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“McCabe isn’t getting any younger,” Lincoln says, just as they come into view.

“It’s a bullshit move. They shouldn’t have even considered trading him,” Grant says.

I shift a glance at Griz, who looks barely bothered by the two of them dropping in. I don’t care if they come over, but they rarely show up without texting our group chat first.

“So nice of you to join us,” Griz says, wiping the yolk with what was left of his toast.

“What are you guys doing here?” I ask, pouring more beans into the espresso machine. Apparently, I’m making more coffee. We often have chats about marketing and distillery happenings, or argue about blends and barrels, but I hadn’t planned on that today.

“Griz said he wanted to talk about the Ditch the Derby event that Laney has been planning?” Lincoln says, opening the fridge.

“I think it’s the most promising way to snag two waves of people during Derby weekend and bring them down to Fiasco.

We’ve got locals who want something else to do that day. They’ve enjoyed The Oaks?—”

Griz holds up his hand, signaling for Lincoln to take a breath. I glance at Grant, both of us knowing that Griz isn’t interested in talking about Ditch the Derby. There’s something else, and in my gut, I knew it was coming.

I watch the way our grandfather takes his time before he chooses his next words, and it has my pulse jumping higher. I never know what the old man is going to say, but right now, it feels like something big.

“You three boys...” He clears his throat and glances at each of us. “ Men . You haven’t been boys for a long time.”

Lincoln looks my way, sensing the same tone that I am, I’m sure.

I sit up taller, almost bracing for what he’s about to say.

“I’ve decided I’m going to officially retire.”

What?! I’m instantly relieved, and then immediately skeptical.

I almost laugh out an exhale. I was holding my breath, waiting to hear he was fucking dying.

It would’ve made sense with some of these arrangements he’s been making.

Even though I’m not delusional to the reality that he’s getting up there in age, retirement is a word that’s almost perplexing when it comes to my grandfather.

Lincoln puffs out his cheeks, blowing out air. “Griz, how is that different from what you are now?” The relief in his tone is obvious too. I think we were all bracing for impact.

Griz looks down at his hands that are doing a helluva job at wringing the napkin in front of him. He’s nervous. Oh shit. When he raises his attention, he looks me in the eye, inhales, and then says, “Foxx Bourbon will be evenly split between my married grandsons.”

It’s like I’ve been thrown into an ice bath, yet my body is instantly running hot. Nostrils flaring, I keep my focus on my grandfather. “What the fuck are you doing, old man?” I ask, my tone eerily quiet.

Grant smiles out of the corner of my eye. He heard it. There isn’t a single funny thing about those words.

“You’re planning to keep quiet about decisions regarding bourbon.” Lincoln barks a laugh. “I’ll believe it when I see it.” He clearly didn’t hear the part about “married” grandsons.

“Don’t do this, Griz,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m not sure what point you’re making.”

Lincoln opens his mouth, trying to keep up with what I’m saying.

Grant tilts his head toward our middle brother and says, “Griz said married grandsons.”

Lincoln chuckles nervously, adjusting his glasses as he shakes his head. “He’s not serious.” Linc then turns to Griz. “You’re not serious...Are you?”

Griz stands from his chair, chin tilted up just slightly, and doesn’t say a word. The bastard just threw down an ultimatum. Son of a bitch.

Through gritted teeth and without breaking eye contact with him, I say, “You’ve been grooming me to take the lead on this business. There are... things that I’ve taken on directly from you, and you’re telling me that I’m out unless I’m married? What the fuck, Griz?”

“Watch your mouth,” he says, pointing at me.

He has some nerve telling me to watch my mouth right now.

There’s no disguising the way his words both hurt and piss me off.

If I unfolded my arms, my hands would be shaking.

I can hear my pulse in my ears, and my neck is warm the same way it gets when I’m rearing for a fight.

If he thinks this is going to push me to do something I don’t want, he’s sorely mistaken.

“Change it,” I demand. I bite down on my molars so hard my jaw cracks. Getting married just isn’t happening for me. I don’t understand why he’s doing this.

Griz looks down at his hands, maybe mulling over the choice, or maybe just drumming up the courage to say, “No.”

I want to shout that I’ve done enough. This feels like a punch to the gut.

Everything he’s ever requested of me has been executed flawlessly—bending rules, breaking laws, fighting, taking the lead, knowing when to follow.

All of it, my entire life, and it’s like he’s forgotten.

He has no fucking idea about the things I’ve been working on.

The way that I’ve worked my ass off to build our family name.

And now, he throws in this bullshit stipulation masked as an ultimatum—no fucking way.