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“It’s chilly tonight; maybe we should just stay here and have another drink.”

He smiles but his eyes flash with a hint of hurt.

Before I can say anything Jax interrupts. “Fancy helping me choose a new whisky to try?”

Lennie grins at him. “Course son. Come on.”

They walk to the bar together as everyone else decides to head into the lounge to relax. I join them with one last glance over my shoulder. He’s laughing again at something Jax has said. He’s exactly where he’s meant to be. I can tell him later. After the convention.

One more memory untouched by what I have to say.

When Lennie and Jax return from the bar, whiskies in hand, the lounge has settled into that particular kind of noise that only happens once everyone’s had enough wine to stop performing and start actually talking.

Lennie drops down beside me, pressing a glass into my hand, and smiling warmly. I’m in the middle of telling everyone about the state his mother left the spare room in on our last visit, a story I’ve told a hundred times and could tell in my sleep. Except halfway through, my mouth stops working before my brain’s caught up to it.

“And she’d been trying to clean it herself instead of just asking for help, using…” I gesture at the rug, at the floor, at nothing. “It’s a thing… One of them…” I stutter.

“Oh, I hate when this happens to me,” Bri empathises, setting her wine down like the anecdote suddenly matters more than it did a second ago.

“ADHD charades.” Lennie laughs, squeezing my knee. “She does this all the time.”

“Like a hoover, but it’s not," I say, frustration creeping into my voice. "It doesn’t use electricity. It’s basically a box on a stick for your carpet," I tell them, hands sketching the shape of the thing in the air before miming the motion it makes across the floor.

“Do you mean a carpet sweeper?” Saint asks.

“That’s it!”

The whole room laughs, myself included, and across the fire Ember catches my eye, smug and quiet about it, like she’s just had something confirmed she already suspected. I don’t ask. I just laugh harder, and for a moment, just a moment, the guilt sitting in my chest goes quiet on its own, without me having to ask it to.

Chapter 22

Jax

The bar is tucked into the corner of the dining room, away from the noise drifting in from the lounge. Behind us, I can hear Saint holding court already. His laugh carrying effortlessly through the lodge, followed by Bri telling him he’s being dramatic, which is apparently the conversational equivalent of throwing petrol onto a bonfire.

Ember laughs at something Luna says, and the whole place hums with that comfortable sort of happiness that only exists when everyone’s comfortable in each other's company.

Lennie runs a hand along the shelves of whisky bottles. “So,” he says, glancing back at me. “Smoky or smooth?”

“I’m in Scotland. Feels rude not to go smoky.”

“Excellent answer.” He reaches for a dark bottle with a weathered cream label. “This one’s from Islay. Proper peat. Smells like someone accidentally set fire to a fishing boat.”

I laugh. “That isn’t the sales pitch you think it is.”

“It absolutely is.” He pours two generous drams into heavy crystal tumblers before handing one to me. The whisky glows amber beneath the warm lights.

Raising it to my nose first, I inhale deeply; smoke, sea salt, heather, and a faint sweetness hiding underneath. The first sip burns pleasantly. “That’s exceptional.”

“I knew you’d appreciate it.”

We stand in comfortable silence for a moment. I didn't invite Lennie for a drink because I wanted whisky. I wanted privacy.

I turn the glass slowly in my hand. “I called my lawyer this morning.”

“Oh?” A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “About the project?”

I nod and his entire face changes. Not hopeful exactly. More... Afraid to be hopeful. “Does that mean you’re interested?”