Page 14 of Bones and Ashes

The first drink gets sorted out slow and messy, like everything else worth doin' in this life. The place is so packed with bodies we run out of shot glasses first, then whiskey glasses, then even those chipped beer mugs Butch refuses to throw out.

Men press in from all sides. Boots scuff against the concrete. Leather cuts creak like old bones. The air is thick with cigarette smoke and a mix of motor oil and male sweat that never quite leaves these walls.

I'm standin' too still. Aware of the scrutiny. Eyes tracin' over my face, searchin' for the family resemblance that's suddenly so fuckin' obvious now that Laz is in the room.

But eventually, everyone's holdin' something. Glass, or plastic, or metal. The whole room goes quiet in that way that hurts your ears.

They're all just... waitin'. Watchin' me and Laz like we're some kinda biblical revelation come to life. Like this is a fuckin' wedding where the bride just realized she's marrying her cousin, and it's time for the best man's speech to save the whole goddamn disaster.

Keep breathin', Legion. Just keep fuckin' breathin'.

Laz is smiling. Grinnin'. Lookin' right at me with eyes that match my own. And I can suddenly read his mind.

You're up.

I'm not here to save ya, brother.

Only make your day harder.

Appreciate that… bro.

I have a shot glass and I raise it. I'm lookin' right back at him when I say, "To shitty surprises and bad days that start with a perfect sunrise. They go together like death and taxes, the only two things this life guarantees. Let's drink."

Laz's grin falters for a moment. But only a moment. He nods again, then throws the drink back laughin'.

CHAPTER 4

"Hello? Destiny?"

For a moment, there's silence, and my fingers tighten around the phone case, nails clickin' against the rhinestones. Then, in the background, the sounds of a babbling baby drift through—little gurgles and coos that make my chest ache with a longing I didn't expect.

"Savannah?"

I smile and twist a strand of hair around my finger. "Yes. It's me. I got your number from Legion. I hope you don't mind that I gave you a call."

"No. It's fine."

More baby sounds fill the space between us—sweet little hiccups and sighs that probably look like tiny bubbles forming on rosebud lips. I can almost picture her there, all wrapped up in something expensive, probably laid out on some rustic-chic baby blanket in a mountain cabin.

For a moment neither of us says anything, and I shift my weight. Then I realize, I'm the grown-up here and I was the one who called her, so if I want a conversation, it's up to me to produce one. Social graces don't just happen—they're trained into you, like show ponies learning their gaits.

"Well, I was callin' because I wanted to make sure ya'll had everything you needed."

The words come out all prim and proper, like I'm hosting some charity gala instead of reaching out to my teenage sister-in-law.

Stupid, Savannah.

Of course, they have what they need. Colt is a thirty-one-year-old man with Ashby blood and entitlement running through his veins. He left with millions of dollars stashed somewhere—probably offshore accounts.

They're not two teenagers on the run with a duffel bag and desperation. They're layin' low in Jackson Hole, for fuck's sake. They traded the rolling hills of ranch dynasty for new-money mountain views with better shopping and fewer ghosts.

"I mean..." I blow out a breath. "I miss him, Destiny. I didn't get to see the baby. I was there at the club when you left, so I got a glimpse. But..."

The words tangle up like barbed wire in my chest. Family shouldn't be this hard, shouldn't feel like reaching across some invisible line drawn in the dirt when we were children. I can plan galas for five hundred people without breaking a sweat, but one phone call to family leaves me breathless with uncertainty.

She saves me from myself. "No, I get it. You're an aunt." Destiny huffs out a small breath, and I can almost see her looking down at the baby, protective and fierce. "She looks just like you, ya know. I was lookin' at your Instagram and... wow. She's like your little twin."

I'm not sure what to say back to that. Thanks? I'm sorry? The idea of a little miniature me out there in the world, bein' raised by Destiny and my brother feels like somethin' from a fever dream. A little Ashby princess growin' up in Jackson Hole instead of Montana dirt.