Page 286 of Property of Whiskey

“And if you know something, you tell me.”

“Within reason.”

I squeeze his hand. “Wrong answer.”

Whiskey coughs into his fist.

Daddy glares at him. “You can leave anytime.”

Whiskey looks at me. “You ready?”

I look at Daddy. “After we get the attic box.”

“No.”

I stare.

Daddy immediately lifts both hands. “Not because I’m stopping you. Because it’s late and there’s twelve years of dust up there.”

I glance at the clock.

He’s right.

I hate that.

“Morning.”

“Morning.”

I stand.

Daddy does too.

Whiskey picks up his cut, and we make it almost to the front door before Daddy calls after him.

“Weller.”

Whiskey turns. “What?”

Daddy walks closer. For one beautiful second, I think maybe they’re going to shake hands.

Absolutely not.

Daddy looks him dead in the eye. “I still don’t like you.”

Whiskey nods. “Feeling’s mutual.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Men.

Daddy looks toward me, then back at Whiskey. “You keep her safe.”

My spine stiffens. Whiskey’s eyes come to mine. He thinks before answering.

Smart.