I’d come in because I didn’t know where else to go. I’d told myself I needed to grab the finalized logo from Declan that he’d mentioned at dinner, but the truth was, I needed to just sit for a minute. To think. To breathe. To figure out what the hell to say when I headed back to the silo to fight for my wife.
To fight for us.
Declan slid a drink in front of me—lowball glass, amber liquid, lemon twist on the rim.
A Black Cat.
“Trying to pour salt into the open wound, man?”
“Quit being dramatic.” He tipped his chin toward the folder I hadn’t opened yet. “Show her that, and you’ll be doing your favorite activity with your wife instead of sitting here sulking.”
I snorted. “Don’t think it’s gonna be that easy.”
“Or maybe it will be,” he said, already walking away.
I pulled the folder closer and flipped it open, spreading out the two papers inside. One was the original sketch Willa had done—creased and torn with angry black scribbles all over it. The other was clean, professional, stylized but so completelyher. A delicate vine curled around the interlocking initials, earthy and beautiful and strong. Just like the woman I?—
The bells above the door jingled as someone strode inside, and I glanced over to find myformerbest friend walking toward me like he hadn’t just torched my whole goddamn world.
“I figured I’d find you here,” Beau said, sliding onto the stool next to mine.
“Can’t get anything past you,” I muttered before taking a sip of my drink.
“Fuck, man.” He braced his arms on the bar and glanced over at me. “What the hell were you thinking?”
I wasdonewith this bullshit. I downed the rest of my drink before setting the glass down on the bar with more force than necessary. “I was thinking she was drowning, you fucker. And I’d rather go down with her than watch her sink.”
Declan strolled over, swiped my empty glass, and pinned a glare on Beau. The Steele brothers might give one another heaping doses of shit on the daily, but no one else could fuck with one of us without answering to someone else. “Everything good here, or do I need to remind Beau of his manners?”
“We’re fine,” I muttered.
But Declan didn’t move right away. Instead, he stared Beau down, the silentI’ll kick your ass without breaking a sweathanging thick in the air between them. When Beau dipped hischin in understanding, Declan finally stalked off toward the other side of the bar and the customer calling for a refill.
“Christ,” Beau muttered once we were alone. “I just don’t get it. This was always going to blow up, Linc. It was never gonna last.”
“You think I don’t know that?” I said, my anger flaring. “You think I haven’t thought about how this ends every damn day since the moment she said yes?Fuck. You think I haven’twoken up next to herand wondered how the hell I’m supposed to let her go? I didn’t care, Beau. Idon’tcare. I’d marry her a thousand times over if it helped her, even a little.”
Beau darted his gaze over my face, his brow pinched. “You should’ve come to me. I would’ve?—”
“No, you wouldn’t have,” I cut in. “You weren’t fuckinghere. I don’t blame you for that—hell, I’m the asshole who told you to go. But don’t sit there and pretend you know what it’s been like. You didn’t see her white-knuckling that farmandher sanity. You didn’t see her hurting, every goddamn day, and still pushing through, telling everyone she wasfine. You didn’t see how, even with all that, she still put everything on her shoulders like she had something to prove.”
I braced an arm on the bar and leaned toward him, my eyes hard. “As for that bullshit you said back at the silo, I want to get one thing clear—I never once pushed her. I didn’t fucking manipulate her into anything, and you’re a dick for insinuating as much. I fuckingloveher.”
He stared at me for long moments, eyes wide, mouth parted, like I’d just admitted to setting his house on fire. Then he cleared his throat, shifting his gaze away, before doing a double take at whatever had snagged his attention. I glanced to where he was looking—at the back wall and the chalkboard menu hanging there featuring the specials.
Shit So Good You’ll Want to Order 2:
Jam Flight—3 rotating flavors from Willa + biscuits
Drink of the Month:
Black Cat (named after my fierce but incredibly lovable wife)
His gaze drifted lower—to the collage of photos pinned to the wall. An image of Willa and me at the Strawberry Festival. One of her, Sutton, Chloe, and Penelope in the back booth at the inaugural Spicy Book Showdown. Ones of me and my brothers working behind the bar, of Mom and Emma wearing their homemade crowns, of me giving Laurel a noogie while she tried to claw my eyes out, and a dozen more snapshots filled with pure chaos. Filled with family.
When he snorted, I knew he’d found the sign I’d had to post, written in black permanent marker and underlined three times:
Willa lifting ban
