I grunted. I wasn’t here for the shares and we both knew it.
He tilted his head in examination as he stared at the helicopter. “I thought you’d go with something more like what they’re using in Telluride. The Eurocopter—”
“Has a five-passenger limit and one engine for over two million,” I countered. “This triples that capacity with two engines at just under three million. And you signed off on it, remember?” The thrum of a familiar engine filled the hangar from outside. Maria had made it.
“I did.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Still, the hourly costs—”
I muttered a curse. “Am I talking to my brother or my business partner?”
His head snapped in my direction. “Will you talk to your brother? Because the only communications I’ve had with you for the last decade have been family business and this helicopter.”
I ignored the jab. “This is a Bell 212 HP-BLR. It’s been structurally overhauled and rewired within the last year, and yes, that’s fresh paint. It has less than ten thousand hours on the body and comes complete with gear cage”—I pointed to the long wire basket along the fuselage—“and rescue hoist.” I gestured toward the lift. “It has seating capacity for fourteen, and did I mention a second engine just in case that first one goes out?”
Reed rolled his eyes. “Weston—”
“Now the Eurocopter does have an operating cost that’s down around $875 an hour, and the Bell is going to take that up to $1,508, but even if we operate only at the Eurocopter’s capacity, we’re still going to profit about three grand a day.”
Reed opened his mouth, and I ran him over.
“Now, the Eurocopter is going to profit about $4,600 a day as long as they only book at five people. But the second they go to six, they have to take a second helicopter, and they won’t just book it for that one. They have a minimum of three. So let’s go with eight, just for fun.” I crossed my arms in front of me. “So, for eight people, our profit is seven grand a day and theirs is—wait for it—$6,300 a day because they have to eat the hourly costs for the second helicopter, and that’s before the cost of an additional pilot. We don’t have that issue. Every person over three is profit for us, and we can take parties of four or five. They won’t. You’re not the only one in the family who can do math. Oh, and did you hear the part about the second engine? Trust me, you’d care if you were the one flying it.”
Reed took a measured breath. “Damn, Weston, I wasn’t saying you made a bad choice.”
“No, you were just second-guessing it.” Like he always did.
“It’s a lot of money! And that thing is huge. Do you even think you can put it down on the ridgelines?”
“If I can put wheels down on the edge of a bombed-out building in a war zone to load up a platoon of soldiers, then I’m pretty damn sure I can handle some tourists in the snow.” I turned to face my brother, looking into his eyes for the first time in years. “You’re the one who asked me to come back and get this operation running. You called me, Reed. If you’d like to get behind the controls, then feel free, but flying up at this altitude is more complicated than the hostile takeovers you’re used to—”
“That isn’t even what I do—”
“Facilitating in those boardrooms of yours.”
“For fuck’s sake, this is getting us nowhere.” He rubbed his hands over his face. “Have you always been this much of an asshole?”
“Yes.” That shut him up.
A couple seconds passed in awkward silence, and we both cracked a reluctant smile.
“I guess you’re not in the mood to hear, ‘Welcome home’?” Reed asked slowly.
“Just tell me he’s not here and I’ll consider that welcome enough.” Seeing Reed was one thing, but handling our father? Fuck that. Not today.
“No. He’s off cruising the world for his honeymoon.” Reed sucked in a breath. “You know, he’s really changed these last—”
“Not interested.” Dad had sealed his fate with me years ago when he’d disappeared into himself after Mom died and left me to raise Crew. Reed leaving us to fend for ourselves while he moved to Vermont for college had been a dick move, but Dad’s abandonment? My fists clenched.
I resented Reed. I despised Dad. There was a difference.
“I can see you’re going to make this absolutely easy on both of us,” Reed muttered.
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Yeah. You are.” He grabbed something out of his pocket, and a second later, keys flew through the air. I caught them. “Seasonal lodging is full getting the new hires trained, but one of the employee housing duplexes is empty. It’s unit sixteen, up the hill —”
“I know where the duplexes are. Thanks.”
Reed took another deep breath and closed his eyes for a second, as though he was on the search for inner peace or something. “You could just stay up at the house with me—”
“I’d rather go back to the sandbox for a year than step foot in that house.”
He sighed. “The fact that I know you mean that is something else, West. It’s the house we grew up in.”
“I need to unpack.”
He put his hands up like he was under arrest. “At least that means you’re staying long enough to do it. Welcome home.” He tossed a second set of keys at me and walked away, leaving through the side door, where Maria sidestepped to get out of his way.
“How much did you hear?” I asked her as I locked up.
“Enough. I thought middle children were supposed to be the peacemakers?” We walked across the parking lot that smelled like fresh blacktop and climbed into my truck.
“I was too busy taking care of my mom that last year, then raising Crew, to give a shit about peace.” And Reed had been having the time of his life on a ski team in Vermont.
Life was a lot of things, but fair wasn’t one of them.
“Crew’s your little brother, right? The X Games guy?”
“That’s him.” I put the truck into reverse and then backed out of the spot, flipping us around so I could pull out onto the road. At least this wasn’t new. “Let’s get you to your new place.”
“I stopped on the way in and picked up a few essentials for you.” She motioned to the back seat where I saw a grocery bag. “Figured you hadn’t eaten, and you’re kind of an ass when you’re hungry. Plus, I was hoping if I got in your good graces, you wouldn’t make us start today.”
“You’re not the first person to say that to me.” A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. “And thanks for the groceries. We’re not starting until tomorrow and, even then, it’s just an area orientation flight.”
I got her dropped off at her new place and waved to her husband, Scott, as I pulled out.
I passed the picturesque, alpine-style resort my mother had taken so much pride in and kept driving up the mountain. Her stamp was everywhere: the heritage red accents of paint, the friendly staff that waved at me even though they didn’t recognize me, and the window boxes that dripped red and white flowers that had yet to give in to fall. Except she hadn’t planted those flowers, not in fifteen years since she’d passed.