I was wrong.
“Now, thanks to you, I understand it’s not my job to make Dad happy. Now I see all the effort and sacrifice in the world couldn’t save him from himself. If he doesn’t want to be happy, he isn’t going to be happy.”
Doesn’t change the fact that we’re back where we started. Dad’s in debt, again. He needs a cash infusion, again. Only this time, he knows about Milly and me. He’s going to use that against us—against Milly’s family too—unless I figure out a way to stop him. Which, knowing Dad, will require nothing short of shipping his ass off to Mars.
“So, we figure out a way to ship his ass off to Mars,” Milly says.
Running a palm across my jaw, I sigh. “I don’t think Matt Damon’s going back to the red planet anytime soon. Even if he was, he wouldn’t want to take Wilson with him.”
Milly laughs, the sound making me smile despite the brick in my stomach. “Definitely not.”
“So you don’t hate me?”
“I told you before, Nathaniel—how could I hate you?” She searches my eyes. “You’re here, aren’t you? You came back, and you’re doing your best to make things right. Do I wish you’d talked to me instead of walking out the way you did? Absolutely. But I also wish I’d been more upfront with you about my feelings. It was the perfect storm of bullshit, and we were both responsible for the destruction it caused.”
I slowly shake my head in disbelief. Her body is tucked into the cradle of my own, warm and soft. Whiskey thrums through my blood, along with this sense of relief that’s so potent it almost makes me dizzy. The fire pops beside us, and dinner is on its way from the Barn Door Restaurant.
Life would be terrifyingly, unbelievably good right now if it wasn’t for the looming specter of my father’s threats.
“I just hope we didn’t destroy anyone else,” Milly continues carefully. “You said your breakup with Reese was mutual—”
“I mean that. She was the one who brought it up, and it was pretty obvious she wasn’t in love with me anymore. I swear it had nothing to do with what happened between us.”
“And her family? They don’t hate you?”
I lift a shoulder. “I called Chris to check in, make sure everything was all right. He was certainly disappointed, but he and Reese both assured me there were no hard feelings, and we’re solid on the business front.”
An idea—vague, sudden—catches inside my head. I blink, trying to clear the debris left behind from recounting the ridiculous tragedy of the past few years.
“What is it?” Milly asks. “I see your wheels turning.”
“Just trying to figure out a way to get rid of Wilson without sending him to jail.”
She tilts her head. “Would jail really be such a stretch for him? Sounds like he’s involved in lots of sketchy stuff.”
“Oh, for sure. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he got sent away. It wouldn’t be that hard for us to send him away.” I pause. My heart thumps. “But then I wouldn’t want to have to tell our babies that their grandpa can’t come to Christmas because he’s a felon who’s locked up for the next ten years.”
Two pink splotches appear on Milly’s cheeks. Her lips twitch at the corners as she says, “Our babies?”
“I’d like to make some with you, yeah.”
She digs her teeth into her bottom lip, her eyes getting misty. “We’re good at that.”
“We’re the best at that. But first, we gotta make sure Wilson’s not around to kidnap them and sell them into a kid fighting ring or something.”
“Gotcha.”
I blink again. “Chris gifted Reese the majority of his stake in Kingsley Distilling when we got engaged.”
“Okay . . .”
Setting down my whiskey on the table beside the chair, I sit up, careful to adjust Milly so she’s still sitting comfortably in my lap. I need to touch her right now. Need the reminder that this is real, and neither of us has to run or hide or lie anymore.
“So when the Nobles agreed to invest in the distillery, we set up a new partnership—a corporation whose shares were split in a private stock offering between my family and the Nobles. Long story short, we offered Chris and Reese a minority stake in the company in exchange for money to grow the business. Dad and Silas and I kept a majority stake to maintain control—fifty-one percent, evenly divided between the three of us. Seventeen percent each.”
“And the Nobles got forty-nine percent,” Milly says, nodding. “Split evenly between Chris and Reese?”
“Reese is still learning the ropes, so Chris kept forty percent and gave Reese the other nine. But I guess he was impressed by her performance—”
“And by her taste in men.” Milly gives the nape of my neck a squeeze.