Chapter 23

• The Lawson place went quiet like it always did — laughter gone soft around the kitchen table, leftover beer bottles rattled together on the counter, the old screen door squeaking one last time before the last brother mumbled a night and thumped up the stairs.
• Beau stayed put.
• He drifted out onto the porch once the house settled, a single cold bottle tucked between his knees, boots planted wide on the warped boards that still smelled like old tobacco and the warm hum of her mama’s roses climbing up the rail. He didn’t light a smoke. Didn’t call it a night. Just sat there, thumb brushing the condensation off the glass like he could wipe the last forty-eight hours off his conscience too.