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“Horse shit.” Nate digs his phone out of his pocket. “I won’t say it again—”
“Quite a place you got here,” Wilson says, gaze flicking to me before it moves to my house. He’s got this look on his face, this fevered gleam in his eye—almost like he’s appraising the property. “Y’all Beauregards been doin’ well for yourselves, ain’tcha?”
The hairs on the back of my neck prickle to life. “Mr. Kingsley, you’re upsetting Nate. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”
“How much you think this house is worth?” Wilson palms a nearby column. “Two million? Three? And all five of ya, you each got your own place, right?”
I look at Nate to see all the color drain from his face. “Remember what I said, Dad,” he says, voice deadly calm.
Wilson’s eyes move to me. “I don’t, actually. Care to repeat it? Or do you not want your high-class lady here listenin’ to you threaten to end your daddy’s life in a most vile and violent manner?”
Before I know what’s happening, Nate’s lunging forward, flying up the steps so he can grab his dad by the collar. He drags him down the steps, giving him a rough push toward his truck.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. I was only sayin’ I could forget those nasty words you said to me.” Wilson’s eyes move back to my house. “For a price.”
Understanding dawns, flickers of years of observations coalescing into a shocking whole inside my head.
Oh my God.
Nate glances at me, jaw set but eyes glassy. He’s furious. He’s also mortified.
“It’s okay,” I manage around the swell of emotion that’s clogged my windpipe.
He puts his hands on his hips and shakes his head. “This right here, it’s not okay. None of this is fucking okay, and it’s all your fault.” He turns his head to look at his dad. “I knew you couldn’t keep your hands clean. How much you owe this time?”
Wilson scoffs. “I never said nothin’ about owing no one.”
“A hundred grand? Two?”
Wilson is silent now, eyes glittering in the darkness.
“You know what?” Nate’s voice shakes. “I’m done. You’re not my problem anymore. I don’t care what it takes—you’re gone.”
“Oh? Where’m I goin’?”
“To Hell, preferably,” I reply, and to my delight, a smile flashes across Nate’s face.
“I don’t care where you go,” Nate says. “But I’m not going with you. This—you and me”—he gestures back and forth between them—“I tried, Dad. I really did. I loved you as best as I could, but it was never gonna be enough, was it? I was never gonna be enough.”
I notice how Nate’s accent thickens as he grows increasingly upset. My eyes sting. I walk over to him and wrap my arm around his waist, touching my head to his shoulder.
He responds by curling an arm around my torso, pulling me close and slightly behind him.
He’s protecting me.
All this time, he’s just wanted to protect me from this. His father, and all the dysfunction that comes with him.
I step forward so I’m at his side again, our feet making a neat horizontal line.
Nate looks at me, brow curved. You sure?
I nudge him with my hip. I’m sure. Because as much as I appreciate his concern, I don’t need his protection. I need his trust, and he needs my support.
“Son, you can run all you want,” Wilson replies in a low, mean voice. “But you forget we’re more than just kin. We’re business partners. You say goodbye to me, you say goodbye to the distillery. To all the money we’re gonna make.”
“You can’t make money if you’re blowing it at the poker table,” Nate spits back. “I saved your ass once. I sure as hell won’t do it again.”
My eyes prickle all over again, this time for a different reason. He really is taking my words to heart.
“Wilson,” Nate continues, “get out of here, and don’t ever come back.”
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard Nate call his dad by that name. A shiver darts up my spine. My man means business. I’m proud of him, sure. I’m also really, really turned on.
“You burn this bridge, there ain’t no coming back from it,” Wilson warns.
“I look forward to warming my hands on that fire.”
“Nice line,” I say.
“Thanks, baby.”
Wilson yanks open his truck door. “You’re gonna regret this, son.”
“Only thing I regret is holding on as long as I have.”
Nate is quiet as we watch Wilson’s taillights disappear. The night around us rings with the weight of what just went down.
“C’mon,” I say. “Let’s go inside and light that fire you were talking about.”
Nate laughs softly. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he says as we climb the front steps.
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.” I open the door for him, but Nate gestures for me to walk in first. He follows me, reaching down to help me with my jacket. “There’s a lot to mourn there.”
