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  I waved him off, standing and making my way over to the one box I had unpacked — the one with the booze.

  “I had a lapse in judgment,” I murmured, grabbing the neck of a bottle of gin. I lifted it to my father to ask if he wanted some, but he just shook his head. I didn’t even bother asking Mom before I shrugged, pouring a finger into a red Dixie cup. “I just tried giving a tour when I wasn’t ready to. Classic Scooter know-it-all-gene biting me in the ass.”

  Dad smirked at that, folding his arms over his chest. “Ah. I’ve been struck by that a time or two.”

  Didn’t I know it.

  “Well, I didn’t come here to make you feel worse about what happened,” he said. “I just… I know you don’t want to be there. But, remember, we have a deal.”

  I slammed back the alcohol I’d poured, my eyes landing on his with the swallow. “I didn’t do this on purpose.”

  “And I believe you,” he said, putting his hands up. “I just had to check. I know you have some sort of… vendetta against me.”

  I scoffed. “Dad. Please.”

  “Well, what other reason would you have to… to…” He gestured to me, as if I as an entire entity was a problem. “To dress like that, and ruin the temple of your body with those tattoos and piercings. And God knows you never wanted to work at the distillery.”

  “So you did come here to berate me.”

  “No,” he said, a sigh of his own leaving his chest. “I just wanted to remind you that the reason you have this place is because we made a deal. And I don’t want you to think that you can half-ass your part of it without me noticing.”

  “I’m not.” I paused. “At least, I didn’t mean to. And trust me, I ate a big helping of humble pie today.”

  Dad watched me, like he wasn’t sure if he could trust me to be telling the truth.

  That made two of us.

  “I’ll turn it around,” I promised him. “Okay? I was just about to head out, actually. To go apologize to Logan.”

  Dad’s face leveled at the mention of the name, and Mom snapped out of her daydream.

  “Logan Becker?” she asked.

  I nodded.

  “Ugh,” she huffed, shaking her head. “Those boys are such a menace. I don’t understand why we put up with having them at the distillery at all, anymore.”

  “You know exactly why we do,” Dad murmured to her, softly, but with a look stern enough to have her buttoning her lips. He turned his attention to me next. “Why are you apologizing to him?”

  “Because he’s the one I was a brat to today,” I admitted. “And I got him in trouble with Uncle Mac. I need to apologize and make things right.” I paused, lifting one brow at my father’s unreadable expression. “You did know he’s the one training me, right?”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Of course.” But the way he said it, I knew he didn’t.

  I smirked, crossing my own arms.

  Uncle Mac must have left that part out.

  “He’s good at his job,” I said. “Really good. And from what I can tell, every single one of the other tour guides thinks he’ll be the one taking Mac’s spot when he retires.” I swallowed. “You think that’s what will happen?”

  My father shrugged noncommittally, already turning for the door, my mother on his heels. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Anyway, I just wanted to check on you, but it seems like you’re doing alright. Just… honor your promise to turn it around up there, okay?” He paused at the door, opening his arms. “Come give your old man a hug before you go out.”

  I crossed the room with heavy lead legs, hugging the man who had helped give me life like he was an acquaintance I was dropping off at an airport.

  “Love you, kiddo,” he said into my hair, placing a kiss there.

  My heart squeezed, the young child inside me who had been Daddy’s Little Girl longing for that connection again. But the woman who stood wrapped in that man’s arms now knew his true colors.

  Daddy’s Little Girl would never exist again.

  “Love you, too,” I murmured.

  Mom hugged me, too, before they were both gone, and as soon as they were, I jogged upstairs to get dressed and put on a fresh coat of makeup. Dad might have said every one of those words with a smile, but I read the threat beneath it all.

  That was a warning to get my shit together before I lost the dream I hadn’t even had the chance to unpack yet.

  It was time to take the first step in turning it all around, just like I’d promised — starting with apologizing to Logan.

  And I knew just where to find him.

  Logan

  “And then, I actually started to feel sorry for her,” I said, gripping the tumbler of whiskey in my hand a little too tightly as I recounted the day’s disaster to my older brothers. “She almost looked ready to cry, so I stepped in, took over the tour to get her out of the hot seat. And when I got back to the tour guide lobby, I was checking on her, asking if she was alright.” I shook my head. “Of course, that was before Mac came in and ripped me a new asshole big enough to shit a brick out of.”

  Jordan chuckled. “Well, feeling bad for her doesn’t make you an idiot. It makes you a good human being.”

  I made a noncommittal noise, taking a larger sip of whiskey than necessary just to feel the burn.

  “She’s a Scooter,” Noah reminded me from the bar stool next to Jordan. “Does it really surprise you that she acted like a know-it-all asshole? I mean, isn’t that like on her family crest or something?”

  I sighed, not wanting to admit that I thought Mallory was more, that she was different. “I guess.”

  Jordan clapped me on the shoulder. “Don’t sweat it, okay? So what, Mac got a little pissed. I know you hate conflict, but to be fair, that old man is always grumpy about something. He’ll get over it, probably tonight, and things will move on.”

  “But I still have to train her,” I reminded him. “And there’s that whole thing about her most likely taking his job when he leaves.”

  Noah slammed his glass down. “If they give her that manager job that you’ve been lined up for for years, they’re going to have an entire distillery full of people to explain their actions to. Everyone in that place knows you’re the best tour guide. You have been for years. And she just started, for Christ’s sake. And obviously doesn’t even want to be there.”

  “But that’s just the thing, they don’t have to answer to anyone,” Jordan chimed in.

  “Yep. They own the place — literally.” I sighed. “It doesn’t matter if I’m the best. What matters is that if they want her to take that job, it’s hers. Period.”

  Silence fell over us, long enough for me to take the last sip of my whiskey. I held the empty glass in my hands like it was a lifeline.

  “Hey, we still don’t know that that’s what they have in mind,” Noah said gently. “For all we know, they could just want her to be a part of the company, finally live up to the Scooter name she seems to have been running from all this time.”

  “Yeah, I don’t think anything points to them making her manager. Not yet, at least,” Jordan agreed.

  “Nothing pointed to them murdering our father, either. But…” My voice trailed off, a sticky and uncomfortable knot forming in my throat at the words. Because the truth was, we didn’t have proof that our father’s death was the result of foul play — only suspicion. We knew our father didn’t smoke, and that’s what the fire was blamed on. We also knew he’d been causing waves on the board, and that Patrick didn’t like it, so he’d shoved him into the founder’s old office to sift through paperwork. And maybe those two things together didn’t sound like enough to get suspicious over, but even if it couldn’t be explained, we all felt it — my entire family — that something was off about that fire that took my father’s life.

  Jordan swallowed down the knot in his own throat, not commenting on what I’d said and choosing to try to comfort me, instead. “Just try to get through her training, and then you won’t ha
ve to deal with her as much. She can do her tours, you do yours. You’ll only have to see each other at meetings and at lunch. You can survive that.”

  I nodded, but didn’t have a response. The truth was I may not have had a reason to believe they wanted her to be manager, but I had a gut feeling — and if Dad had taught me anything as a boy, it was to trust that.

  Still, there was no point in dwelling on it now. If it was going to happen, it was going to happen — and I’d deal with it then.

  For now, I was more upset at the shattering of the illusion of a girl I’d crushed on secretly for years — not that I could tell my brothers that. But seeing Mallory act the way she had — childish, combative, entitled — it was like a sign from God that there wasn’t a woman out there who fit the image I had in mind for what I wanted in a partner.

  Not that Mallory Scooter ever could have been that for me.

  But she was a beacon of light, one that showed me there were gems out there, women who were different, unique, fascinating. There were women I could talk to about something other than the town gossip or the latest country song. There were women out there who didn’t care what people thought, who danced to the beat of their own drum, who were above the bullshit.

  That’s what Mallory Scooter had been for me — hope.

  And now, that hope had been reduced to ashes.

  Maybe it was silly to put so much stock in her in the first place. Hell, I hadn’t been around the girl in years. I didn’t actually know her. I’d created this image of what I thought she was in my head and clung to it like a naïve teenage boy with a crush on a movie star.

  Now, I’d seen the real human behind the image I’d painted.

  Now, I knew the truth.

  “Unrelated, but before this whole shit show went down, Mallory told me that Mikey threw his guitar into the bonfire at The Black Hole on Saturday night,” I said, effectively changing the subject.

  “He what?” Noah shook his head. “Dad bought him that guitar. He’s had it forever.”

  “I know,” I said. “Bailey fucked that kid up. Bad. Worse than I thought, for sure.”

  “He’ll be okay,” Jordan said — which was his response to practically everything. I swore nothing ever fazed him. The zombie apocalypse could be happening and he’d be cool, calm, and collected as he loaded his shot gun and assured everyone around him that everything was fine. “Besides, you’ll never guess who came by Mom’s earlier when I stopped by to bring her some groceries.”

  Noah and I exchanged looks before he spoke. “Bailey’s back?”

  “No, no,” Jordan said quickly, then he smirked. “Kylie.”

  “Ky?!” Noah and I asked simultaneously. I shook my head, recalling the girl who used to practically be a little sister to us. “They haven’t hung out in a long time… like, since he and Bailey started dating.”

  “I know. I mean, I’m sure they talked at school and stuff, but maybe Bailey had a problem with them being so close?” Jordan shrugged. “I’m not sure, but she was there helping Mom with dinner when I showed up. Mikey was in his room, and when he did come out, he didn’t seem any more cheerful than he has been. But… she was there.”

  “Hmm,” Noah mused, circling the ice in his whiskey. “Well, if we can’t pull him out of this slump, maybe she can. They were best friends before Bailey came along.”

  Jordan nodded. “I guess we’ll see.”

  The jukebox cut out just as the local band that played almost every night at Buck’s bar started their mic check, tuning their instruments and getting ready to play. Buck’s was the only bar in town — though there were a few just outside of city limits on both the north and south sides. Still, it was the watering hole of Stratford, and even though it was a Monday night, the place was packed.

  I stared at the empty glass in my hand, debating if I wanted another one. I was slightly buzzed, and part of me wanted to go home, watch the space documentary I’d bookmarked on Netflix and forget about the shitty day I’d had. But, the other part realized that the days of hanging with my brothers at a bar likely wouldn’t last forever, and I was enjoying my time with them.

  That thought won out, and I lifted my glass to signal to Buck that I was ready for another. As soon as my hand was in the air, another smaller, more delicate hand with black nail polish donning each nail was on top of it.

  “Let me get this round.”

  I stiffened at the sound of her voice, face flat as I turned to look over my shoulder.

  Mallory smiled, though it was a weak one — tinged with an apology she’d tried to give me earlier. Her platinum blonde hair was tied up in a messy bun that somehow looked perfectly designed, with little tendrils falling down to frame her face. Those cat eyes of hers were winged, her lips painted that dusty rose color I’d come to both love and loathe. The piercing in her septum moved a little as her smile widened.

  “Please,” she added.

  Her eyes searched mine, and too many emotions warred inside me for me to decipher. I hated her. I wanted her. I needed her to leave. I longed for her to stay. The longer I watched her, the more I wondered if she could see right through me, if she could read every little thought.

  Buck knocked on the bar, calling my attention back to him.

  “Another?” he asked.

  Buck was the owner of the little watering hole, his name painted on the brick outside. He wasn’t just the bartender, though — he was everyone’s friend, therapist, referee, and liquid pharmacist.

  I nodded, sliding my glass toward him. “Scooter Signature. Neat.” I tilted my head toward where Mallory stood behind me then. “Put it on her tab.”

  Buck lifted one thick, caterpillar eyebrow at Mallory. “Okay… and for you?”

  “Gin and tonic, please.”

  He gave something close to a smile, still eyeing us like a Scooter and Becker together couldn’t be trusted — he wasn’t wrong — before he finally turned to make our drinks.

  Jordan and Noah had been in their own side conversation, but I saw Noah nudge Jordan out of my peripheral, and they were both staring at Mallory now.

  “Mallory, you know my brothers?” I leaned away from the bar so she could get a better view of them on the other side of me. “Jordan, Noah.”

  Mallory beamed, a smile bigger than I ever remembered seeing on her. “Of course. Hey, guys, how’s it going?”

  They murmured something that sounded like fine, offering strange smiles that did nothing to hide the fact that they were questioning why the hell she was here.

  “I made an ass of myself and got your brother in trouble today,” she explained. “Figured a drink or two might help make up for it.”

  Noah smiled a little more genuinely then, but Jordan’s brows furrowed, and he offered nothing more before turning toward the shelves of alcohol behind the bar and sipping on his whiskey.

  “How do you like working at the distillery so far?” Noah asked, aiming for amiability.

  “It’s… well, it’s not what I expected.” Mallory looked at me then. “I thought I knew what I was walking into, but I was wrong.”

  Noah nodded. “I’m not used to hearing those words come from a Scooter.”

  It was meant as a joke, but his voice didn’t hide the fact that he was mostly serious with that statement.

  Mallory chuckled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t be.” Buck placed our fresh drinks on the bar in front of us, telling us to let him know if we needed anything else. Before I could take the first sip, Mallory grabbed both drinks in her hands and stood. “Play a round of pool with me?” she asked, her eyes pleading for a yes.

  Everything in my chest tightened — but not in the way it should have. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to play pool with her, that I was annoyed she was here, that I hated her and was still furious for what she’d done.

  The truth lay more somewhere around me being giddy at the prospect of getting some one-on-one time with her — outside of work.

  I stood in lieu of an answer,
which had her smiling again as she turned and made her way toward the free pool table in the back. I didn’t dare glance over my shoulder at my brothers — who were no doubt watching us walk away — because I knew what I’d find.

  Questions.

  Concern.

  Opposition.

  And I didn’t want to answer to any of it.

  Mallory handed me my drink once we made it to the table, taking a sip of her own before she sat it down and started racking up the balls for us to play. She was silent for a long while, and I just watched her fill the triangle with stripes and solids, moving the balls around until she had the order she wanted.

  “So, obviously I owe you an apology,” she finally said, removing the triangle frame. She glanced at me through her lashes, stowing the frame away and grabbing a cue stick from the rack behind her. “You want to break?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She nodded, chalking the tip before she lowered her chest toward the table, lining up the shot. She steadied her aim, sliding the wood between her fingers a few times before she fired the shot, sending the white cue ball down the green felt to bust up the balls at the other end. They scattered, landing one solid and one stripe in opposite side pockets.

  “Stripes,” she called, lining up for the next shot.

  She missed, and when she was standing again and it was my turn, she leaned on her cue stick, picking up her drink for another sip.

  “I am truly sorry for what happened today, Logan,” she said as I picked out my own cue stick, chalking the tip. “I acted like a fool — like a know-it-all — and this is me eating crow. You were right, I was wrong. And I’m sorry I had to act out like that to learn the lesson.” She paused. “I’m doubly sorry that I got you in trouble with my uncle.”

  I nodded, lining up my first shot. I sank the four ball in the corner pocket, finally looking at her as I rounded the table for the next shot. “Thank you.”

  Mallory smiled, and silence fell over us as I took the next few shots. When it was her turn again, she passed by where I stood against the wall, her arm brushing mine before she paused in front of me.