Page 6 of Bourbon and Secrets

I hop up onto the small counter space. “I’ll be there as planned?— ”

A fact that he’s already aware of, since it’s his connection with the FBI that pulled me into this Blackstone case.

“Maggie’s been arrested.” Before I can ask what the hell my sister has done this time, he adds, “She’s been beaten up pretty badly.”

“What?” I slide off the counter. “Who was it?” Guilt and anger swirl around my chest as I hunch over and listen.

“She was picked up on a ‘drunk and disorderly’ this time. But she doesn’t look good. She won’t say who did it.” He exhales loudly. “She refused medical attention and finally passed out.”

“Is she seeing anyone right now?” I swallow the dryness in my throat. “Anyone who might’ve done that?”

“I don’t think so. At least not anyone she would have brought around. But you know her; she’s not all that forthcoming with details.”

Actually, I don’t know. The truth is, I don’t know my sister anymore. The same way she doesn’t know me. And both of us resent each other for it. When I left Fiasco, my explanation toher was weak at best. Mom told me to do whatever I needed to. She knew what I gave up. What I had done. But Maggie didn’t.

She won’t be happy to see me. She barely spoke to me at our mom’s memorial service, and that was almost three years ago now. But being back in Fiasco isn’t about Maggie or me or our feelings. And it isn’t for healing old wounds or reminiscing.

I look around the almost empty room. “If I hit the road in a little while, then I’ll be there by morning.” I bite at my lip, even more anxious now. “Thanks for the heads up, Del.”

“See you soon, kid,” he says, sounding relieved.

I feel everything but relief. We’re gambling with my return to Fiasco, and Del and I both know it. I would be there for long enough to run into people. For gossip to make its rounds. To seehimagain. I shake away the nerves. I need to stay focused. I’m not going to let a change in plan fracture the confidence of who I’ve become or what I’ve built. I’ll be there for a job, and as soon as that job’s done, I’ll be off to somewhere new.

Chapter 3

Faye

I rolldown the window of my truck and let in the cold air as a familiar smell settles into my throat and skin. I’d been to places all over the United States, from the mountains and coastlines to cities and suburbs, but there’s something different about small towns in Kentucky. Fiasco, in particular, feels big and suffocating all at once, with the flat land, the quiet, the memories I’d rather forget. Coming home has nerves and hunger pangs at war in my stomach that I have no choice but to stifle.

The red neon sign outside of a gas station that doubles as a restaurant, still glows nice and bright, even as the sun brightens the morning without peeking over the horizon just yet. Black iron light posts that line the street look new. And signs that readCelebrating 100 years of Bourbon & Horseshung from each light. A familiar logo—a fox head wrapped around an ‘F’—is lit at the center of the town green.

I’ve missed the way the air lingers around your fingers—even in the winter. And when the wind kicks in from thenorthwest, the air smells like just-baked, flakey croissants with hints of cocoa. That’s when it hits me. A reminder as to why Fiasco carries those delicious scents. Bourbon. Specifically, Foxx bourbon.

I take a deep breath, remembering that spring and summer carried hints of fresh whipped cream and it mingled with whatever herbs lined the flower beds along the front of the house. While right now, in the heart of winter, when neighbors burn leaves left over from the fall and reminisce of Christmas trees in fire pits, the scent shifts slightly, making the wind smell of burned sugar and a nostalgia of when life felt less complicated.

“We can’t bake a cake and eat it for dinner,” I said, giving my sister a glare. “Mom put me in charge while she’s at the stables tonight.”

Maggie hopped up onto the counter. “Do you think the foal will be all white like the mare?”

I gave her a shrug. My sister and mom had the same level of love for horses. They could talk for hours about horses that Mom trained and how she gained their trust. I opened the refrigerator and stared at the leftovers. The chicken looked gray, and the noodles were over-inflated. “Let’s do peanut butter and jelly,” I suggested with a sigh.

Mom had been working late this entire week, which meant dinner was whatever we could figure out on our own.

“Peanut butter and jelly both have sugar. There’s bread, which is just like cake anyway. Let’s just make a cake and have that for dinner,” Maggie said as she pulled out the box mix.

She had great ideas—even at eleven years old.

“Fine, but I’m pulling the ‘oldest card’ and making chocolate.” Laughing to myself, I took out the eggs and butter.

“Yessss!” She thrusted her fist in the air. “With vanilla frosting. And if I forget to tell you later, it was the best dinner ever.”

I couldn’t help but smile as I pointed at her. “You’re cleaning up the mess.”

With a beaming smile, she saluted me. “I’m all over it. Dishwashers get two slices anyway.”

Mom didn’t even get mad, having a piece for breakfast that next morning and dancing in her seat as she enjoyed every bite. I swallow down the thickness in my throat at memories that feel so far removed from my current reality; I wonder if they even happened sometimes.

Daylight and half a decade later, Fiasco’s more charming than I remember. The landscaping and attention to detail make it feel less like a small forgotten town and more like a destination.

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