Page 6 of Stone Cold Sinner

“How do you know he ain’t comin’ after your ass? He expects me to show up late and maybe a bit disheveled. But you…”

“What about me?” Coy quickly turned to his younger brother. “What? What can you possibly say about me right now?”

“You stopped comin’ home altogether.”

Nash’s words stung, and nobody said a thing. They were finally quiet because they knew how deep Nash’s words cut. The Stone family was a tight group –– until they weren’t. They had each other’s backs through thick and thin, and everyone wanted what they had. Not the tangible things but the family ties. They were highly respected in their community and had deep roots in Coyote Creek, Texas. Anyone who knew them loved them and wanted to be them. Except maybe the Stones themselves.

Their once inseparable bond had eroded over time, leaving them estranged despite the enduring love that still coursed between them. Life dealt them a new hand, throwing unexpected challenges their way that tested the very foundation of their relationship. Each harbored inner demons that gnawed at their souls and haunted them, but for Coy, the burden was particularly heavy. The weight of profound loss and the accompanying guilt had driven a deep wedge between them, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

“I… work. My job takes me all over the world, and… it’s been hard to come home,” Coy defended, not willing to admit his brother was correct. He hadn’t been home much at all. Practically a stranger to his niece and nephews and a distant memory to his siblings. But he stayed away… for them.

“Don’t we all.” Nash shook his head. “Some of us never even left home because… work.”

Nash was referring to himself, but more so their oldest sibling and brother, Cutler. Cut for short, had big aspirations to play professional football. He’d landed the college scholarship and already had pro teams watching and pining for him… until life handed him his new set of cards. It all ended for Cut when a career-ending injury cost him his scholarship and future playing pro ball, followed by their father’s sudden death, which beckoned him home to help fill his father’s large shoes and run the family ranch.

“Sure, Cut stayed, but you didn’t have to,” Coy said. “You didn’t want to. Lack of ambition?—”

“I’ll stop you right there, brother. I didn’t want to because this is home, and nothing means more to me than this place and preserving it for our family and future generations. Cut shouldn’t have to run the whole damn thing himself simply because he’s the oldest while you?—”

“Nash,” Devyn warned her brother, knowing full well where the conversation was going. “Not the time or place.”

“What? He wants to toss insults and drop truth bombs. Well, here’s a truth bomb to blow this whole thing up, big brother… We’re here preserving the life Mama and Pops built for us and their parents before us, just so you can roam the world chasing ghosts.”

And there it was. The hand of cards life had dealt Coy was revealed for all to see. Nash wasn’t wrong. Coy was chasing ghosts, or one in particular… That of his dead wife. She was somewhere in every case he buried himself in. It wasn’t clear if it was simply out of self-loathing to punish himself for the role he played in her death or to preserve memories that threatened to fade only to be replaced by the nightmares he wished would fade, but it was his truth, nonetheless.

“That’s enough.” Cut nudged Coy, forcing him to scoot one seat over so he could sit between his two younger brothers. “How dare you do this here, today of all days.”

“Sorry,” Nash mumbled.

“Sorry,” Coy followed. “I just…”

“You just came home and decided Mama’s funeral was the best place to settle differences? Who the hell are you anymore? Show up all these years later, and this is what you do? To be honest, I’m surprised you’re even here. That’s more shocking than your behavior, Coy.”

Nash grinned.

“You better wipe that shit-eating grin off your face, baby brother, or I’ll do it for you,” Cut warned as he watched and listened to the kind words a neighbor shared about their mother. “Since when did you start drinkin’ and showin’ up places like you’re the town’s drunken riffraff? You were raised better than that, boy.”

“I—I know.” Nash dropped his head.

Dillon sat tall and leaned in, ready to interject with two cents, but a warning side-eye glance Cut shot her way silenced her before she could speak. Cutler Stone may have been their brother, but he was also the head of their family –– the de facto patriarch who commanded a level of respect that transcended mere familial ties. The sacrifices he had made for them and the unwavering integrity he displayed had earned him a place of honor in their hearts and exceeded the importance of just about anything she was about to say. After their father's passing, Cut had stepped in and filled a paternal-like role for each of them, providing guidance and support during their formative years. His authority wasn't merely inherited –– he’d earned it through his actions and character. Cut was the best man any of them knew and embodied the epitome of goodness and strength, a beacon of reliability and wisdom in their lives. Each of them held him in the highest esteem, recognizing him as the embodiment of their father's legacy.

The intense moment his presence generated among them passed, and their shoulders relaxed as Cut’s deep sigh was the sign they all awaited, indicating he’d settled down and all was forgiven.

“Imagine being able to hear all your shenanigans all the way up there where I stood. Who taught y’all how to whisper so loud? Mama would’ve had y’alls hides for that.” Cut grinned.

“Our hides? Wow. How old are we? We’re not part of your little brat pack, brother,” Nash teased.

Cut crossed his arms across his chiseled chest and crossed his ankles out in front of him. “My brat pack is better behaved than the lot of you, that’s for sure.”

Sensing the change of tone and feeling the mood shift, Ransom Wyatt, President of the United States and Dillon’s husband, chimed in with a chuckle. “They’re a good bunch, Cut.”

Ransom looked at the youngest of Cut’s children, Tucker, and made a goofy face, to which little Tucker made a face back, and the family chuckled at the cute antics.

“Is that for your media entourage?” Cut asked. “The equivalent to kissing babies, Mr. President? I thought your eight years were almost up, and you couldn’t run again.”

“No, just being a fun uncle. I didn’t invite them, Cut. In fact, we didn’t even do a release to the White House Press Corp. I have no idea why they’re here or how they knew I’d be here.”

“It’s because you’re the President, and they chase your plane everywhere.” Nash went on while offering a sympathetic look to a brunette on the next row over, who seemed to be more upset than the siblings were. “Those guys have been rotating in and out of town all week like it’s two-dollar Tuesday down at Knockers Nude?—”

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