Chapter 5

I wanted this.I wanted this so fucking badly that my jaw hurt the second I tapped it. But the body wasn't right. It was close, but it wasn't ready. It wasn't the right time. I know bourbon better than I know myself sometimes. It's in my blood—the culture of it, the details and notes of what made a batch exceptional, defines our family. I never planned to make a living off it, but there's plenty that's happened in my life that I never planned for.

With bourbon, there are rules. And if those rules aren't followed, then it can't be considered bourbon. It's chemistry, oak, fire, and time. Chemistry is learned and manipulated. I know what it means to toast or char. And time is the only thing that feels too slow when you want to stop remembering, and too fast when you look back. Bourbon needs time, and no matter how fast or slow you want time to move, it doesn't make a difference. Bourbon has rules. Rules keep our business moving. And rules keep people safe.

"You're up early," Griz says from the front porch.

I don't tell him that I've been up for hours. Went for a ride to check my bourbon, met one of Ace's women wandering where she didn't belong, and took a shower. A cold one at that. Hating myself the whole time, knowing I was hard thinking about that girl standing on my property in just a shirt and no underwear.A handful of rules right there I was breaking—hiding something from my family and looking at someone I had no business looking at in that way.

She looked too fucking young for him.

When I walk up closer, I see Griz leaning against the railing, barely sparing me another glance. "I should say the same about you. Or did you not go to bed yet?"

My grandfather's mustache is so thick that it barely moves when he speaks, but I don't need to see his mouth to know when he's laughing. His deep drawl turns from a low hum into a barked laugh. It's hard not to smile whenever I hear it.

He gives me a side-eye. "You know my bedtime is when the sun goes down."

That's a fucking lie. I came to grab a coffee before I headed into the distillery for the day, not to start word sparring with him, so I let it ride.

I grip his shoulder and squeeze. It's the typical Foxx form of a hello and goodbye. It's always been that way, even when we were kids. We were never overly affectionate with each other, but I always knew they had my back the way I had theirs.

He clears his throat before he says, "A bit of a heads up before you go in there."

I pause, eyebrow raised, already knowing what or who he's going to warn me about. "He has a guest."

My grandfather looks down at his cup of what I'm assuming is coffee, but with him, it's never a guarantee. "I don't know if I'd call her a guest, per se, but she might be the prettiest girl I've ever seen."

I hate myself for wanting to agree. I'm being an asshole for thinking it at all.

"That's a big statement, Griz," I say with a wry smile. "You've seen a lot of girls in your day."

Griswald Foxx is one of, if not the best, master distillers in Kentucky, but his second specialty is women. The man flirts with everyone, but it's women who love him. It doesn't hurt that he loves to gossip with them as much as he enjoys romancing them.

He doesn't meet my eyes. Instead, he just smiles into his cup like he's got an inside joke with whatever he's drinking.

When I lean back into the doorway, looking toward the kitchen, I see her again. Her long hair trails down to the center of her back. It's a warm copper with a few golden blonde strands that remind me of the color that makes metal bend. She looks to the side, studying something on the wall, as her bare legs swing back and forth on either side of the barstool she's sitting on. I wonder if she's able to hear us from all the way out here, or if she's in her own world right now. She looks innocent, but the way her mouth ran this morning, not holding back or mincing words, my guess is that she's the kind of innocent that gets you close and then eats men for breakfast. I couldn't stop looking at her as if I haven't seen a woman in years–in all honesty, maybe I haven't. I stopped looking a long time ago.

What is she still doing here?

I step back onto the porch, letting the screen door close softly, and ask, "Who is she?"

But instead of Griz answering, it's my brother's voice that comes from behind me as he climbs the porch steps. "A friend."

"That so?" I bite back my smile for the many ways the word "friend" can be used.

"Can you do me a favor and not ask any questions?" He rubs the back of his neck, his tell that he's uncomfortable. My brother doesn't do relationships. Never has for plenty of reasons, but one very distinct one. I've watched plenty of women be ushered out of here in the morning, but not a single one has ever stuck around. I should leave it. Stop myself before I ask more questions, and go jerk off again. But I pry anyway. "She's a little young, don't you think, Ace?"

Griz interrupts with another barking laugh.

I turn my head his way. "Why is that so funny?"

"You never ask about women. I haven't seen you even do a double take at one." He shakes his head, smiling, "Oh hell, this is going to be fun."

I point at Griz, eyes narrowed. "Don't start. I was only asking a question."

But Ace doesn't answer me, just changes the topic. "Where were you this morning? I had to open the studio house and Julep was the only one who answered when I knocked on your door. Then she ran off."

Shit. I need to start waking up earlier if I want to use the horses and trek out to the falls. It's more peaceful than the ATVs. But I'm not ready for him to know what I'm doing out there. So I give him my usual lie. "Couldn't sleep. I figured I'd take Tawney for a ride. Clear my head a bit."

It's when he asks, "Nightmares starting back up again?" that my gut sinks. Worrying him that I'm falling back into a depression instantly makes me feel like a shithead. It's the last thing I want him to believe when he was the one who rolled up his sleeves to help pull me out of it. He was the one who forced me to talk to someone. Made me feel like taking meds for being depressed wasn't something to be ashamed of. Said trying something to make you feel better, a support tool to help you function, didn't look like defeat to him. It looked like a fight. And I was always a fighter. Not in the same ways as my brothers, but we all were.

I shake my head no. And it was true, no nightmares for a long time now. "Just a lot on my mind with the new guys starting this week." I rub at the sliver of oak that got embedded along my thumb this morning. "Plus, it'll be too hot to ride later." That part was true. The humidity was at an all-time high for this early in the summer. Tawney's a good horse, but all the horses that boarded here, regardless of their typical demeanor, are much happier in their shaded paddocks in the afternoons.

"Alright." He grips my shoulder and squeezes it once. "Lincoln and the girls are going to be here later for dinner, you coming?"

"It's Friday night. I'll be here."

"You want a coffee?" He points inside, and I give him another quick shake of my head. If he doesn't want me to ask questions, then it"s best I avoid the entire situation. I'll never see her again anyway. That's Ace's pattern with the women he brings home—it isn't often, but they're never on repeat. For him, it keeps things light, and the ridiculous Foxx curse that Fiasco loves to gossip about at bay. We all believe in it. Each of us knows loss as our rite of passage. Every woman a Foxx man loved ended up dying. And for each of us, we learned our lesson once. That was enough. I don't think any of us want to try to survive another loss like the ones we've experienced.

I shift my eyes past Ace's shoulder and through the archway. I don't like that I look back, but I do it anyway. A wave of guilt runs through me for wanting to see her once more. I liked the way she talked to me—no trace of sympathy. Simply a stranger who had no problem clapping back.

I take a deep breath. This wasn't how I planned to start my day. Thinking about those pretty blue eyes and pouty lips.

I run my palms along the back pockets of my jeans. When I turn to leave, moving back toward the pathway that connects my house with the main, I catch Griz smiling at me.

Fucking shit-stirrer.

His eyes crinkle and his mustache widens.

Walking past, I point at him. "Don't."

"Didn't say anything." He holds up his hands. "But I told ya. Prettiest woman I've ever seen."