She stares at the envelope as if it’s tainted when I pull it out and offer it to her. “What Archer needs to do is grow some balls, face me, and tell me why he left.”

Facts.

I thrust the envelope closer. “Archer doesn’t always do what he needs to do. You know this.”

“What’s his plan then?” Cassidy asks, leaning back in her stool and crossing her arms, always joining in conversations that have nothing to do with her. “He’s just never coming back?”

“I think that’s his plan,” I reply even though I’m as clueless as she is.

Cassidy’s eyes widen, and her voice rises a hitch. “What about you? Are you leaving too?”

I shrug, the thought forming a rock of dread in my stomach. “I have no idea.” I thrust the envelope further toward Georgia. “Now, take the envelope.”

“What’s in it?” she asks with a glare.

“He didn’t say. Only asked me to give it to you.” I hold up my hands. “Don’t shoot the messenger.”

She snatches it from me and stares in my direction while ripping it open. All eyes are on her as she reads what’s inside. I silently pray it’s an apology letter.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she hisses. “Tell me where he is.”

I shake my head, my stomach churning at the anger in her eyes. It’s more intense than it was before. “No can do, babe.”

“Goddammit, Lincoln!” she shrieks, tossing the letter onto the pub table. “Forget your stupid loyalty for one damn minute and tell me where he is.” She flicks the letter away. “He’s trying to sign over the bar to me.”

“What?” I blurt.

She jerks her head toward the letter. “Read it.”

With nearly shaking hands, I read the letter, my throat constricting as I take in every word in his handwriting. He’s signed over his cut of the bar—fifty percent—to her. I shut my eyes in pain. Not because I’ll lose my job, but because my brother is sacrificing his dream. After our grandfather’s death, he turned his back on the millionaire lifestyle we’d grown up in. As soon as he had the perfect opportunity, he quit the company. Owning a bar is all he’s ever wanted.

This bar, like Georgia, brought him happiness and peace he hadn’t had in a while.

That’s it.

This has to stop before he ruins his life.

I slam down the letter. “He’s at our grandparents’ lake house.”

“Address, please,” Georgia replies, her face unreadable.

I give her a really look.

“Directions,” she demands.

“Fine, fine.” My face falls slack. “But don’t say I’m the one who gave it to you.”