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Prologue

Lincoln

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Deacon says

Grabbing the pitcher of beer from the center of the table, he raises his eyebrow at me When I nod, he pours me one

“Fa and take a drink I’ht it feels like I’ve earned it

“Your dad?” Tucker asks

“Always”

Deacon wraps his hands around his“How is he?”

“Same shit, different day”

“Still sober?”

I shake ain”

“Darips my shoulder and frowns “Maybe next time I’m sorry, dude”

“Don’t be,” I say, shrugging hirumpy—the same way I always am when I leave Dad’s house