Page 22 of Whiskey Chase
“What?”
“You can stay with me,” Devlin insisted. “I’ve got guest rooms. We can borrow the whiskey.”
“Fine. Whatever,” I muttered. “I’ll see you for breakfast tomorrow, Jonah. We’ll talk. Bowie, why don’t you see June and Cass home? And Jame, do you mind checking in on Gibson on your way?” Gibson was an asshole, but he was my asshole.
“So, their father had an affair and impregnated someone else?” June asked Cassidy on their way to the driveway.
“Looks that way,” Cassidy said, throwing a look over her shoulder. Bowie followed them a pace or two behind.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Jameson said, pointing a callused finger in my face.
“Yeah, yeah. Don’t let Gibson goad you into a fight,” I replied.
With a wary look back at us, Jameson crossed the yard to my driveway.
“Well, that was fun,” I said. “You don’t by chance have any sisters do you, Jonah? I’m gettin’ sick of the never-ending geyser of testosterone around here.”
He shook his head. “Only child.”
“‘Til now,” I reminded him. I couldn’t quite tell in the dark, but I thought his face softened at my words. Whether Jonah realized it or not, he was one of us now.
I was suddenly exhausted. It settled on my shoulders like an unshakeable weight. “Do y’all need anything for the night?” I asked.
Devlin rested his hand on my shoulder. “Go to bed, Scarlett. We’ll see you in the morning.” I wasn’t sure what about his touch undid me, but I was one second away from blubbering all over him.
I reached up and gave his hand a squeeze and nodded at Jonah. “I’ll see y’all tomorrow.” With that, I left them in the dark and headed into my house. I didn’t bother with the lights. I wanted the darkness. Wanted it to wrap me up and make me stop feeling things. I missed my dad. But was I really missing him or the man he should have been? The one we’d see glimpses of over the years. The two-steppin’, bacon-frying, handyman who always had time for a conversation. Where had that man gone?
He’d disappeared into a bottle and never came out.
I looked at the shelf in my kitchen that held my booze collection. But nothing called to me. Nothing promised me happiness or numbness. Is that what he’d found in the bottom of that bottle, I wondered.
I thought about Gibson, his reaction to Jonah. My big brother had borne the brunt of my parents’ unhappy marriage. And I had no idea what the existence of another Jonah Bodine would make him feel.
“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. I wanted to wallow in my own feelings of misery, not worry about my brother’s.
I dug my phone out of my bag.
Scarlett: I’m not sorry. But I hope you’re okay.
He made me wait almost a full five minutes before responding.
Gibson: I’m not sorry either. Go to bed. We can fight tomorrow.
And just like that all was right between us. Bodines didn’t break promises, and we definitely didn’t apologize. Well, Bowie did. And he was damn good at it. But me? The words always got stuck in my throat and came out in a jumble of excuses and finger pointing.
I stripped out of my wet clothes and pulled on a tank top and shorts. I got myself a glass of water and then sat down on the swing on my porch. The symphony of crickets was deafening on the cool night air.
Usually I thought about all the things I had to be grateful for. But tonight, I let myself stew in all the things I wished were different. And maybe I thought once or twice about that kiss.
10
Devlin
“You can take your pick of the rooms upstairs,” I told Jonah, jerking my head toward the hallway off the kitchen.
“Thanks.”
He studied the house with a disconnected interest as if he was cataloging everything and storing away the details.
