A Love Letter To Whiskey Novels & Stories

She walks over to the table in the sitting area where she pours a glass of whiskey and brings it to me. Brother's Bourbon. That's my favorite whiskey. "Accept my apology, please!" She pleads with puppy eyes as she gives me the glass of whiskey. I look at her long and hard, wondering whether to accept the apology or not. Well, this is the last time I will be seeing her, so accepting her apology is no big deal. I take the glass filled with wine and drink it all in one go. The whiskey burns down my throat and I shut my eyes as my entire system heats up.

Not the kind that fills a place with laughter, movement, life. My fingers tighten around the glass. I take a slow sip, the burn of the alcohol cutting through the numbness creeping into my bones. I used to hate whiskey. Now, it keeps me company more than anyone else. I exhale, rubbing a hand over my face, my mind spiraling in one direction, over and over again. Leah. Where is she? Is she safe? Is she thinking about me the way I’m thinking about her?

I had lost everything—my dignity, my family, my lover, my soul. I reached for the bottle again, hands trembling. I poured the last of it into the glass, raised it in a mock toast to no one, and whispered, “To Sophia. To the only thing I ever wanted, and the thousandth thing I succeeded to destroy.” The whiskey burned down my throat, but nothing could numb the ache inside. Nothing ever would.

“ you don’t down a glass of whiskey love “ he poured me another glass “ here , don’t rush drink it softly “ I cradled the glass with my two hand and took a sip , I didn’t look at him I am too embarrassed about choking on the whiskey “I’m older, it’s impossible for me to be a brat “ He glances at me “ age doesn’t determine being a brat love . It’s ok you can be a brat , I’ll just have to fuck it out of you “ My face turned a deep shade of red “ hateful man “ I whispered underneath my breath. He glances at me amusement written on his face before turning back to the burning fire in the room The room went silent, he stood there in front of the fireplace, twirling his glass of whiskey in his hand

“A letter, you wrote me a letter,” I nodded. “I wrote the letter four years ago. I didn’t have any hope for love, I thought my heart was made of stone, and I didn’t believe I could fall in love with someone. So, I wrote the letter. It’s for the girl who’ll end up stealing my heart and becoming my first love. I’m glad that person is you, Derek. I’m happy you’re my first love, my last love, and the only one for me. I love you always, Lily Miller,”

Besides that he was big and large, he was also fluffy inside and knew when to be loving. "Sorry about that, dear," he sighed as he took a sip. "I know being here may feel like a halt in your plans but I hope you understand that it's for your own good. We're not holding you hostage." "I completely understand," I tasted my drink and I forced myself to keep a straight face. Alpha Derrick chuckled and she shot her head to him. "I remember a thing or two about Weston saying how much you hated the whiskey I gifted him on his birthday last year. If you notice, it's the same one."

The amber liquid swirled in the crystal tumbler, catching the glow of the fireplace. So, that’s where I got it from. The love of whiskey. I took the glass but didn’t drink yet, waiting for him to speak. He sat back in his chair, rolling his own glass between his fingers, a deep crease forming between his brows. He looked conflicted. Like a man carrying the weight of too many years of silence. He exhaled sharply and scratched the back of his head as if searching for the right words. “It’s a long story, Liam,” he finally admitted.

Kurt laughed hysterically and said, “Tell me, Liam? What else can I do to get out of this? You don’t understand how I feel! It’s not you who’s going to marry someone you don’t love! This is my last day of being single. I’m supposed to be having a bachelor’s party, right?” “Mature? Yes, it’s always you who doesn’t lose his cool in any situation. It’s you who is always mature and can handle anything. The good son who values family and the company. I’m still just a clueless child that just gives up easily. I think this is my karma, for hurting Annika so many times. I can’t seem to be a good person even if I tried my hardest…” Kurt said and then tears slowly fell into his eyes.

I said. “You were just in love” Maren said, “Stupidly in love” I took a sip out of the whiskey. “Yes, maybe but I guess we are both at that stage” Maren chuckled, “I can't believe you were in love or maybe still in love” she gave a tight smile. “Everyone won’t believe to everyone I am just a playboy” I said to her while taking another sip of the whiskey. “I will say we are both unlucky when it comes to love” Maren said, she took the bottle of whiskey from me and sipped out of it for the first time.

They immersed themselves in the emotions woven through the pages, allowing the love expressed within to seep into their souls. They laughed, cried, and reveled in the beauty of their shared experiences. These love letters became more than mere words on paper—they were a tangible embodiment of their journey, a testament to the depth of their connection, and a source of comfort during times of distance or doubt. Emily and Liam's collection of love letters became a legacy—a cherished heirloom that would be passed down through generations, preserving their love for eternity. It served as a reminder that love, like the written word, had the power to transcend time and leave an indelible mark on t