His head snaps toward me, eyes wide. “She wouldn’t.”
“She would. She’s been circling this place ever since I uttered the worddivorce.”
He mutters a curse and starts pacing again. If she ever got her claws on this place, it wouldn’t just ruin me. It would wreck him, too. I won’t let that happen.
“This place, our name, it means something,” I say, quieter now. “It’s the only thing Dad left us. I’m not letting her take that, too.”
He stops parading back and forth, hearing the steel in my words before he says, “You’d burn the whole place down first.”
Dragging a hand across the back of my neck, I let my gaze wander over the space our dad tried to pour his life into. Weathered wooden beams hang overhead, the copper equipment gleams in the light, and there are barrels stacked against the far wall waiting to cradle our whisky for years to come. This place is more than a business. It’s our legacy. Our home.
“I’d rebuild it with my bare hands if I had to,” I finally say.
“You’ve done a fine job with this place, aye?” Callan says, voice low. “He’d be proud.”
I glance over, a little caught off guard. He’s never been the sentimental type, but he’s got the same serious look he used to wear when he was three years old, stomping into Dad’s office in his muddy wellies, declaring himself the boss. Little spitfire could barely reach the desk, but he’d slap his tiny hand down on the surface and bark out orders like he was running a damn empire.
Even back then, he had that fire in him. All piss and vinegar and too much heart for his own good.
“Not just me,” I say. “You kept the lights on more than once.”
He huffs. “And kept you from tossing your phone through the wall every time Hallie called.”
A dry laugh pulls from my chest. “Close calls.”
“Understatement.”
five
JULIETTE
Iregret this. I never should have answered the phone when James called.
I told him to give me some time before we actually met up, and now here we are, a couple days later, with plans for him to come tomyhouse. The one that hasn’t been tainted by him.
I told him he could drop off my things. Just the essentials. I should’ve been more specific, though, because now I’m spiraling and wondering if he’ll bring the sweatshirt I left in his drawer. The one that always smelled like him. Musky and warm, familiar in a way I don’t want anymore.
I smooth the throw blanket on the couch, then immediately mess it up again. Fluff a pillow. Unfluff it. I know it’s stupid, but my hands need something to do or I might chew through my lip. I don’t want him back,godno. I don’t even want his apologies. I only want my stuff, my space, and maybe my dignity.
I suck in a slow breath, tug my sleeves down over my hands, and remind myself that I survived the worst part already. I caught him. I walked away.
Today’s just logistics. A clean exchange. Closure, if I’m lucky. A migraine, if I’m not.
The doorbell rings, and I nearly jump out of my skin. I take another deep breath and move to the door.
When I swing it open, James is standing there with a cardboard box balanced on his hip. He looks good.Damn him.His dark hair is freshly cut, his jaw cleanly shaven, and he’s wearing that blue button-down I always loved. The one that brings out the flecks of amber in his eyes.
I step aside without saying a word, letting him walk into the house while trying not to flinch as his cologne drifts past me. The scent hits like a memory I don’t ask for. Movie nights. Sunday mornings.Lies.
I trail behind him into the living room where he sets the box down on the coffee table.
Nope. I change my mind. I don’t want to talk. I don’t want closure or an apology or whatever self-serving confession he thinks he needs to unload so he can sleep better at night. I just want him to leave, because I can’t.
This is my house. My living room. My sanctuary. He’s stolen my trust and invaded my peace, but this space is mine. The longer he stands here, the more it feels like he’s stealing that, too. So maybe he looks good. Maybe some small, bruised part of me still aches for him when I take him in, but I don’t want him here.
I want him gone. Now.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t know if you wanted your old sweatshirts or not, so I brought them anyway.”
