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Nate blinks, his eyes wet when they lock on mine. “You didn’t.”
“I did. And it’s not because I love you. Well, it’s a little bit because I love you. But the real reason Mom’s investing in y’all is because it’s just good business sense. You’re going to go far, Nate. I know it. Mom knows it. I hope you and Silas know it too.”
Chris grins. “I also hope you’re prepared to get what you ask for.”
Nate wipes his eyes. “It’s only what I’ve been after since I was, what, Silas, six years old?”
“Four,” Silas replies easily. “My earliest memories are following you to the river to haul up water.”
Mom touches Nate’s arm. “It’d be an honor to be part of your story, Nate. Now I was told I give this check to—”
“Me.” Wilson rises and adjusts his belt.
“Well here you are, then,” Mom says. She opens the checkbook and tears out a check as she walks over to Wilson. She holds it out to him and he takes it, raking his gaze greedily over the amount.
“Whoo-eee, that’s a pretty penny,” he says with a whistle. “Thank you kindly, ma’am.”
Mom, who knows all about Wilson from the stories Nate and I have told her, is still gracious to a fault. “Pleasure doing business with you, Wilson.”
“Same to you, June.”
“Been a spell, hasn’t it?”
“Twenty years I’d say. Last time I saw you, John Riley was still alive.” Wilson gets a mean gleam in his eye. “Tragic the way he went, wasn’t it? I hear that kind of”—he twirls his finger next to his temple—“runs in families.”
Something inside me splits in two. What happened to my dad won’t hold a candle to what’s going to happen to you.
But before I can visit Shakespearean vengeance on my future (and hopefully estranged) father-in-law, another voice booms across the conference room.
“Motorcade’s here.”
Samuel stands just inside the room, Hank, Beau, and Rhett lined up beside him. Their faces are grim, their chins tilted back so their already thick necks look positively massive. They clasp their hands in front of them in a clearly practiced pose and stand there, looking like a wall of preppy bouncers in their jeans and cashmere sweaters.
I stifle a laugh.
“Motorcade? For who?” Wilson asks, a note of panic in his voice.
Turning to him, I say, “For you. My brothers will be providing an escort for you to the airport, where you’ll board a private plane and never come back.”
“Milly,” Nate says. “You planned all this?”
I smile. “Sure did. I had a feeling Wilson wasn’t going to cooperate, so I enlisted these goons to convince him to play nice.”
Wilson makes a beeline for the door, but Rhett steps to the side, blocking his way. “Don’t even think about it.”
“The plane,” Wilson pants. “Where’s it goin’?”
“Guantanamo,” Beau replies.
Wilson staggers backward. “No.”
“They’re just messing with you,” I say with a smile. “The plane will take you wherever you want to go. But if you ever come back—”
“Guantanamo,” Beau repeats.
Hank nods. “Plane’s waiting.”
“After you, Wilson,” Rhett says, stepping aside. “Like my sister said, we’re your armed escort, so no funny business, you hear?”
Wilson doesn’t know what to make of this. “Armed, as in—?”
“Armed with treats.” Samuel whips out a package of Twizzlers from his pocket. “You gotta have snacks for the plane.”
My brothers can be a giant pain in my ass. But right now, my heart’s about to burst with gratitude. They show up when it matters.
“What if I don’t want to get on that plane?” Wilson says.
Hank cracks his knuckles. “I think you’re gonna get on that plane, Wilson.”
“And I think you’re gonna like it,” Rhett adds, taking a step forward.
Beau tilts his head one way, then the other, shaking out his shoulders. “Wherever you go, you stay there. If we so much as hear a whisper about you stepping foot on this mountain, we’re gonna have a problem.”
“A big problem,” Samuel says.
Wilson blinks. “You threatening me?”
“I hear you’re good at making threats yourself,” Beau replies.
“Un-understood,” Wilson stammers. “But what if I-I wanna see my sons? I’ll—”
“They don’t want to see you,” I reply crisply. I glance at Beau. “Time for y’all to go.”
Samuel’s lips twitch. “Wilson, why don’t you ride with me?”
“I can drive—”
“So can I.” Samuel tilts his head toward the door.
“But I have to pack,” Wilson says.
“No, you don’t.” Samuel cracks his knuckles. “We’ll pack up your shit and have it sent to you when we know you’re settled elsewhere. That clear?”
Wilson gulps. “Yes.”
“Good.”
Nate’s hand goes slack in mine. Thank God.
Wilson looks at Nate. “Guess this is goodbye then.”
“Bye,” Nate replies, suddenly chipper.
“Christ, don’t sound so sad to see me go.”
Nate just shrugs. “How could I be sad? You used me, just like you use everyone else. You’re not my family anymore.” He pulls me closer. “She is.”
Wilson’s gaze flicks between us. I see jealousy there. Hurt. Anger.
