Chapter 8
Lincoln
Society will tell me it’s too early for bourbon, but I’m about to shove two middle fingers enthusiastically in the air and spin on my boots in a 360-degree fuck you to the universe. Not a single fucking thing about today is going my way.
“Dad, this isn’t the way to school,” Lily states warily from the back seat, her head turning as we drive by Hooch’s and toward the distillery.
“Well, you two wanted to kick off the week by breaking the law, so I figure there’s only one person who would be able to talk some sense into you.”
Pulling onto the long gravel road, I already see Julep waiting patiently for our arrival. Grant must have told her the girls were coming. That dog considers Lark and Lily part of her pack.
“We didn’t break the law,” Lily claps back.
“It’s the law that you go to school, and the two of you were planning not to do that today...So”—I shrug my shoulders—“now you can take it up with Uncle Grant.”
That quiets her quickly. Grant might be a retired cop, but he can still pull out the intimidating follow-the-rules speech when needed. He still does it to me.
Skipping school is something my brothers and I did all the time as kids. We’d get on the bus, and as soon as the bus opened its doors, we’d find a way to distract the teacher on bus duty and huff it to the edge of the woods that line the school’s property. When our parents were still alive, we’d usually stop at our grandfather’s house first. He would always leave a few Ale-8s in the cooler behind his shed and a key for the distillery hanging on a hook.
“I like her,” Lark says, knocking the memory from me. I glance back in the rearview mirror. “Her name is pretty.”
“Who?” I ask without registering what she’s talking about.
“Faye. It’s pretty,” Lily says, picking at her newly polished nails.
“You just got those done, don’t pick.” I clear my throat. “And you can’t just like someone because of their name.”
“Why not?” Lily rushes out, at the same time as Lark interrupts, “Plus, I like how she talks to us.”
“What?” I laugh out.
Lily carries on like her sister hadn’t interjected, “She was really pretty too.”
“Pretty...” I say on an exhale. “There are more words I could think of to describe that?—”
Lark cuts in, “Her nails looked like daggers.”
“Probably uses them as weapons, too,” I mutter under my breath. I glance in the rearview at Lark, who’s staring at her nails. Fucking hell, I feel like I should reevaluate the way I’ve been parenting if my girls are so easily won over by a pretty woman. “You can’t like a person just because you like how they look.”
As soon as I say it, I know what’s going to follow. Lark squints at me in a way that screams, you’re an idiot . Then she scrolls through her device that’s currently only being used as her source of music. “She had on a cool Queen t-shirt. It said ‘Killer Queen.’”
“Fitting,” I mumble.
“She has a matching beauty mark.” Lily points to the right apple of her cheek. “It’s like we’re soulmates.”
Jesus Christ.
“Plenty of people have beauty marks on their face, Lily.”
I slow the Jeep as Julep runs next to us. Lark rolls down her back window so she can greet Julep. “Julep, you get to hang out with two more of your favorite people today.”
Lark leans back in and looks at me through the rearview. “Dad, she seemed nice.”
“She’s not.”
Lily claps back this time. “How do you know?”
I don’t plan on telling her the exhaustive list about how Faye is not the “nice” person my girls believe her to be.
“I just know.”
“People don’t talk to us like that. It’s either sad eyes about Mom or fancy voices about you,” Lily says. My stomach lurches at how I know exactly what they mean. “I heard the moms from Girl Scouts talking about what the curse means for us.” Hearing that pisses me off. Fiasco loves its gossip, but the people in this town wanted to pin a reason on why our family had to deal with so much tragedy and loss. It was a ridiculous thing to say: Every woman a Foxx loved ended up dying. But bringing it up around my kids wasn’t going to go unanswered.
Lark gazes out the side window, looking sad and contemplative, and the only thing I want to do is make sure she’s okay. If I don’t pull out some kind of motivational moment here, I’m going to regret it.
“Hey,” I say, trying to get her to look at me through the rearview mirror. “Lark.”
She gives me a side-eye that reminds me so much of her mother it has me swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Listen to me right now.” I turn off the radio and step on the brake. “You’re Foxx girls.” Raising my eyebrows, I sit taller. “That’s strength, darlin’. There isn’t a single soul in this town or the next who’s as strong, and smart, and beautiful as the two of you.”
Lark’s chin wobbles at that affirmation, and it takes everything in me to keep my shit together too. We talk about their mom often. The good things. The things that made Olivia lovable and kind. The things I hope they somehow get from her, because those things aren’t me. They’ll get strong and loyal, smart and aware, but the parts that had made me fall in love with my wife are the things I hope my girls somehow absorbed.
Lark gives me one nod, as Lily throws both arms up high, fingers out as she repeats those words. “We’re Foxx girls.”
Lark cracks a smile. “Fine. We’re Foxx girls.”
I pull up the rest of the way in my brother’s driveway, throw it into park, and turn in my seat. “Alright, Foxx girls.” I look between the two of them. “No more skipping school, even if it’s to see the pretty new neighbor.”
“See? You just called her pretty,” Lily retorts with a giggle.
Dammit.
Grant opens the front door to his place. There are only three things that make my baby brother smile like that: my sister-in-law, making barrels, and my girls.
“Are my little flowers turning into weeds? Why’d we skip school today?” he yells out, with a little too much amusement.
“That doesn’t sound even a little bit like tough love,” I tell him.
He crosses his arms as Lily rushes out of the Jeep telling him all about her newest rocks and gems. “Alright, Uncle Grant, pick your favorite.”
My brother points to a small opaque white crystal.
Lily palms it and says as I walk closer, “Dad, how long are we going to be here today?”
Grant falls for the ploy to look away. That’s when my daughter pockets the rock and I play along.
“Later this afternoon.” I glance at Grant for confirmation. “That okay?”
He nods. “Fine with me. I’m all yours today, my little flowers.”
She smiles wide as he turns his attention back to her. With her closed fists still held out, she says, “Okay, now. Pick a hand.”
It takes him a second to choose her right hand. The same one she initially closed the rock in, but when she opens it, it’s gone.
He barks out a laugh. “Lil, how’d you do that?!”
“Alright.” Smiling, I clap. “Now, where’s my new favorite Foxx?” The easiest way to rile him up is to flirt with my sister-in-law, Laney.
“She’s helping Hadley again today. I would have thought you’d know that since you three are all up each other's asses.”
“Is that new territory for you, baby brother?” I lower my voice so my girls won’t hear. “You having trouble being up your wife’s ass? Need me to step in for some pointers?”
He punches me hard in the arm and follows it up with a shoulder squeeze. The menacing kind that’s going to round out with a punch to the gut. I know, I deserve it. I let out a gasped breath as he does as predicted—anchoring a nice tight fist right under my ribs. “You know you deserved that one, right?”
I bend at the waist, hands on each knee, as I take a minute to catch my breath. A few seconds later, I follow it up with a “yep” and a nod.
Blowing out one more breath, I stretch my torso. Fuck, that hurt. “I’ll text you after lunch. I should have been at the distillery two hours ago. Ace’s cranky ass said he wanted to see me and I’m still not there.”
I turn my phone around to show Grant our oldest brother’s demanding wall of texts.
ACE
Need you here ASAP.
It’s not optional, get your ass here.
LINCOLN
Why? Hadley giving you shit again?
ACE
I’d like to see Maggie too. Please pick her up on your way. She’s not answering.
“Who fucked up?” Grant asks after reading.
“Fuck if I know.”
“Heard that Faye Calloway is the new burlesque girl at Midnight Proof. Still surprised she didn’t end up a cop, if I’m being honest. Del used to talk about her like she was one to watch.”
She’s one to watch, alright—it’s fucking hell trying not to. What the fuck was she wearing on a goddamn porch in the middle of winter?
“You catch her when you were there the other night?” My brother’s asking for a reason. Grant’s never passively curious. “Laney said she was incredible. Or rather, her words were ‘she’s a total smokeshow, I have a girl crush, and Hadley said Faye gave her lady boner.’”
Rubbing my hand across my mouth, I hide my smile. “Jesus Christ, those two.” I clear my throat before I lie. “I hadn’t really thought about it, but yeah, I saw her when I was there.”
His eyes narrow at me, and then he crosses his arms. “Hmm, that’s interesting. Is she next door staying with Maggie?”
I try to be cavalier. “Why are you asking me?”
“You live next door, first of all. And second, you’re being weird.”
“I’m being weird?” I say, pointing to myself.
“Yeah, it’s weird you didn’t mention it. You always have something to say about beautiful women around here. Fuck, you’re still being an asshole about Laney every chance you get.” He swats at me.
“You and your wife need more exciting things to talk about.” I turn back toward my car. “I’m leaving. Lark, Lily, I’ll see you a little later,” I call out over my shoulder.
“You realize I know when you’re lying, Linc?”
I don’t respond, instead flipping him off with a big smile as I get into my car.
Lily’s eyes widen as she catches my middle finger waving in plain sight. Shit . I flick on my podcast so I don’t hear her, but I watch in my rearview as she rubs her thumb and pointer finger together up high and mouths out, Middle fingers are ten bucks, Dad!
I should have never agreed to a curse purse.
Blaring music is the first thing that hits me when I stomp up the Calloway’s front porch. After knocking and waiting, it was easier to just let myself in. I told Faye I was coming back, but the more important thing now is to bring Maggie into the distillery to talk business with Ace.
With a mouth full of cereal, Faye turns down the hallway and stops dead in her tracks when she sees me. I had expected a screech or scream, but instead, she cocks her head to the side and yells, “Couldn’t stay away, Foxx?”
It takes a lot of willpower not to laugh at that. After everything I said to her before I left—and I know it was harsh—she claps back with sarcasm. I don’t know why I like that, but it throws me off guard. Again .
One hand holds the bowl while she drops the other from holding the spoon. The cereal milk splashes as she glides her now free hand into the pocket of her brightly colored tapestry robe. The movement loosens the belt, and it gapes open just enough to see the valley of smooth skin that runs from her neck to her navel. A mere slip of skin and something in me thrums to life. The same way it had at Midnight Proof. The same way it had for the briefest moment in that cornfield. Fuck, I forgot what the hell I’m doing here.
I clear my throat and meet her gaze. The smirk playing along her lips tells me she knows exactly where I was looking. She thumbs the screen of her phone, and the music cuts out. “You want to tell me again how uninterested you are?”
She shifts her weight, just as another song comes on. Her movement gives me a better view of her robe, which might be covered in richly colored florals, but the material is practically sheer. I can see just enough that it takes everything in me not to catalog every detail.
The same tone of music that played the night I watched her at Midnight Proof comes over the speakers placed throughout the room, a trumpet kicking high and then the sultry voice of Nina Simone crooning about putting a spell on someone. I smirk at the song choice because she’s really fucking good at tweaking my attention. Looking down, I spot something wrapped around her thigh. “Is that a knife strapped to your leg?”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Did you just think I was happy to see you, Foxx?”
“Fucking hell,” I mutter. The handful of minutes I’ve spent with this woman doesn’t matter, because every damn time she says or does something, it throws me off center . It pisses me off almost as much as it turns me on.
I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and wipe my hand along my jaw and across my mouth. “Where’s Maggie?” I ask, changing the subject.
Over the music, she yells, “You realize you can’t just walk into someone’s house and demand things?—”
But that’s where she’s entirely wrong. It takes no more than a few quick strides until I’m inches away from her. I flick my eyes down, taking in the tint of her skin and the smell of her body this close to mine—warm, smokey vanilla. Her chest rises and falls with the smallest hitch.
“You don’t know the first thing about me,” I tell her, my voice coming out gruffer than I’d like. Her chin tips back as my attention flicks to her pursed lips, lingering there. “Because if you did, you would know that I don’t ask. I don’t take well to threats. And I don’t forget.” I tilt my head to the side, to see if she has anything to say back to that. But I’m met with silence. “And I’m the furthest thing from happy to see you.” Leaning in closer, my mouth hovers over hers. “So I’ll say it again, Peach. I don’t want you here.”
She sways slightly as I take a step back. It’s a more satisfying reaction than it should be.
“Maggie,” I shout, my eyes still trained on Faye. “If you’re here, you need to come with me. Ace wants to see you.”
Maggie jogs down the stairs just a few seconds later. “I’m right here. What’s up, Linc?”
At the same time that Faye says, “ Linc ?” I can’t help but react to the purples and greens peppered all over Maggie’s face. A scab runs vertically across her upper lip and more bruises look like they’re almost healed in the yellowed tint along her forearms.
Jesus . “What the hell happened?” I rush out.
She glances at her sister, who’s watching the exchange. “I advertised to the wrong people.” Her eyes water as she stares at my chest, zoning out. “I’ve been doing really well. It’s been one of my best streaks.”
Maggie has problems with gambling. My brothers and I know that, but as long as it doesn’t touch our business, who are we to get involved?
“Did this have anything to do with?—?”
She cuts me off, “No. Nothing like that.”
But by the way Faye studies her sister, I’m not sure she believes much of what she’s saying. If this was a result of what she’s been doing for us, then I plan to make it right.
Maggie wraps her arms around my waist and rests her forehead against my chest. It’s not typical behavior. I don’t usually hug Maggie Calloway, but she’s been folded into my family for the last few years, not to mention she’s been good to my girls, so it doesn’t feel totally unnatural to show her some comfort. “When did this happen?” I ask as I watch Faye.
Her arms are crossed, looking pretty fucking angry. “Go ahead, tell Linc. We both know you’re not telling me a damn thing about what or who you’re involved with.”
But instead of acknowledging her sister, Maggie pulls back, face damp as she asks, “Ace wants to see me?”
I give her a nod and a tight-lipped smile.
“Maggie. You don’t need to go anywhere,” Faye says in a huff, as her sister pushes through the front door. With a confused look, she asks me, “What did you and your family get my sister into?”
“I don’t think that’s something I should be talking to you about.” I tip my head to the door. “If she wanted you to know, then my guess is that she would have told you.”
The roar of an engine pulls our attention, and Faye rushes to the window. “Did she just take my truck?”
I let out a laugh. “Yup.” I flip my keyring around my fingers. “Your sister is a bit of a loose cannon sometimes, case in point.”
She stares at the dirt and dust that’s kicking up from the tire tread, then her eyes snap to mine, full of fire.
“Are you sleeping with her?”
My head rears back. “What?”
“You heard me, Foxx. Are. You. Fucking. My. Sister?”
She can’t be serious. “You can’t be serious?”
I know what kind of reputation I’ve accumulated over the past handful of years. And it’s never once bothered me. Until right now. I can’t tell if she’s asking because she’s feeling protective of Maggie, or if she’s been here long enough to listen to the gossip that swarms around me, or if she just wants to piss me off.
I stare at her for a moment, admiring that beauty mark on her cheek that my girls noticed too. A small gasp of air escapes her lips when the tips of my fingers brush along the edge of her hand. “You’re really serious?” But she must be, because she doesn’t blink as she waits for a response.
When I don’t give her what she’s looking for, she clears her throat. Licking her bottom lip, she says, “Answer the question, Foxx.”
“Would it matter if I were?” I ask tauntingly.
Her eyes drop to my mouth before she corrects herself, realizing what she just did. The simple move makes me want more.
“Y-yes,” she stutters out as her eyes meet mine.
Fuck . That isn’t the answer I anticipated. It stirs something low in my gut, arousal definitely, but something else full of heat and curiosity. I can’t tell anymore if this is still her way of gaining the upper hand. It feels vulnerable. As I step back, she leans forward, her hands gripping my shirt. I don’t think she planned to do it as her eyes snap to where her fists are balling the material.
“Don’t,” I grit out, my voice low.
My tone snaps her out of whatever this is. And I instantly hate myself for it as her hands loosen their grip. She turns around, pausing for a moment before she heads straight for the stairs.
Without looking back, she calls out, “If you want me gone, then I need to talk to your brother. And since Maggie just stole my truck, you’re going to give me a ride.”
And for some reason, I wait for her. Ten minutes later, she’s glaring at me as I open the door to my Jeep for her. Instead of a thank you as I close it behind her, she continues to type away on her phone, only pausing to flip me off.
As we pull into the private road to Foxx Bourbon, she says, “I haven’t been here in a long time.” She takes everything in as we approach the distillery. The property has always been large, but we’ve grown to multiple buildings, from the distillery and offices, to the rickhouses and exterior patios and entertaining spaces.
“A lot of changes since you’ve been...” I search for the right word. “Away.” From the sound of the crunching gravel underneath my tires along the main drive, to the pride I feel every time I see one of our bottles on a shelf or being enjoyed, one thing remains the same. I love everything about what we do here.
She looks out her side window, past the rickhouses and toward the flat quiet landscape of our hometown. “What would you do if you didn’t do this?”
The question surprises me, but I have no problem answering her truthfully. “I never imagined doing anything else. That’s the one thing that my brothers never understood. How I couldn’t want more than what I’d always known.” I glance at her. Her attention stays fixated on each part of the property that we pass. “At one point, they both did something else for a little while. Eventually, they came back. But I’m the exception. I’ve always known what I wanted. Always knew that I’d spend every day here until my last. Even when things are...” I let the thought linger for a moment. I don’t want to think about all the days I come here at war with how I’m feeling versus how I should act. “Coming here always makes me feel good.”
When she finally shifts her gaze to me, I struggle to meet her attention. I didn’t mean to share that much. And while none of it’s a secret, it still feels that way. Something private and vulnerable that I haven’t ever shared with anyone. I don’t know why it seems natural to share it with her.
“I’ve had that feeling too,” she says quietly. And just when I think she might say something else, she opens the door and hustles out.
I catch up with her to cut off her stride.
She stops and turns toward me with a sigh. “I already know what you’re going to say.”
This attraction I feel is irrelevant. We had an agreement. I let it slide when her mother passed and she came home for the memorial—a part of me felt like a monster for making her leave in the first place, but she pushed, and we made a deal. I expect people to keep their promises.
“I want you gone, Faye. Like I said, in case you forgot, you blackmailed me. I don’t know what went on in your life, the same way you don’t know what went on in mine. But I don’t want your brand of crazy anywhere near the people I care about.”
I watch as she tries to harden herself to what I’m saying. Her eyes search mine, but before she says anything, her attention is caught when she looks over my shoulder. I turn and spot Griz perched in his golf cart, talking with her sister.
The affection between my grandfather and Maggie doesn’t go unnoticed—it was an instant camaraderie between the two of them. And it’s stayed that way even after Maggie and Faye’s mom passed.
“Is that Faye Calloway back in Fiasco?” Griz calls out from his golf cart, interrupting his conversation.
She smiles at the old man as she walks towards him. “Griz, how have you been?” She says it with much more warmth than she’s given me.
He wraps her up in a hug, and then lifts her arm to give her a twirl in true Griz fashion. When she’s done with her forced twirl, he says, “You look just like Shelby.”
I watch what that compliment does to her. Her shoulders relax, and she smiles easily; it’s like she needed to hear something kind from someone familiar. And I don’t know why that makes me feel shitty.
Griz glances at me. “And by the look on his face, it seems like you’re tipping worlds and taking names, just like she did.”