Page 90 of The Bourbon Bet
“I’m sorry for what it’s done to us.”
I jerk my head back. “That’s not the same asbeingsorry.”
“Nothing will ever be enough for you,” he sighs, his voice heavy with resignation. “If I drop the bet, will you forgive me?”
“I could pretend.”
He shakes his head. “So fucking stubborn. And too damn honest.”
I already know the answer, but ask one final time. “Will you drop the bet?”
His shoulders hunch slightly, his posture reverting to that teenage slouch I haven’t seen in years. For a fleeting moment, I catch a glimpse of the old Thorne, the brother who once confided in me. But just as quickly, the moment passes, replaced by a remote stranger.
“No,” he answers.
Even though his reply isn’t a surprise, my chest squeezes as if caught in a vice. There has to be another way. My gaze darts, desperately seeking an honest way out. But the harsh reality settles in. There isn’t one.
Screw this. I’ll cheat. Risk the consequences and tell her. She’ll have to pretend not to know, and then when Thorne’s long gone, she can have the fucking building.
“Fine. Fuck you very much.” I drain my drink. The amber liquid burns down my throat. I slam the glass onto the worn wooden ledge. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll win. And like how you think this shit show is good for me, I believe you leaving is good for you.”
“Oh, how so?” A faint sneer curlsThorne’s lips.
“A fresh start, away from Dad’s poison will free you.”
“And what, you don’t need the same? To escape Dad?”
“He doesn’t get to me like he does to you. You’ve taken his ‘life lessons’ to heart, warping them even further.”
“You always were the golden boy,” my brother sneers. “The perfect son, the one who could do no wrong.”
“It’s not like that, and you know it,” I say softly, holding his gaze. “I never wanted to be perfect. I just wanted to be your brother.”
“Oh, that’s rich. Saint Sebastian, you think you’re superior to me. But you know what? I’m done living in your shadow. This bet, this distillery, is my chance to prove to everyone, including you, that I’m just as good as you are. And I’m not going to let you take that away from me.” He glances at his empty glass, and I can see it in his eyes—he wants a refill. But he turns, leaving me alone in the cellar.
I stare at the empty glasses on the ledge, my reflection distorted in the curved surface. The silence presses against me, a stark contrast to my inner chaos. Pacing the room, my footfalls echo on the hardwood floor. The thought of losing Rosalia is a knife twisting in my gut. She’s shown me a world beyond the cold, empty existence I’d resigned myself to after my disastrous marriage to Tiffany.
But the price of keeping her is steep.
Cheating, manipulating the situation, is a line I’d sworn I wouldn’t cross. After witnessing my father’s lies and our mother’s bitterness tear our family apart, I vowed to be different.
“What choice do I have?” I mutter to the empty cellar.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Rosalia
The words on my laptop blurred before me. I reread the email, but the outcome doesn’t change: “Due to the high volume of submissions, the Small Business Administration has a longer than usual turnaround time for reviewing applications.”
I can’t expect an answer from the SBA for at least another month, leaving me adrift when my lease ends. I’m sunk because below that email is the denial for the grant I applied for. Without those two and no banks returning my calls, I’m dead in the water.
My lungs forget their rhythm, stutteringbetween breaths as if the very mechanics of living require conscious effort. The walls of my future are slowly closing in, leaving no path forward and nowhere to turn.
Another email appears on the left sidebar. My mom’s name is in bold on the address line, and it is a virtual hug. I glance around the bookstore. No one seems to need help, so I click on the message.
Subject: Surprise!
From: [email protected]
