Page 4 of Whiskey Kisses

“It’s hard sitting on the sidelines, watching the other guys move on,” I admit after a moment. “Guys I used to dominate.”

“You’ll dominate again,” Lucky says quietly, gazing at his beer. “And you’ll be stronger than ever because you had to work harder than any of those bozos to get back.”

He still blames himself for how things went down last year, when his girl—now his wife—and I got hurt. Always the big brother. But nobody forced me to run into that house, and nobody could’ve kept me from getting my nephew back. Or Bria. I’m responsible for my own shit. Hopefully Lucky’s therapy sessions will drill this into his thick skull sometime soon.

“No doubt,” I agree, clinking my glass to his so hard it splashes.

“Idiot,” he says with a laugh, flicking some of the liquid back at me.

"All right, let’s get down to business,” Dad says, glancing at his watch. “Tristan, how do you feel about taking the lead with Doyle Whiskey?”

“Seriously?” I pause, surprised. I’ve long been interested in our family’s expansion beyond Mom’s wine business, but I didn’t see this coming. “Why, what’s going on?”

“Randall Doyle’s still playing games.” Lucky leans forward, voice low. “Remember when I was down there last time? I told him he could either start paying up without interest, which is pretty damn charitable, or turn the distillery over to us. We would own it, but he’d still run it and make a cut off the profits.”

“Damn, that’s right.” I sit up, thinking back. “He’sstillwaffling?”

“A year and a half later,” Dad says grimly. “Dodging our calls like a coward. I’ve known Randall for a long time, and he can be slippery, but I gotta say I didn’t expect him to pull this with me.”

“Especially with how generous your offer was,” I murmur, thinking back to the last time we were in Savannah as a family. I was still a kid. “You guys used to be pretty tight.”

“They say money ruins friendships,” Dad says. “But pride and greed are just as bad. Randall’s made a few unwise moves over the years, and the distillery’s suffering as a result. I know how iffy business can be, even with one as seemingly solid as his, so I tried to be there for him. My mistake.”

“Being a good guy is never a mistake,” Lucky says, and I have to agree. Dad’s savage when it calls for it, but he’s also got a huge heart. It’s why he’s respected the way he is. “Randall’s the one making mistakes. He’s had plenty of chances to work this out with us amicably, but he chooses to be a shady fucker.”

Jacey stops by to take our order, leaving a fresh round of pints behind. Our comrades from the bar wave as they leave, shouting for us not to be strangers.

“How much does he owe?” I ask.

“Three hundred and fifteen grand.” Lucky pushes a printed spreadsheet across the table.

“Doyle must really be mucking things up if he can’t pay,” I muse, glancing over the numbers. Several loans were made over the course of eight years, the last of which was three years ago. “That distillery’s one of the most popular in the South.”

“And we’re not the only ones he owes,” my father adds, tapping the spreadsheet to emphasize his point. “He’s in debt with a few other lenders and suppliers—that we know of. Not all of whom are above board, if you catch my drift.”

“Doyle’s a gambler,” says Lucky. “He pretends to be this proper businessman, and maybe at one point he was, but …”

“So basically, if we don’t act soon, we might never see this money,” I say.

“Right. But it’s more than just settling old debts.” Lucky’s mouth flattens as he reaches across the table and pushes up my sleeve, revealing the small family crest tattooed on my right wrist. Every man in our family has this tattoo somewhere on his body. “It’s about making sure people know this family won’t be trifled with.”

“Which is good business. Straightening this out can only strengthen our legacy,” Dad says.

He means ourlegitlegacy, comprised of Kelly Logistics, which has been in our family since the early 1980s, and Fiáin Estate, Mom’swinery. She has three vineyards to her name and a production team specializing in experimental wines.

I nod, thinking of a popular microbrewery I’d looked into once. “I’ve always thought we should expand beyond Fiáin.”

“I know. That’s exactly why this job is perfect for you,” Lucky says with a smug grin.

Maybe it is, but that’s only part of it. I know Dad and Lucky are worried about me these days. They think I’m depressed, that I’m having an identity crisis or something because I can’t fight.

“All right,” I say after a moment.

“Good,” Dad says. “How soon can you go?”

I review my phone’s calendar, making note of which commitments I’ll have to put on hold. “Give me two days.”

2.Evie

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