Page 190

“Delilah, slaying dragons and kissing cowboys,” Hassie exclaims.

“She’s right.” Ezra nods. “You killed it, Del.”

“She did,” I agree.

“I did, didn’t I?” Delilah blushes. “And I did want to make the party a little bit ridiculous, because that’s up my alley.”

I’ve never been so proud of her. She’s more than a dancer, more than a bartender. More than a beautiful face. Delilah flipped this distillery, and my entire world, around. Forever in awe of everything she’s accomplished. My strong, brave, beautiful girl. She rescued herself to survive. Not once, but twice.

“How’s it feel to have one less job on your plate?” River tips his head to Ezra.

Our brother cradles a sleeping Evangeline in his arms. “Feels pretty damn great.”

Ezra’s taken over the title of master distiller from Uncle Vaughn, relinquishing his distillery manager title to Delilah. She fields press, keeps us organized, and handles all administrative and operational decisions.

“Well, we fucking did it. It’s over.” Wells looks around at the mess and exhales. “Do we draw straws to clean, or…”

“I vote we sleep outside, under the stars like feral children.” Hassie gives a little spin, then stumbles into Warren, who steadies her.

“You’re already a feral child,” he grumbles, but even he’s smiling.

“I vote we do it tomorrow,” Wyoma says. With a firm gaze on us all, she lifts her glass of whiskey. “But I think, right now, Wild Westons, we need a toast.”

“That’s right.” Delilah bounces beside me. “We never did one.”

“Let’s cash this, baby.” Hassie pours each of us a giant glass of whiskey from one of the last limited-edition bottles.

“Cole, you want to take this?” Warren eyes me over the rim of his glass.

“Yeah. I do.” Delilah squeezes my hand, letting me know she’s here.

Throat tight, I lift my glass skyward. “To Mom. To Dad. You should have been here. But I hope we’ve done you proud.” A chill whispers across my skin, grief, ghosts settling heavy on my shoulders. My parents are here. Proud of us for getting this far. Telling us they’re still waiting for vengeance.

I clear my throat, meet my brothers’ shiny eyes. “To Jack. Till tomorrow.”

Everyone nods, not speaking, not able to. We swallow the last drop of whiskey in our glasses, then our family disperses. I keep my eyes on Delilah as she walks Hassie to her Bronco.

Only Uncle Vaughn remains, staring at the flickering remnants of the bonfire.

“It was quite a night, son.”

“It was. You okay?”

“Just thinking.” He lifts his chin and turns to me. “Are you sure, Cole? About marriage? Wyoma told me what you’re planning with Delilah, and well…thought I’d give you the talk your father always should have.”

“I am.”

“Be sure you think about it, son.” Vaughn hesitates, presses his lips together, then shakes his head. “You get in with the wrong woman, it changes you.”

A primal protectiveness jolts through me. I bristle when his eyes land on Delilah, headed toward us.

“I only have praise for that girl, Vaughn.” I harden my voice, making sure he hears me. “No doubt. Not when it comes to her.”

Delilah trumps grief, trumps anger, trumps vengeance. She’s the only thing that makes me believe in light existing outside darkness. In something better than myself. In a life, in a love I’d never entertained before.

“Forgive me. I spoke out of turn.” Chastised, my uncle shakes his head as if in a daze. He chuckles. “I’ve had a lot of whiskey, and that—mixed with the past—loosens my foolish tongue.”

He takes a step forward and claps me on the shoulder. “I just want you happy, Cole. Your parents would too.”