Page 1 of Bourbon and Secrets

Chapter 1

Lincoln

I had gottenit all wrong.

I slam on my brakes so hard that mud flares up and bathes the side of my best friend’s bright purple muscle car. Throwing the truck into park, I lean back in my seat, still fuming. Pain radiates through my hand and up my forearm on the fifth or sixth time I smack my palm against the steering wheel.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

Sucking in air through my nose, I fill my chest, holding it for a three-count. Adrenaline courses through my veins with the need to get as far away as I can. I zone out, staring at the flat landscape and the paddocks peppered with horses running around in the last of the day’s light. Fleetwood Mac keeps echoing the same words over and over about listening to the wind and not loving someone now.The fucking irony.As I squeeze my fist, the sting of my busted, bloody knuckles makes me wince. My elbow aches, probably bruised from the repeated strikes.

She tipped her chin up, and with watery eyes, delivered the final blow. “This is broken. We’re broken, Lincoln,” she gritted out.

Before she could say another word, I stormed out the side door. All I could think was, now I was exactly that. Broken. I’d never felt more damaged and fucking broken. My fist hit the side of my truck with a heavy groan. On the second punch, I left a dent. On the third, my knuckles burned, and then I followed it up with an elbow like it was a heavy bag and not metal. The girls were already asleep inside and upstairs, thank god.

I didn’t have a game plan. I wasn’t prepared for this.“Fuck!”

I shut off the truck and slam the door behind me, ignoring the dent along the side panel. I’m not doing well with emotions right now. I can’t go back.

The pungent smell of horse stalls being raked permeates the air. Mixed with the thickness of today’s humidity, it overpowers the usual sweetness of a Fiasco summer. This late in the evening, the only folks still at the racetrack and in the stables are trainers and owners. I look around for the dark curls piled high and, sure enough, I see my best friend’s hands moving enthusiastically as she’s telling a story at the far end of the stables. “Hads,” I call out.

She whips around and greets me with her typical welcoming smile. “Linc, what are you doing here?”

But her smile quickly fades as I get closer. She can read me better than most people. Even better than Olivia sometimes. Her eyes cut to my fists balled up at my sides. I clear my throat. “I need a minute.”

She doesn’t ask anything in follow-up. She simply watches me as I say it, turning over internal questions and trying to figure out what’s wrong. “I need a minute” acts as a code. A few simple words that tells the other something is off, and we need a place to sort it out. Friendship for us meant making the otherlaugh when nothing was funny, celebrating the small moments, and knowing when the other required space more than words of wisdom.

Hadley may have started as Olivia’s friend but, for some reason, she and I ended up closer. She’d hung around our home since she was in middle school, like the long-lost sister nobody wanted. So that’s what she was now–my best friend who felt more like a sister.

“Lady Brittany Christina Pink is still saddled. You can take her.” She nods behind me at the stall with one of her newest horses.

Its lighter brown mane and tail make her a helluva good-looking animal. “I’m not calling a horse that,” I tell her as I admire the dark horse for a moment. She’ll ride fast, which is perfect. I need something that isn’t bourbon or fighting.

Hadley flips me off. “She’s the ultimate trifecta. That’ll make her a Triple Crown winner. I can feel it.” She digs her pointer finger into my chest with a poke. “You will call her by her goddess-given name.”

I crack a smile. “You’re ridiculous, you know that, right?”

“And yet, here you are, calling me your bestie and asking for my help.”

I pull at the horse’s saddle. “I don’t call you that.”

Rolling her eyes, she waves me off. “Doesn’t make it any less true.” She checks the billet straps and runs her hands along the side of the horse’s neck. “She’s fast.” She squeezes my forearm. “Ride smart. Let me get you a bag.”

“Thank you,” I say as I run my hands through my hair. I look back toward the few guys she had been talking with. “Hads, you okay here with these guys?”

Head tilted, she tosses a glance over her shoulder. “Oh please, they’re more scared of me than my father. So, yeah, I’m good.” She gives me a reassuring smile. “Take this.” She tossesme her bright yellow backpack. “You need a cover story? Or have I not seen you?”

I hoist the bag onto my shoulder and step toward Lady. “Never saw me.”

She grabs my forearm again only this time she pulls me into a hug. After giving me a good squeeze, she lets go, and her eyes meet mine. “Do I want to know?”

I give her a quick shake of my head, then get settled on the horse without another word. She doesn’t want to know this. The truth is, I don’t want to know it either. It’s a secret. Another one. And at the end of the day, it feels like my fault.

As the warm wind whips across my face, I take notice of the sun dropping lower, finally meeting the horizon line on what’s been a fuck of a day. I ride without stopping. The last of daylight reaches across the flat landscape of Kentucky’s bluegrass. Not much of it is usually in this part of the state, but for the next two miles, it’s tall and thick as it brushes against my boots propped in the stirrups. The humidity has lifted just enough as I ride, turning what was a sticky afternoon into the kind of evening where I can finally breathe.

I could have easily gone to my brother’s place and taken one of the horses from the stables, since my family owns and boards plenty. But then I would need to explain what I was doing there. Grant would have asked if I was okay, even if he’s barely surviving himself. My baby brother is a shell of who he used to be. Ace would have told me about something that needed to be handled. He plays the oldest brother role so well that he forgets sometimes how to be a friend. And Griz would have seen through the mask I would need to wear. My grandfather figures everything out as if he has the ability to tell the future. I don’t want to deal with any of it. Not until I sort this out for myself.

There are plenty of hiking and horse trails that lead to the caves and hot springs in Fiasco, and at sunset, there will beplenty of people enjoying them, so I keep riding. I’ve been in enough fights in my life to know that a swift punch or kick to the stomach doesn’t hurt the most, but it takes the most air from your lungs and leaves you remembering never to be in that position again.How did I end up in this position at all?With a tight chest,I grip the reins tighter and dig my heels in to move faster.

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