The accident healed some wounds with my family. Sowing wild oats was a good excuse to act out. Growing pains on my part caused some issues. There was a side of myself that needed to push boundaries to be seen. The irony is I found out my brothers, my sister, and my parents saw me all along.

I nod in return and head to the bar. No way do I plan to get trapped in conversations with my parents’ friends and colleagues without loosening up first. And I can always order a car to drive me back to the apartment tonight.

My body tenses when I see the bartender. I’d never say we were friends. We’re not, though we’ve been at some of the same parties, mutual friends bringing us together. Lucas liked to party in Beacon on a side of town that wasn’t always safe to park our cars. It might have been my cousin who once introduced us. This guy acts low-key cool, but he can also be an asshole. He’s big on keeping what he considers his to himself, never keen to have estate kids at his parties.

I’ve never cared about what side of the line—Beacon proper or The Pointe Estates—you reside. He did, probably still does. It would be easy for me to call it jealousy, but that chip on his shoulder seems to have a grudge backing it up, judging by the disgust on his face. When I get closer, I say, “Hey, man, I remember you.” The name tag on his shirt catches my attention. “Dane, that’s right.”

“You’re Lucas’s cousin, right?” His tone is as indifferent as his expression while he runs a towel over a bottle of gin. “Another Westcott from what I remember.” There’s no hiding his feelings in the words. The disgust on his face is threaded in his tone as well.

I focus on the partygoers, not wanting a confrontation at my parents’ home. “Yeah.”

“It’s too bad what happened.” The change in tone—from aversion to something sounding more sincere—has me drawn to look back at him again. “We used to hang out occasionally.”

“I know.” Not sure if he’s wanting to relate to me somehow but it’s not going to happen through the death of my cousin.

“What can I get you?” he asks.

Looking over the bottles on display, I reply, “Whiskey on the rocks.”

He grabs a cup and scoops ice into it. Plucking the top from the bottle, he eyes it, and then with a heavy hand, he fills the glass. “Haven’t seen you at any of the parties in some time.”

“Life got busy,” I reply, keeping the details to myself.

“I hear ya.” Rounding his shoulders, he appears to relax.

“You still partying off Dobson on Fridays?”

“Cops broke it up, and Terry doesn’t like heat on his property.” He sets the cup in front of me. “On the house.”

He probably wouldn't have made the comment if he knew this was my family’s house. “Thanks. What have you been up to?”