"Then you're exactly where you're supposed to be." He picks up his beer, clinks it against mine. "But if you ever change your mind, the seat stays open."
"I won't change my mind."
He grins. The cousin grin, not the president grin. "Yeah. I didn't think so."
The party stretches into the evening.
The sun drops behind the mountains and the parking lot fills with the amber glow of string lights Tildie hung from the fence posts.
Someone switched the jukebox from country to Motown and Maddox is trying to teach Daemon to two-step, which is going badly for everyone involved.
Ruger finds me at the bar.
He's holding a whiskey and wearing an expression I've learned to read over four years of making his coffee every morning.
"Good party." He sets the glass down. "Your cousin's a solid man."
"He offered me a transfer to Chicago."
Ruger's jaw tightens by a fraction. "And?"
I pick up my beer. "I told him this is my home."
The jaw relaxes. He nods once and picks up his whiskey.
"Damn right it is." He walks away.
Saylor appears at my elbow.
She's holding two slices of cake on paper plates.
Graduation cake, blue and gold frosting, the WVU logo slightly crooked because Tildie decorated it herself and refused professional help.
She hands me a plate. "Your cousin is teaching my mom how to do a shot of whiskey at the bar."
I look through the doorway.
Vulture has two shot glasses lined up and Saylor's mom is holding hers with both hands while Vanna counts down from three.
"Should I stop that?" I reach for my phone to take a picture instead.
Saylor leans against my shoulder. "Absolutely not."
We eat cake in the parking lot.
The frosting is too sweet and the cake is slightly dry, yet it's the best thing I've ever tasted because the woman beside me has blue icing on her lower lip.
I lean over and kiss it off, she tastes like sugar, summer and the rest of my fucking life.
The string lights glow. The music plays.
Inside Backroads, my cousin is teaching my girlfriend's mother to drink whiskey and somewhere in that bar, the brothers who called me "kid" for years are celebrating the man who earned his seat at their table.
On the far side of the parking lot, away from the lights and the noise, Ounce is leaning against the fence.
He's holding a beer he hasn't touched in twenty minutes. His attention isn't on the party.
Kinsey is standing near the door, talking to Tildie.