Page 58 of Bourbon and Proof

That makes me pause.

“I know everything, or at least, eventually, I do, Ace. C’mon. I think it’s sweet. You finally got the girl,” she says, softening in a way I don’t normally see from her.

“It’s not like that.” Part of what she’s saying is true, but it’s not the way she thinks.

“Maybe not, but we both know the only reason I’m here right now is because of her. We’ll make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Of all the favors, Julian and I both know that this one is the most important.”

Thirty minutes later, and I’m pulling up to my house, which is lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. The time on the dashboard on my car reads 2:40 a.m., so there shouldn’t be lights on or anyone awake at this hour. I planned on Griz being sequestered in his part of the house, but it was an oversight, thinking Hadleywouldn’t be awake with her late nights at Midnight Proof. I’ve been so wrapped up in the last few hours that I forgot how we’d left things. The low lights on the porch are on as usual, but so are the path lights to the stable, and a warm glow streams out of the ajar double sliding doors.

When I step into the stable, there’s music and Hadley’s voice echoes through the stalls.There she is.The low chords play as she starts quietly crooning about wise men and fools rushing. The song is poetically appropriate, considering we got married this week. I exhale in relief at seeing her, and along with it, the adrenaline from what I just left starts to fall away.

I lean against the archway and watch as she brushes along the full length of her white horse, swaying her hips to the song, zoned out in her own world. It’s rare to catch her like this—without putting on a show or a brave face. I like how strong she is, but I respect it even more, knowing that a good chunk of the time, perceived strength is nothing more than stubbornness and bravado. It’s something we have in common.

Her tone is wildly off, and she laughs when she fumbles the words. It’s part of what everyone in my family finds so charming about Hadley. She’s naturally likeable and can make everyone around her, including me, smile with her quick wit, raunchy sass, and a lightness that I can never find on my own.

She turns and nearly jumps out of her skin, not expecting to see me—or anyone, for that matter—standing here.

“Holy fucking shit, Ace,” she laughs out, her hand splayed on her chest. “Warn a girl when you’re creeping up on her.”

Tossing the brush into her tack box, she wipes off her hands with the bandana stuffed into the back pocket of her barely-there pajama shorts. I’m trying to keep from looking at the very obvious way she isn’t wearing a bra with the loose tank she has on.

“Don’t give me hungry eyes right now,” she says with her eyes squinted and chin raised. “I was waiting up for you...I want answers—” She stops talking as soon as she spots my hands. “You’re bleeding.”

I look down at my knuckles. They had split and kept bleeding, but some of what’s on my forearms isn’t mine. I must’ve missed some of it.

“It’s fine.” I push off the wall and try to cover the carelessness of split knuckles and blood splatter.

She tips her head to the side and watches me curiously. “I’ll play nurse while you answer my questions,” she says, her shoulder brushing mine as she walks ahead of me.

Jesus.

Some of her anger from earlier has fallen away, apparently, but I’m not going to keep this from her. Maybe she doesn’t need to know everything, but I can tell her this.

As I follow her up to the house, I can’t help but crack a smile. And again, all I can think is:she’s here, and she’s safe.

Chapter 24

Hadley

May: Bedazzling horse manes and singing karaoke—Lady and Fergie are the best listeners.

There’s always more to a story. Anyone who tells you otherwise just isn’t privy to the details. I’ve lived in Fiasco my entire life, and I’ve always known there’s more to Ace. Too bad for him that I’m feeling brave tonight.

Rumors swirl about what the Foxx boys do to people who steal from them. That they like to teach their own lessons and not involve the authorities. To never cross them. But beyond that, Ace has always rubbed elbows with people I’ve only ever seen once. He takes meetings with governors and senators. He hosts events with sports agents and their clients. Celebrities aren’t interesting to him, but he’ll always say yes to drinks with anyone in the bourbon business. I’ve always wondered if Ace ever got his hands dirty. With one look at his knuckles and theblood rubbed across his forearm and splattered on the side of his shirt, I guess I have my answer.

He’d been at Midnight Proof for business tonight. Ace would never just pop by to see me; that wasn’t his style, but when I saw him come in and settle at the bar instead of the table on the floor, I thoughtmaybehe wanted to see me. Which is why I have on replay the woman with short blonde hair and gorgeous bone structure speaking to him. Watching him speak to someone I don’t know, and with such familiarity, made me feel like an outsider, jealous, and I hated that. It helped me realize that there’s so much I don’t know about my brand-new husband.

Yes, I’ve witnessed plenty over the years, paid attention to small nuances, like his body language and favorite things. But the secretive moments between him and Griz, the minimal details I have regarding women he’s seen here and there, and the small whispers around town of a man who people respect, none of those things make me feel any closer to him now.

I splash bourbon into a rocks glass beside him as he runs cold water over his bruised and battered hands. I know what the aftermath of a fight looks like. Lincoln has been in plenty over the years. I’d assumed that he was the muscle while Ace sat back watching whoever needed a good swat to the face. Apparently, I was wrong.

Pulling a hand towel from the rack next to the double-wide shower, I hop onto the bathroom vanity. With my ass perched next to the sink, I drape the towel in my hands and say, “I’m going to need to know who she was.”

As he moves closer, I push past the heated feelings I get any time I’m alone with him—swooping stomach and goosebumps along my arms. It’s equal parts nerves and anticipation, but I’d like to stay in charge of the conversation. I don’t want his stupid blue-gray eyes to distract me.

“When we agreed to this marriage, I told you that I don’t like things being kept from me.”

His eyes lock with mine. “I remember.” With his jaw tensed, he says, “What if the things I’ve kept from you are to protect you?”

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