Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73664 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“You got it.” Chance rises, goes to the fancy-ass bar, and pulls a bottle of what appears to be scotch from the shelf.
“What the hell is that?”
He turns and holds up the golden liquid. “This, Austin, is twenty-five-year Macallan, aged in sherry oak casks.”
I squint at it, trying to figure out what makes it special. For me, a beer import is fancy. “I’m supposed to know what the hell that is?”
“I know what the hell that is.” Miles perks up from his slouched position. “I’ve only had the eighteen-year, and it’s sweeter than mother’s milk.”
“I’ve always been content with beer. Never had scotch,” I admit. “What the hell? I’ll try anything once.”
Chance pours a couple fingers of the scotch for each of us in short glasses from the cabinet. He brings them to us and we clumsily clink glasses.
“What are we drinking to?” I ask.
“To you.” Chance says. “To Carly.”
I’m surprised, but I let it go. “Okay. I’ll drink to that.”
“And to Jonathan Bridger, the no-good bastard,” Miles adds. “But at least he had high quality sperm, as evidenced by the fine specimens we are.”
Despite my melancholy at missing Carly, that gets a laugh out of me. I raise my glass again. “To our sperm donor.”
We clink again, and I take a drink of the scotch.
And oh. My. God.
It sits on my tongue for a few seconds, meandering over every taste bud and nearly giving me chills. It’s smoky, woodsy, earthy, with a touch of caramel sweetness. As it slides down my throat, it doesn’t catch at all. It’s smooth as silk, and it leaves a subtle warmth, as if my throat is coated in the finest cashmere.
“What do you think of your first taste of scotch?” Miles nods to me.
“I think,” I say, “that if being fathered by Jonathan Bridger means I can drink this stuff? Dealing with his bullshit may be worth it. Fuck, that’s good.”
“I’ve got to say”—Miles pauses as he takes another sip—“I didn’t think I’d be able to tell the difference between this and the eighteen-year. But I’ll be damned. The fruity oak is phenomenal.”
“That’s the sherry cask,” Chance agrees. “Like Austin, I’m mostly a beer man, but my father did know his liquor. Not that he ever let me drink his stuff.”
A haunted look passes over his face. Must be a story there, probably about how much of a dick the guy was.
“But hell, it’s ours now.” Chance raises his glass.
I give myself a moment to enjoy my brothers’ company. These two, who I didn’t want to have anything to do with mere weeks ago, have now become almost as essential to me as Carly and my mom. They went to Seattle with me. Sure, by force because of the strict rules of the will, but Chance told off the Sea-Air fucker and Miles charmed my mom.
Speaking of Carly…
“I need to check in with my girl. I promised I’d call tonight. Then I need to check on my mom. Would you guys excuse me?”
“Absolutely.” Miles raises his glass once more. “Tell them both I said hi.”
“Yeah, me too,” From Chance.
“Will do.”
Taking my glass with me, I head into the kitchen for a bit of privacy and make the call.
“Hello?” Carly says in my ear.
“Hey, baby. You okay?” It’s only been an hour since I dropped her off, but hell, I need to know. Did her dad say something since to make her feel bad? Has she changed her mind about being with me? Has she—
She sighs audibly. “It’s not every day you find a dead body at work, for sure. But honestly? I think I’m doing okay.”
Her voice, though slightly shaky, radiates honesty. God knows she’s been through worse. “I’m glad. Everything going all right at home?”
“As well as can be expected. Dad and I have a date to talk at breakfast.”
“Another breakfast, huh?”
“Right. And I won’t miss this one, because I won’t be in your bed.”
“We can remedy that, you know. I’m really good at sneaking in. Got a trellis I can climb?”
She laughs through the phone, and it is such a joyful sound.
“As much as I’d like that, Austin, I think it might defeat the purpose of what I’m trying to do here.”
I want her father to like me, not kill me with a shotgun. “I know. But I sure miss you.”
“I miss you, too. But we’ll see each other at lunch tomorrow.”
“I’m glad everything’s going okay.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say okay, but it’s going to be fine. Eventually. What about you?”
“What about me?” I ask.
“Your mom got hurt. And that dead body? It’s on your land.”
She does have a point. I raise my glass and breathe in the heady fumes. “I am having twenty-five-year-old scotch with my brothers. They say hi, by the way.”
“Tell them hi back. Do you like it? The scotch?”