Page 75 of Whiskey Kisses

“It’s mine too dammit,” Evie grits out, and I can tell she’s clenching her teeth. “Legally and ‘morally’ whatever the hell that means. You’re in no position to talk.”

Damn, shots fired.

“And,” she blazes on, talking over her sister when she starts to respond, “I already told you we’d give you a share once we figure everything out! I’d never screw you over like that, even though you’d do it to me in a heartbeat.”

“You’re such a martyr,” Maribelle says, rolling her eyes. “Well, fine. Daddy always said we'd split things fifty-fifty when he died. He might not be dead, but he’s no longer in the picture so when do y’all plan on having this ‘figured out’?”

“We have an accounting firm doing audits as we speak,” I say. “Once they work it out, we’ll pay any outstanding bills and try to figure out who else your father owes.”

“Doyle Whiskey’s an LLC,” Maribelle says. “So technically none of us are responsible for the distillery’s debts.”

I give her ayeah, rightlook. “That might be true with banks and companies he’s borrowed from but try telling that to people like the Deschamps. They want their money, just like you.”

Something like uncertainty flashes briefly across her face, gone as soon as it appeared. I’m tempted to mention all that skimming off the top she was doing, reminding her that she’s already paid herself and then some, but it’s irrelevant. She screwed her dad over, not us, and anyway it’s better to play my cards close.

“Evie and I will let you know as we know.”

“You do that.” Rising from the couch, she swings her purse over her shoulder. “Because if you don’t, I will make your lives hell.”

Evie scoffs. “Like you haven’t been doing that for years.”

Maribelle smirks, but I step between them before this little tit-for-tat can go any further. “Bye, Maribelle.”

“Bye,” she says breezily, opening the door. Pausing, she looks back at me. “You’re looking good these days, Tristan.”

“It’s that sex glow.” Smiling, I slide my hand around Evie’s waist and yank her to my side. “My girl’s a tigress.”

Maribelle blinks a couple times, momentarily speechless for once. “Whatever you say,” she finally mutters, shutting the door on her way out.

Evie grins up at me, pinching my side. “You’re so bad.”

“Did I lie?” I ask innocently, dropping my hand to her ass and giving it a little smack. “You’re kinda feisty.”

“Only with you,” she says, peeking out the window beside the door. We watch Maribelle turn around and drive swiftly back to the gate, where Alex lets her out.

“Your sister’s a real piece of work,” I muse.

Evie turns, giving me a wry smile as she heads back to the kitchen. “You’re only now realizing that?”

Now that lifehas hit a brief lull, I find a local doctor so that I can get my arm checked out, something I should’ve done weeks ago. He gives me the green light to start training again, which is good because I’ve already started. I set up my punching bag and weights in the garage the week we moved in. Evie and I attend jiu jitsu classes when we can, too, often staying for open mat sessions. I’m guessing people have realized we’re together because the ladies seem to be leaving me alone.

One day we drive up to an antiques and garden shop in Hilton Head for Evie, stopping at a microbrewery on the way home for me. It’s the weirdest relationship I’ve ever been in. It’s like we did things backwards—we got married and now we’re going on dates. There was no natural progression of feelings, no slow, flirty, falling period. And even though we live together, even though we have lots of really,reallygreat sex, there’s this surreal element of make-believe. Like we’re playing the part of a couple and all the intimacy we’re enjoying will end once the director yells “cut.”

I don’t want it to end, but I don’t see how we can go on like this forever. Evie’s life is here, and mine is in Boston. Marriage is a forever thing, a blending of two lives that takes careful consideration. We jumped into ours knowing it was temporary, making it feel both safer and less serious at the time. Now I’m not so sure.

Late Friday afternoon, Alex and Finn drive me into town so my attorney and I can meet Randall and his attorney at Kenny’s office for the remaining ownership documents. I already have the contract Randall signed, so all that’s left is the deed to the distillery and its properties, as well as the intellectual property assignments. Randall seems resigned for once, refusing to make eye contact as he sags in his chair.

By the time I leave the office, the sun’s gone down. The days are gettingcolder, though autumn here is much milder than Boston. Someone, somewhere, has a fire going and the chilly air laced with the scent of firewood makes me a little homesick. Keeping the Suburban’s windows cracked, we spark a blunt as we drive to a liquor store to stock up. I grab a bottle of the wine Evie likes and call in an order for Thai food that we’ll pick up on the way home.

We only come downtown when we absolutely have to, steering clear of Deschamps territory for now. I did what I came to do, but there’s no need to shove it in anyone’s face. Evie thinks I should find a way to appease them by giving them what her father owes or returning the warehouse. They’re an enemy we don’t need, and if my family is to have a presence in this city, we’ll need strategic alliances.

I don’t know. Paying off the Deschamps might seem smart on the surface, but it doesn’t sit right with me. Compromise and negotiation are fine, but I live in a world where paying tribute is akin to admitting defeat. The Kellys don’t kneel, we negotiate from a position of strength. I’ll have to talk to Lucky about it.

We’re about to leave the city proper when Finn gets a text from Timmy, asking if we can pick up another quarter from the plug. We all track each other on our phones, so he probably saw where we were.

“What d’you want to do?” Alex asks, eyes glazed crimson as he grins at me from the driver’s seat.

“That little fucker,” I say fondly. “Might as well. We’re close.”

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