Rush (Carolina Bad Boys, #5)(77)

“Did better than hook up with him.” He gave her a lascivious wink. “Never did a twink before, but I think I’ll hit that again. He’s limber.”

Frankie slid his cane under his arm to shake my hand.

Everyone knew his cane was nothing more than a scabbard sheathing one hell of a seriously badass blade he wasn’t afraid to use when push came to shove. Or cut.

The Tailor had more than one connotation.

“I heard you got beer here, Handsome.” He pumped my hand. “Show me the way to the Promised Land.”

After his colorful entrance, Shy and I greeted what seemed like hundreds more people, folks I’d never even laid eyes on before, due to the massive publicity push spearheaded by Shy and me.

We had a jam-packed house—and samples, postcards, beer coasters were snatched up left and right.

Everyone liked a freebie.

And I needed a drink.

Good thing I didn’t have to go far.

I grabbed an ice cold IPA for Shy and one for me, my arm laid proprietarily across her shoulders.

She glanced at me with a hot look.

“What?” I took a deep drink of beer.

“You have success written all over you, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so damn sexy.” Her fingers tripped to my waist and lingered just slightly lower than advisable.

Groan.

“You are evil. You know this day’s never gonna end, and you say something like that to me now?”

“You can take it. You’re a big man.”

“And you’re gonna know it real hard later, wench.”

Shy spun away from me, finally completely stable on her refitted prosthetic. Only those in the know would cotton onto the real deal.

My girl would never be an invalid. Never a victim. No matter what happened to her.

The afternoon progressed without a hitch. Activities and refreshments for the kids—face painting, henna tats, heavily supervised rides on bikes from the MC.

Retribrewtion beverages for the adults, and swag for all. I wore my MC cut on top of a black T-shirt sporting the brewery emblem with the new logo: Drink like you ride. Retribution-dude approved. We handed out the distressed shirts—chosen by Shy—by the dozens.

Orders had come in from local grocery chains, and I’d lined up out of state tastings to start in another month.

During the festivities, I met with businessmen, brewhards, and a few significant customers who supplied bars up and down the Eastern seaboard.

Before everything got completely out of control, my best buddy, new dad Brodie, stepped to the forefront. He handed Roxy over to Ashe before letting loose an earsplitting whistle.

“I frickin’ hate speeches, don’t you?” he shouted.

He got a round of applause in return.

“So, I’ll keep it real short, since Handsome doesn’t wanna do the whole public figure thing.”

I tucked my arms around Shy as mega-mouth continued.

“Known Max, who we like to call Handsome, for a long time. He’s always been the guy you could count on no matter what broadsided you. Turns out he’s not just a stand-up dude, but he’s got damn good taste too—in beer and women.” He lifted his bottle in Shy’s direction.

“Not sure what Shiloh sees in him though,” he muttered, winking, and everyone laughed along. “Before I get all verklempt and shit I just wanna say I’m not sure what we’ll do without him at the shop, but here’s to Handsome, the success of Retribrewtion, and to a happy future!

“Oh, and one other thing. Congrats on getting engaged to Shiloh!” Brodie stepped down, loudly grumbling, “Asshole. Stole my thunder again. Stop marrying up, you fucks.”

“No swearing in front of Cara and Roxy,” Ashe hissed, but her rebuke was drowned out by applause all around.

Maddy breezed in a few minutes later, bringing fresh energy. She worked the room, totally born to it.

I’d had no choice but to include her in the event. Yeah, she hadn’t let it rest. I’d hired her as my new Vice President of Operations.

And, unbeknownst to Shy, I’d blasted out a couple extra invites.

My eyes flipped wide when my parents walked in.

“I told you they’d come, Max.” Maddy waltzed up to me.

I turned to stone, watching them approach, wishing I hadn’t decided to do this in public. But then Shy—of course—and her folks—miraculously—stood beside me, fortifying me.

Our two families had so much history, were so close, that the Lockharts made a stand with me put paid to any lingering bad blood between us.

“Maxwell.” My dad had aged. Not too much. His hair was now completely silver, but his bearing still firm. Still proud.





Chapter Thirty-Seven


Happy Freakin’ Ending





“FATHER.”

“Thank you for inviting us, Max.” My mom smiled.

“I just wanted to give this back to you.” I slipped an envelope out of my pocket.

The white package bulged with cash.

“I never wanted it.” I passed it to my dad, who accepted the envelope after hesitating. “I’m sorry I brought shame on you.”

Patting the fat packet against his palm, my dad peered around, taking in the oddball gathering. “And I’m sorry we ever forced you out.”