Page 9 of Bourbon and Lies

“You never ask about women. I haven’t seen you even do a double take at one.” He shakes his head, smiling, “Oh hell, this is going to be fun.”

I point at Griz, eyes narrowed. “Don’t start. I was only asking a question.”

But Ace doesn’t answer me, just changes the topic. “Where were you this morning? I had to open the studio house and Julep was the only one who answered when I knocked on your door. Then she ran off.”

Shit. I need to start waking up earlier if I want to use the horses and trek out to the falls. It’s more peaceful than the ATVs. But I’m not ready for him to know what I’m doing out there. So I give him my usual lie. “Couldn’t sleep. I figured I’d take Tawney for a ride. Clear my head a bit.”

It’s when he asks, “Nightmares starting back up again?” that my gut sinks. Worrying him that I’m falling back into a depression instantly makes me feel like a shithead. It’s the last thing I want him to believe when he was the one who rolled up his sleeves to help pull me out of it. He was the one who forced me to talk to someone. Made me feel like taking meds for being depressed wasn’t something to be ashamed of. Said trying something to make you feel better, a support tool to help you function, didn’t look like defeat to him. It looked like a fight. And I was always a fighter. Not in the same ways as my brothers, but we all were.

I shake my head no. And it was true, no nightmares for a long time now. “Just a lot on my mind with the new guys starting this week.” I rub at the sliver of oak that got embedded along my thumb this morning. “Plus, it’ll be too hot to ride later.” That part was true. The humidity was at an all-time high for this early in the summer. Tawney’s a good horse, but all the horses that boarded here, regardless of their typical demeanor, are much happier in their shaded paddocks in the afternoons.

“Alright.” He grips my shoulder and squeezes it once. “Lincoln and the girls are going to be here later for dinner, you coming?”

“It’s Friday night. I’ll be here.”

“You want a coffee?” He points inside, and I give him another quick shake of my head. If he doesn’t want me to ask questions, then it's best I avoid the entire situation. I’ll never see her again anyway. That’s Ace’s pattern with the women he brings home—it isn’t often, but they’re never on repeat. For him, it keeps things light, and the ridiculous Foxx curse that Fiasco loves to gossip about at bay. We all believe in it. Each of us knows loss as our rite of passage. Every woman a Foxx man loved ended up dying. And for each of us, we learned our lesson once. That was enough. I don’t think any of us want to try to survive another loss like the ones we’ve experienced.

I shift my eyes past Ace’s shoulder and through the archway. I don’t like that I look back, but I do it anyway. A wave of guilt runs through me for wanting to see her once more. I liked the way she talked to me—no trace of sympathy. Simply a stranger who had no problem clapping back.

I take a deep breath. This wasn’t how I planned to start my day. Thinking about those pretty blue eyes and pouty lips.

I run my palms along the back pockets of my jeans. When I turn to leave, moving back toward the pathway that connects my house with the main, I catch Griz smiling at me.

Fucking shit-stirrer.

His eyes crinkle and his mustache widens.

Walking past, I point at him. “Don’t.”

“Didn’t say anything.” He holds up his hands. “But I told ya. Prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.”

Chapter 6

Laney

“The stables areon the other side of the main house about a mile and a half down that way,” Ace says as he points at a field of light green grass with a couple of trees every fifty or so feet from the next. The buzz of Cicadas always felt like the baseline of a summer’s soundtrack, but the hum of them out here seems louder. They vibrate the grass, and it’s an instant muscle relaxer. A nature-made white noise machine that calms my entire body. The two large oak trees on the far side of this plot of land would be the perfect place to hang a hammock. I close my eyes and let the sun warm my face for a moment. Even being so close to the horse stables, the only scent that permeates the air is that tangy, sugary smell.

It feels good to breathe, knowing you’ll get something sweet as a reward. And despite the way this morning started, I feel good today. I don’t have a job yet, or responsibilities. But Fiasco, Kentucky, might just be the life I never knew I wanted. I’m in the last year of my twenties and the idea of reading a book on ahammock connected to those two trees looks like my perfect end game.

“This is more than I was expecting,” I tell him as I stare off at the way the landscape keeps going. And it’s true, I had no expectations after WITSEC was mentioned. Witness protection seemed like overkill. They caught the bad guy, and the girl he held captive was safe. But the moment Agent Harper stepped into the picture, I knew it. I had only met her one other time before when she came to Coney Island for my high school graduation party. I remembered her because she was the reason my dad had to leave for work. The rest of my celebratory barbecue was with our neighbors. And Phillip.

“You should have plenty of privacy here. My brother is just across the way. He renovated this space. Added the Murphy bed, thought it would make the space feel larger if the bed could tuck away.”

It may have been one big room, but it was well thought through, and the finishes make it posh and polished. Similar to the main house, the fixtures are modern and masculine. There’s black metal hardware along drawers and pulls, and brushed gold lighting fixtures to accent the recessed lights on the vaulted ceiling. The height of it makes the one room feel like it’s far larger than its modest 450 square feet measurement Ace had mentioned. A place like this where I was from was not cheap. If it had a doorman and a pool, it would have been considered luxury apartment living. “The rent?—”

He shakes his head before I finish. “There are plenty of things to do around here. We’ll work it out.” He flips the water on at the sink. “What did you do?”

The question has my nerves rising, but he must see it on my face, because he finishes his question. “For work, I mean, before you came here?”

It doesn’t feel like I need to lie about this part. “Weddings, mostly.” That piques his interest. “Large budget events, but mostly those were weddings. Occasionally, it was something...” How do I find the right phrase? I can’t just come out and tell him that the agency I worked for ran the Metropolitan Museum’s MET Gala or that we had been flown into D.C. for the second year in a row to plan and execute the White House Correspondents’ Dinner. So I go with “...higher profile with a lot of very demanding guests.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

In the almost eight years I had worked my way up from intern to running my own team, I don’t know that I’d ever been asked that. It was a career, not just a job. And I was good at something for once. My dad wasn’t around. I didn’t have many people who cared more than to ask the somewhat rhetorical question of “how are you?”

I had set my sights on being successful at something and then just kept moving forward. “I liked the work, but the clients I had were...” I shake my head because I don’t want him to think I’m not capable of dealing with all kinds of people. I am. I just lost myself along the way.

He gives me a nod that feels like he understandscomplicated. “People always have a way of fucking up good things.”

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