Page 51 of The Lilac River (Silver Peaks #1)

Begin Again – Taylor Swift

Nash

Six months later…

F inally, after months of evidence gathering, statements, forensic accounting and revelations, Michael Miller had been found guilty. We had our justice.

The courthouse steps were cold beneath my feet as I watched them lead my father out in handcuffs.

The wind whipped around us, biting at exposed skin, but I barely felt it.

The man who had governed our lives for years suddenly looked small, diminished by the orange jumpsuit and the weight of his crimes.

"I didn't do it for the money," he said as they paused at the transport van. His eyes locked on mine, desperate for me to understand. "I did it for you. For your future."

Gunner scoffed beside me. "Bullshit."

Dad's face hardened. "Everything I did was to give you boys advantages. Opportunities."

"No," I said, stepping forward. "Everything you did was about control. About power. About your ego."

“Everything you did was theft,” Wilder added, his shoulders stooped in the weight of sorrow. “Lies wrapped in good intentions you never really had.”

"You ungrateful?—"

"Enough," I cut him off. My voice was cold, razor-sharp. "You never cared about our dreams. Only your own."

His face contorted with rage, but it looked tired now. Hollow. "I'm still your father."

"A title," I said calmly, "that you never earned."

The deputy tugged on his arm, but Dad resisted, still staring at me with that mixture of defiance and desperation.

"What happens to the ranch now?" he asked, a final grab at the thing he'd tried to control for so long. “Without me guiding you, it’ll be a husk of empty promises within months.”

I smiled then; the first genuine smile I'd given him in years. "We're going to make it everything Mom dreamed it could be. We will fulfill the legacy she bequeathed to us and make her proud."

"She had no idea what she was doing." His voice was thin behind the lies, worn from years of pretending.

"She knew exactly what she was doing," Gunner said firmly. "And now we’re rid of you, just like she wanted to be."

Dad's shoulders sagged. His eyes dropped to the pavement, and for the first time, the weight of his defeat truly landed.

As they loaded him into the van, I felt not triumph, but a strange emptiness.

The shadow of my childhood was just a man.

A bitter, selfish man who had thrown away everything that mattered.

Gunner's hand landed on my shoulder. "It's over."

"Is it?" I asked softly, the words barely forming.

"The bad part is," he admitted. "And now it’s time for the good."

As the van pulled away, I thought about Lily waiting for us at home. About Bertie. About all the light that had finally pushed out the shadows.

"Yeah," I said, turning away from the disappearing van. "It's a damn good start."

“Then let’s celebrate,” Wilder suggested, his smile too bright for the shadow in his eyes.

“I agree.” I put an arm around each of my brothers. “Let’s have a drink to toast the future.”

The clink of beer bottles and the low murmur of conversation filled the bar we were in close to the county court.

It was a lot smarter than we were used to—less rustic charm, more polished wood and sleek lighting.

The kind of place with candles on the tables and wine lists that came in leather binders.

It was quiet for a Friday night, but maybe it was just Silver Peaks that celebrated the weekend in style.

I was sure the Downtown Bar & Grill would be full, the local gossip mill churning at full speed after the drama of seeing the once untouchable Mayor, Michael Miller, cuffed and sentenced like any common criminal.

I sat with Gunner and Wilder tucked into the back booth, the table between us sticky and scratched with what looked like decades of spilled drinks and broken hearts. Even here, in the fancier part of town, in a fancy bar not everything was shiny and new.

Gunner swirled his beer around in the bottle, staring into it like it might offer answers we didn’t have. Wilder sat slouched in the corner, one arm thrown over the back of the booth, his expression unreadable.

None of us said anything for a long moment. We were weirdly deflated, despite the win. Maybe because victories like this didn’t feel like winning, they just felt like survival.

Finally, Gunner let out a low whistle. "Six years," he muttered. "Still can't believe it."

"Feels like it should have been more," Wilder added grimly. “Felt like he really didn’t understand what he did wrong.”

"Yeah," I said, rubbing the back of my neck. "But it's something. It's enough. And as for Dad? He could be caught red-handed slitting someone’s throat and he’d still think he was innocent. That’s the ego of the man. Let’s celebrate six years and be grateful.”

The words tasted strange on my tongue. Because no sentence could erase everything he’d done.

Not just the money or the land he stole but the way he broke things that had taken a lifetime to build.

I would gladly give him a life sentence for taking Lily from me.

A life for a life, wasn’t that the saying?

Gunner tossed back a gulp of beer and set the bottle down harder than necessary. "You think he’ll last six years?"

I shrugged. "Doesn’t matter." I took a slow drink of my own. "He's not our problem anymore. Doubt he’ll ever come back to Silver Peaks whatever happens. He’s certainly not welcome at the ranch.”

Silence settled again, heavier this time. A freight train of everything we didn’t say rolled through the quiet.

After a beat, Wilder shifted forward, tracing a scratch in the table with his thumb. "I keep thinking about Mom," he said quietly.

At that, my throat tightened. The sharp edges of grief sliced through me in a way they hadn’t in a long time.

I hadn’t let myself think about her too much in the years since she’d died.

Hadn’t dared. Some grief stayed so sharp that if you got too close, it would shred you open all over again.

You’d think almost two decades later it wouldn’t feel so raw, but it did.

Grief didn’t fade. It just learned to live quieter.

"She would've been so proud of us," Gunner said, his voice thick. "Standing up to him. Fighting back."

"She was beautiful," Wilder said softly, a wistful smile ghosting across his lips. "Man, I was so young. If we didn’t have all those photos, I’d forget. I envy you both your memories.” He blew out a shaky breath. “Felicia says she lit up every room she walked into."

"She lit up the whole damn world," I said roughly, swallowing hard. "And he tried to snuff her out with his control. He never deserved her."

The words scraped my throat on the way out, but they were true.

He always said he was acting in her best interest, with love and devotion for her.

It was clear to see now that taking control of the ranch wasn’t to give Mom time for herself to pursue whatever interests she had.

It was about him being in charge. Thank God she still took charge of the finances, or maybe there wouldn’t have been millions for him to steal.

The boys nodded, each lost in their own thoughts.

I leaned back, letting my head tip against the wall as I stared up at the ceiling.

There was a crack running across the plaster, a thin line, barely noticeable unless you looked closely.

This bar, that ceiling, they felt like a metaphor for our life with him.

On the surface, things looked joyful. Happy, even.

Growing up on the ranch had given us memories worth keeping.

But when you really looked, when you dared to examine it closer, the cracks were there.

Hairline at first. Then deeper. Until they weren’t cracks anymore, but chasms.

The anger still simmered under my skin, but it wasn’t a wildfire now. It was cooler. Steadier. The kind of fire that didn’t burn everything down but lit the way forward. The kind that wouldn’t steal my peace and would make damn sure we never let history repeat itself.

"I don’t think about her much," I admitted, my voice barely audible. "Not because I don't love her. I just...it hurts too damn much sometimes."

Neither of my brothers spoke. They didn’t need to. They understood that kind of ache.

"But today..." I let out a breath that had been caught in my lungs for sixteen years. "Today feels like the first day in years I can breathe without feeling guilty. Without feeling like we let her down."

Wilder grabbed another bottle off the tray the waitress had left and popped the top. The sharp hiss of carbonation filled the gap in our conversation.

"We didn’t let her down," he said. "He did."

"And now he’s paying for it," Gunner added. "Finally."

I let the words settle in me. Let them sink into the cracks and bruises. Let them start the healing.

"She’d want us to move on," I said finally. "To be happy."

"She'd want us to fight for the life she dreamed for us," Gunner said, bumping his bottle against mine. "And maybe stop brawling in bars every damn week." He shot me a look, no doubt my run-in with Forester Bridge still fresh in his mind.

"Speak for yourself," Wilder said with a grin. "I plan to go out swinging."

We laughed, rough and a little hoarse, but real. And maybe for the first time in forever, we meant it.

I drained the last of my beer and stood, tossing a few bills on the table. "Come on," I said. "Let's go home."

"Home to Lily," Gunner said with a knowing smirk.

"And Bertie," Wilder added.

"And bourbon," Gunner grinned.

"And your ugly-ass horses," Wilder chimed in.

"And my ugly-ass brothers," I finished with a grin.

The three of us walked out into the cool night air, the door swinging closed behind us with a heavy thud.

I looked up at the stars scattered across the sky, feeling something shift in my chest. Like a weight had been lifted. Like something wounded had finally started to heal.

A chapter had closed today.

I patted the small box in my pocket and smiled.

And another, a better one, was finally beginning.

For me and my Lila