Beard Necessities (Winston Brothers, #7)(2)

Now everyone was splitting their attention between Beau and me, and I took a level of satisfaction in their confused visages. I’ve always enjoyed a good twist—both the dance and the plot variety.

“Go right ahead, Beau.” I took a step back, lifting my hand in a the floor is yours gesture.

When we’d rehearsed earlier, we decided it would be best for Beau to cut in and for me to cede to him. Like I mentioned earlier, everyone liked Beau. Whereas, for some reason, my siblings weren’t as automatically accepting of my motivations as pristine. Obviously, they all had unfounded trust issues.

Beau stepped away from the wall, his smile growing both wider and yet more thoughtful. “Cletus and I asked y’all here because of Billy. I know we touched on it last week, just before the Paytons stopped by, but I think we all need to come together and decide on a plan.”

“What kind of plan?” This question came from Roscoe.

“Well, we’re mighty worried about him,” Beau said, then paused, waited, gave our family a chance to ask why we were worried about Billy. But, as I suspected, no one appeared to be confused regarding the origins of our concern.

Ashley brought her fingers to her forehead. “I can’t believe Billy is doing this. I can’t believe he’s putting himself through this. The first time was more than enough, but twice?”

The this to which Ashley referred was bone marrow donation. Our second oldest brother had volunteered to donate his bone marrow to our despicable father, Darrell Winston. Ever since we discovered Billy’s plan, we’d all been in various states and stages of shock and dismay. Billy had already gone through with the procedure once and was now scheduled for a second round. Our father would die without it.

“You know why Billy is doing it.” Roscoe turned his hand palm up, nudged Ashley’s leg, drawing her eyes to his.

A small laugh escaped her. “Actually, no. I don’t understand. I don’t get it. Hasn’t Billy been through enough?”

“But if Darrell is dead, he can’t testify against Razor Dennings. And if Darrell doesn’t testify against Razor Dennings, then the only charges that bastard will face are the attempted murders of Roscoe and Simone,” Jethro said, sounding nearly as frustrated as I felt about the whole situation.

“I get it.” Duane pushed himself away from the wall. “I hate it, but I get why Billy is doing it. Razor killed twenty-four people. That’s twenty-four families who won’t get justice if Darrell dies of cancer.”

Ashley rained down upon Duane and Jethro a thunderous frown that would’ve frightened birds, had there been any in Roscoe’s hospital room.

Clearly mad as hell, she crossed her arms. “When does it end, though? Hmm? When will Billy stop being the sacrificial lamb for this family? For this town? He’s not well! He’s sick, and worn down, and dammit, he’s given up more than any of us—time and time again. We can’t keep expecting him to shoulder every single burden.”

“I agree,” Roscoe said quietly, closing his eyes.

“Are you agitated, Roscoe?” I was quick to ask, examining him carefully. “Is this too much for you? Should we stop?”

“No. I’m fine.” He didn’t open his eyes. “I’m glad we’re talking about this, and I agree with Ash. Billy deserves better.”

“He shouldn’t have to donate bone marrow to the man who put him in the hospital when he was only twelve, who nearly killed him and beat our momma,” Ashley ranted, jabbing her finger through the air at some invisible foe; impressively, her volume never rose above hospital-appropriate yet communicated the full weight of her ire. “He kept us safe. He looked after us. Billy deserves happiness. He deserves more than this.”

“Well said, Ash.” I stepped forward, because now it was my turn. “Well said. And that’s an excellent segue to the real reason we’ve assembled y’all. It’s time we discussed Claire.”

“This isn’t about Billy?” Jethro looked to Beau.

“This is about Billy,” Beau confirmed, and then added gently, “But it’s about Claire too.”

Jethro seemed to stand straighter, his eyes widening. “What?”

“Yes. Claire.” I lifted my voice, wanting his undivided attention. “And you aren’t going to like it.”

Jethro—and everyone else for that matter save Roscoe, because his eyes were still closed—shifted their gaze to me, then to Beau, then back to me.

“And here’s where the earth-shattering part comes in, Jet.” I paused, drawing out the moment, not sure if I was stalling or savoring.

Our brothers, Billy and Jethro, hadn’t been on the best of terms for over two decades. The last few years had brought a fragile cease-fire—at first for our momma’s sake, and for the sake of Roscoe, the twins, Ashley, and me—but they’d never reached a true peace, with themselves, with each other. I didn’t know if it was possible to repair a relationship as broken as theirs, or if they’d just keep on coexisting. Time would ultimately tell.

But back to now and my half-stalling, half-savoring dramatic pause. On the one hand, I felt remorse at having to be the one to break it to Jethro that his (heroic and dead) best friend’s widow had always been in love with our brother Billy. On the other hand, I relished getting to be the one to inform Jethro that his (idiotic and dead) best friend’s widow had always been in love with our brother Billy.