Bourbon & the Best Man

Copyright © 2023 by Jessica Costello All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. Cover Art by Ink and Laurel Copy Edits by Kristen’s Red Pen This is for anyone out there burning themselves out trying to prove their worth. Those who matter already see it, and those who don’t never will. Live for you today, no one else. Note to the Reader Thank you so much for picking up Bourbon & the Best Man. I never want to catch anyone off-guard with the content of my books so I just want to preface this story to let you know this book does contain adult content, and discussions of child abandonment, child death, alcoholism, and portrayals of emotional abuse, anxiety, and pregnancy (side character). Happy Reading, Jessica Chapter One Hannah How can our siblings make us feel aggravation and adoration toward them, simultaneously? It’s something I contemplate after reading my brother’s last text message. Holt Hey, meet me at the pub tonight around five, please? It’s extremely important!! Not only has he assumed I didn’t have plans tonight (I didn’t), but he’s disregarded the fact that I’m avoiding all contact with his best friend, AKA the owner of said pub (he doesn’t know). Come on, Holt. How dare you? I throw my phone at the couch across the room and it bounces off onto the floor, but I don’t care. If I avoid the offending device long enough, maybe I can pretend I didn’t see his message. He’s known for his dramatics, so his insistence that it’s important is surely another over-exaggeration. I re-tuck the sides of my blanket under my legs, with my laptop teetering on my knobby knees, and an episode of Gilmore Girls playing quietly in the background. I usually edit at the comfort of my desk and the expensive desk chair I bought when I moved in with my best friend Val about a year ago. It’s May, so my photography schedule is picking back up after my post-holiday lull that sneaks up every year between mid-December to early April. In fact, I shot an engagement session for one of my summer wedding couples the other day. I was trying to edit said session when I finally moved out to the living room. Val almost moved across the country, but decided to stay right before her college graduation. We moved in together in the house she grew up in a week later. She lost both her parents when we were still in high school. It took her years to come back to the place. I think we’ve done a great job of making it our own, if I say so myself. Instead of the few clicks I usually make in my editing software for each photo, I exhausted my usual tricks to make it pop, and still hated every photo I’d taken. It had nothing to do with the subjects themselves. They’re gorgeous—I’m not sure I could have gotten better models if I’d tried. No, it’s everything to do with me. I’m a complete fraud. I’ve made a name for myself in the local wedding world with the work I’ve done in the past few years. That recent success is thanks to finding an occupation I love. I fell in love with photography from my first shutter click when I was a child, where I got my first camera from—coincidentally—my brother’s best friend, Miles. A vintage 1976 Canon AE-1 35mm camera that I still use from time to time. I lean back with a groan, my chair reclining with the pressure. I take a deep breath and slam my laptop closed. Being a full-time business owner is such an interesting thing to get used to. I’ve still got eight days before I’m contractually required to have these photos in my customers’ inbox. Despite that fact, I like to work through each gallery as soon as possible. It’s just the way my brain works, and how I remember my intentions behind each photo I took. Then there’s the other thing to worry about. If I let myself be lazy, I’ll get stuck there, and never accomplish my goals. But there’s too much pressure on my shoulders to feel comfortable doing that. My business is my life now. I’m in charge of my future, and that thought is as scary as it is freeing. The warning sound I’d set as my brother’s ringtone as a joke years ago goes off from its place on the floor. I sit up, realizing maybe he meant it when he said it’s important. I set my laptop on the side table and click the footrest down, crawling on the floor for my phone. “Hello?” I ask breathlessly on the last ring. “I was beginning to believe you might be dead.” See? Dramatic. “That would be better than reality, but nope. My pulse is still knocking as hard as ever. What’s up?” “Did you get my text message?” “Nope,” I say, just to tease him, but regret it as soon as he goes off on a tangent. “This damn phone. I swear, I buy the newest, overpriced model available, and it’s still not working.” “Holt, I’m kidding. I got your text. I was too busy working to text back. But while I’ve got you on the phone—do we have to go to the bar? Why not just meet at Mom and Dad’s?” “Hannah, I can’t stress this enough—if Mom finds out what I’m about to tell you, half the town will know my news by dusk.” True. “Okay, so come over here and tell me. Or better yet, we’re on the phone. What’s wrong with telling me right now?” “Trust me, I have to do this in person. It’s something you’ll want to see. And I’m not