No matter how much it broke me.
***
A few hours—and a few pints—later, Magnolia and I had the bar somewhat cleaned up as Christmas movies flickered on the TV above the shelves. Not exactly the Christmas either of us had hoped for, but we had each other. And for now, that felt like enough.
Sutton showed up first, ditching her early-morning private catering gig a few hours early. Her new situationship, as she’d officially deemed it, trailed in shortly after. Ryan was hot on her heels, clutching a sprig of mistletoe like it might double as a romantic weapon.
“That’s not gonna end well,” I muttered, nodding toward a half-drunk Ryan weaving through the tables like a toddler at a wedding.
“No,” Magnolia said, not even trying to sugarcoat it. She sat in her usual spot on the far side of the bar, by the takeout window, even though we wouldn’t see a single patron today. “It certainly is not. Speaking of doomed romance—here comes Jordan and Doyle. You think maybe—”
“She’s not coming,” I cut in, sharper than I intended. I shot her a look, and to her credit, she took the hint—for now. Magnolia Pruitt never dropped a subject in her whole damn life. I was buying myself five minutes, tops.
Jordan entered the bar with a hint of a smile, but Doyle looked like a kid getting dragged into church on Sunday—head low, shoulders tight, and about ten seconds from bolting.
I didn’t move. I wasn’t about to throw punches, but I wasn’t getting up to hug him, either.
“Merry Christmas, y’all.” Jordan nudged Doyle toward me until they stopped at the bar. “Doyle’s got something he wants to say,” he said, eyes flicking to Magnolia and Sutton. “In private.”
I led him to the back office and shut the door behind us.
Glass still glittered faintly in the corners of the room, though someone had half-heartedly tried to sweep it up. A half-drunk bottle of whiskey slumped on Magnolia’s desk, surrounded by torn-up photos and crumpled bridal magazines. The whole place looked like a heart had exploded, and no one had dared clean up the mess properly.
I dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. My sister had begged me not to kill Dane.Especiallynot on Christmas.
“Have a seat,” I said, taking the chair behind Magnolia’s desk. Doyle didn’t sit.
He stood by the edge of Magnolia’s desk, arms crossed over his chest. He looked more like a boy than a man—flushed, raw, and strung too tight. The version of Doyle I’d never met before but was all too familiar with now, thanks to all of Tally’s stories.
“I’m sorry I gave her the impression she should leave,” he finally said.
I didn’t respond.
“I just thought… maybe she’d be better off figuring things out in Newnan. I didn’t mean for her to disappear. I didn’t mean—” His voice cracked. “I was angry. And I was scared.”
“Of what?” My voice came out rough, scraping at the edge of the word.
He scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “Of her. Of the way she drags me back into who I used to be. I couldn’t wait to see her again after California, but the closer it got, the more I dreaded it. I didn’t want to… regress.”
“Regress?” I barked out a laugh.
“Yes, Charlie. Regress.” His eyes flashed. “I’ve worked my ass off to be a different person. And she’s still—God, she’s stillher.Wild, reckless, magnetic. And part of me envies the hell out of it.”
I pushed back my chair, the legs scraping against the floor.
“She’s always been the bright one,” he said, breathless now. “I was the good kid, the clean one—the one who followed the rules. But I always wanted to be her. And then I realized her kind of freedom made me anxious. Maybe it wasn’t anxiety at all. Maybe it was just… me stuck in her shadow.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, finally unspooling. “Even Dig—he was my best friend first. But she’s the one whogothim. They speak the same language: fast, impulsive, half a joke, half a cry for help. And I hated that sometimes. That they were so in sync, while I was always two steps behind.”
In front of me was the man I’d known for years, the one who never let you see a wrinkle in his clothes or a hair out of place. That was his light. A light that was unique only to him. A good friend, a good husband, a successful business owner.
“I guess, as brothers, we can kind of see ourselves as inverted reflections of our sisters.” I leaned up against the bookshelf, steadying myself, the emotion of the day finally settling into my bones. “We don’t all burn the same way, Doyle. Doesn’t mean you’re not bright, too. You just light up a different room.”
The silence stretched between us.
“Charlie,” Doyle said, finally. “She really loves you. I can tell. She’s never looked safer, or so at ease, around anyone like she looked when she was around you.”
I kept my eyes locked on the floor in front of me.
