“Well…” Sydney looked like she was afraid to say her next words. “I mean, that makes sense, doesn’t it? With the fire…”
“The fire was in Robert J. Scooter’s old office. Why would my dad’s things be burnt, if they were in his office? And why, when the Scooters cleaned out my dad’s office, did they not give any of the things in that box to our family?”
Sydney’s expression went blank, and she gripped the edges of the laptop harder as she sat back on the couch. “You think you’ll find answers in the journal.”
“Honestly, I don’t,” I confessed. “But… I guess there’s a part of all of us that hopes.”
“Have you found anything yet?”
I chewed my lip, taking the laptop from her long enough to pull up the entry where dad had mentioned he’d found Robert J. Scooter’s Last Will and Testament. I turned the screen back to Sydney, watching as she read over what I’d translated.
“Jesus Christ…” Her eyes found mine. “I thought there wasn’t a Will. I thought…” She shook her head, glancing at the screen and back at me. “There wasn’t a Will. That’s what the Scooters always said. I remember my dad telling me the story of the distillery when we moved here, and telling me about Patrick Scooter and his father and how he died from a random infection on a seemingly harmless injury and… and… there wasn’t a Will.”
I cocked one brow on a sigh. “Well, it seems there was a Will… which leads me to believe that maybe there is something to be found in this journal, after all.”
Sydney stared at the laptop for a long pause. “Does your mom know?”
“No one knows except me and my brothers,” I said. “Maybe their significant others, at least Michael’s girlfriend, Kylie, for sure. And, now… you.”
She looked at me then, her almond eyes wide and glossy, lips parted, chin quivering.
Anxiety flickered like a lantern in my chest. “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, shutting the laptop. “Was that too much? God, you probably think we’re crazy, all the conspiracy theory bullshit—”
“I don’t think you’re crazy,” she said quickly, turning to face me completely once the laptop was on my coffee table. Her eyes were sincere, her hands slipping into mine. “I think you’re right.”
I squeezed her hands in mine.
“Thank you, Jordan,” she whispered, gaze searching mine. “Thank you for telling me, for trusting me.”
I nodded, heart pounding slow like a fist was wrapped around it as she crawled into my arms. She kissed my neck, my chin, my jaw, all over until our lips fastened together and I pulled her tighter into my chest.
In that moment, I felt it — our hearts fusing together, our souls opening the door to each other’s, finding a room, making it home.
And in the same breath that I found relief and warmth, I was also overwhelmed with a sickly cold terror.
Because suddenly, it was real.
We were real.
And I couldn’t decide why, in the pit of my stomach, there was the gnawing notion that none of it could possibly last.Sydney“I’d like to make some toast,” Paige said, holding up her champagne flute filled with Welch’s grape juice and holding her chin high.
Jordan barked out a laugh, but lifted his glass, anyway, and I did the same, smiling at him from across my dining room table.
It was Saturday night, and less than twenty-four hours before, the Stratford High Wild Cats had clenched our spot in the Tennessee Division I High School Football Playoffs.
“To Coach,” she said, addressing Jordan. “You were a loser at the beginning of the season, but that didn’t stop you, and just like I heard Mom saying when she was making fun of you to Aunt Gabby one night, you found a way to win, anyway!”
Jordan laughed again, cocking a brow at me as I kicked Paige under the table. “You were making fun of my word of the season, huh?”
“Shh, I’m not done,” Paige said before I could defend myself. “To the players, who have worked their butts off.”
“That’s right,” Jordan said, pride beaming off him like a ray of light.
“And to my mom.”
Paige turned to me, then, her little eyes that looked so much like mine crinkling at the edges as she lifted her glass toward me.
“The strongest woman in the whole wide world, and the best athletic trainer Stratford has ever seen.”
Jordan held his glass toward me. “Hear, hear.” Our eyes met, and he smirked, making me blush.
“Thank you, sweetheart,” I said, heart squeezing as we all met glasses in the middle of the table.
“Here’s to winning not just our first playoff game, but all of them, and bringing another trophy back to Stratford!”
We clinked our glasses to the tune of a little yeehaw from Jordan and some giggles from me and Paige, then we all took a sip, setting our glasses back down and digging into the celebration dinner I’d made for us.