, including getting married to the right girl who came from the right family with the right amount of acreage in the right appellation.

“He’s transformed our wine club and the tasting room. You’ll see,” my dad said with an added wink. It was hard to not be jealous of the pride he showed in Oliver; I wished that some of that pride was for me and what I had accomplished.

“And Neil?” My youngest brother could do whatever the hell he wanted because he was the baby. He didn’t have to run the winery or major in business. Honestly, he was probably the happiest of the Hammond boys.

“Oh, you know Neil.”

No, I didn’t. I enlisted when he was eight, so I had no idea what my youngest brother was like. “Tell me.”

“He’s a freshman at Stanford. Got a swimming scholarship. The coaches think he might be the next Michael Phelps.”

“So, no winery in his future,” I mumbled.

“What was that, Garrett? You know I can’t stand it when you mumble.”

“I’m sorry, sir. I asked if the Olympics were in his future.”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him.”

For the remainder of the car ride, I listened as my dad talked comfortably about the improvements to the vineyard. This was his life, and the grapes were his lifeblood. The only thing he loved more than running Hammond Wines was my mother. But it was obvious he was starting to slow down. His hair was more salt than pepper, and his face was thinner. His eyes were tired too; their twinkle had dulled a little. He surprised me by asking for my opinions, but I soon saw the plan hidden in his questions; he was going to have the retirement talk with me while I was home on leave. And with a year left on my current contract, I might finally listen to him.

The next morning, I was up before the sun. My body was accustomed to rising early, and it didn’t differentiate between being home and being on base. I brewed a fresh pot of coffee, poured a cup, then sat out on the front porch of the guest cottage and watched the sun rise over the acres and acres of land. The light of day bathed everything in a soft golden glow, and the fog that had settled overnight started to dissipate from the rolling hills. The smell of the damp earth hit my nose as I inhaled its sharp, pungent smell. Slowly, the sounds of the vineyard coming to life filtered up to me. Birds chirping mixed with the sounds of trucks roaring to life. The winery was alive in more ways than one, and I loved seeing it come to life. With one final sip of my coffee, it was time to get my day started.

I laced up my running shoes and set off for the vineyard. In high school, I ran track and would get in my miles between the rows and rows of petite Syrah and Cabernet Sauvignon. As I ran, I admired the property. Taking over the winery was never my life’s ambition. Truthfully, I didn’t have much ambition as a teenager. The only thing in life I was adamant about was not running the winery. I rebelled against my father’s expectations at eighteen and never looked back.

I jogged through row after row until I was breathless. I slowed my paced to a walk and then spread my arms, letting the tips of my fingertips touch the leaves and the fruit that was just starting to ripen. Soon, it would all become Hammond Wines.

I had spent hours and hours with the vines, inspecting each row, tasting the fruit, running my fingers through the dusty earth. The weather had been dry, and according to my brother’s monthly emails, there had already been two massive fires in the area. This year’s harvest was going to have a little bit of a smokiness.

“You’re back?” The familiar sound of Oliver’s voice startled me. Seeing him out so early was unexpected until I realized that this was his life and his job now. He was running Hammond Wines, and this was my first glimpse of seeing him in charge. Squinting into the sunlight, I examined my brother, noting all the ways he had changed. Eighteen months separated us, but sometimes he seemed older. Dressed in old, faded jeans and a Hammond Wines T-shirt, he had a layer of sweat covering his forehead that meant Oliver had probably been awake before me.

“Up at it pretty early, Ollie?” I asked.

“Are you back, Garrett? For good?” Oliver didn’t pull any punches or bother with trivial pleasantries. There was no talk of the weather or my recent deployment or even our favorite baseball team, the Giants. He was all business.

I shook my head in reply. “No, Ollie. I still have a year left. I’m just on leave for the next thirty days.”

“And then are you coming back to take over?” It was hard to tell if the tremor in his voice was from nerves or excitement.

I started to walk, and Oliver followed. That was the million-dollar question. When my current enlistment was over, would I return and take over Hammond Wines? I knew I couldn’t because I finally recognized the emotion in his voice; he wasn’t happy to have me home. He was worried I’d take everything away from him. If Dad was happy with how he ran the business, then I’d never fight him for control.

“I don’t know yet, Ollie. But you don’t have to worry; I’d never take Hammond Wines from you.”

Inadvertently, we walked to a spot in the middle of the vineyard where a granite bench rested. I traced my fingers silently over the engraved name of our mother in the center. Not being with her when she died was my one regret in life. She was too sick to travel when I graduated from boot camp, and then my Army commitments took me away before I had the chance to visit her one last time. The opportunity to say goodbye or make amends or share one more “I love you” was gone in an instant. A heavy silence settled between my brother and me as we sat surrounded by the acres and acres of land she loved dearly. These vines were her life, and I broke her heart when I enlisted after high school.

“Show me the tasting room.” The silence shattered, and Oliver looked up at me blankly. I motioned toward the end of the row. “Come on. I want to see what you’ve done with it.”

I followed Oliver to an ATV parked nearby, and we headed back to the main property. My father started Hammond Wines by himself. He inherited the run-down property from a childless great-uncle who had left the land in complete disarray. My father made it his mission to resurrect the land and the varietals it produced. When he married my mother, she brought her family’s sizeable acreage in Rutherford. They were the perfect pair; he had the business knowledge, and she understood the complex soil that had the power to give and the power to take away. My parents were incredibly proud of the empire they created, and my father expected his sons to follow in his footsteps.

The main house, where he still lived and ran the business, dominated the entrance to the winery. Having the family home front and center was a statement; this was a family-run winery, and the family still lived on the land. A series of production buildings sat in the back of the property and just behind the main house was the tasting room. The guest cottage, where I stayed, was down a dusty path far from the day-to-day business.

I watched employees greet Oliver with warmth but look at me with suspicion. It didn’t bother me because I was a stranger to them. The only one who knew me was the manager, Ivan. Seeing the respect he received from his employees made me proud of my brother.

Oliver steered me toward the tasting room and talked me through all of the recent improvements. He was excited about every single one of them, which made me eager to spend the day with him, pouring our family’s wines and learning about the business he’d transformed.

“Let me get cleaned up and I’ll come and work with you in the tasting room,” I said once we were back outside.

“Yeah?” I nodded, and his smile grew. “Awesome. It’s so good to have you home, Garrett.”

“It actually feels good to be back.”