Beach Reads Box Set

by Madden-Mills, Ilsa

  Mornings are my favorite time of day. Waking up to the sun rising and reminding me that my life includes Blaire is like a little gift that just keeps on giving.

  My life before her was busy. It was filled with motions and things and places and to-do lists. It was filled with people too—people I cared about. People I loved.

  I enjoyed my life before Blaire. It was all I knew.

  Now that I have her, I don’t know how I made it through a day without her.

  We’ve been figuring it out for the past six months, traveling back and forth between Illinois and Georgia. We’ve met up for weekends in Nashville and Cincinnati, and she accompanied me to Portland for a trip too.

  It’s been fun, and it’s worked out well. So far.

  “What are you doing today?” she asks.

  I take a sip of my coffee. “Not sure. Gramps wants to watch golf, and I promised him I’d come by and do something. I didn’t commit to watching golf, though.”

  Blaire laughs. “It won’t kill you to watch a little bit of golf.”

  “It might. It really might.” I take another sip. “What are you doing today?”

  “I’m meeting your mother at her house this afternoon.”

  I quirk a brow. “Again?”

  “Your mother met a lady last week who said her son got an unfair trial. He’s been in jail for a year already, and the man’s mother claims he’s innocent. It’s really been on your mom’s heart. I’m sure you can imagine.”

  I sit back and listen. It’s not hard to do. She’s so beautiful and so damn smart. But she also has a huge heart that makes me love her even more.

  “I can imagine,” I say. “And I’d also bet that it’s been driving you crazy too.”

  She blushes. “I told her I’d meet with them today and take a look at his case.”

  “You’re amazing. Do you know that?”

  “Hardly,” she scoffs. “I just try to use the tools I have to … do the right thing. It’s what everyone should do.”

  I sit my coffee down and start to pick up my computer. But something in the way she’s looking at me stops me in my tracks.

  “Holt,” she begins. “I want to talk to you about something.”

  “Sure.”

  She tucks her legs under her. “I’ve been thinking and … would it freak you out if I moved to Savannah? I wouldn’t have to move in with you—”

  “The hell you wouldn’t.”

  My heartbeat begins to thunder inside me. My breathing gets rapid. All I can think about is taking the next step with Blaire and making sure I don’t scare her.

  Because if I had my way, I’d marry her tomorrow. Today, even.

  I love her.

  Her eyes grow wide. “I’m not implying that I don’t want to live here. I just—”

  “Good. Because if you step foot inside Georgia, it better be in this house.” I scoot to the edge of the sofa to be closer to her. “I’ve waited as patiently as a man can fucking wait for you to want to move in with me.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Can I order a moving truck today? I’ll have people at your door in Chicago in an hour.”

  “Holt …”

  “Try me.”

  “Easy there, tiger,” she says with a laugh.

  “I’m being as easy as I can.”

  She picks up the binder again and finds the page she was on. “Your mom wants to start a nonprofit to provide legal resources to underprivileged people around Savannah. She asked me to help.”

  “And you said yes.”

  “Of course, I said yes.” She looks up at me. “This is my passion in life. Besides you, naturally.”

  I grin.

  I pick up my coffee again and then take another drink.

  The den, my favorite room in the house, is filled with the bright morning light. I take in its warmth and imagine little kids running around it and having Saturday morning cartoons blaring from the television. And I realize that this is why I bought this house. A part of me always knew I’d meet Blaire.

  This time last year, my idea of a good Saturday morning meant being in the office before noon and maybe playing a round of golf with Dad. Now it’s daydreaming about having children.

  Who would’ve thought?

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. Your mom said that Coy is coming home. I guess he and Willa ‘broke up’,” she says, using air quotes. “There was a big photo spread about it in all the celebrity magazines.”

  I chuckle. “It’s so weird to me that my little brother is considered a celebrity.”

  “Yeah. Well, your celebrity little brother is trying to flee the paparazzi, so he’ll be hiding out around here. She told me to tell you, so this is me telling you.”

  “What she’s really doing is asking me to help babysit his dumb ass,” I groan. “She doesn’t want him having too much time on his hands or he’ll end up in the magazines all by himself.”

  Blaire hums in agreement, but I don’t think she heard what I said. She’s too engrossed in the paperwork in her hands.

  I kick back and let my coffee warm my hands. My mind goes back to my life before Blaire.

  I thought I had it figured out. I thought I had to show restraint in all things, or my life would spiral out of control.

  But Blaire proves that’s not true.

  Sometimes you have to release the reins and let the world guide you. You have to trust that the universe knows what’s best.

  I didn’t know that when I raced through the airport that day. I had no idea that I’d meet a woman who would change the course of my life.

  I could’ve helped her up and went on about my day, too concerned with the fact that Oliver was calling me incessantly. But I took a minute and looked around and was present in the moment.

  Maybe not for all the right reasons, but that’s not the point.

  The point is, I now know that the world will drop little cookie crumbs in your life here and there. We just get too busy to take a moment and follow the trail. Thank God I didn’t miss the trail that day.

  Because it led me to my forever.

  “Hey, Blaire,” I say.

  She looks up from her binder. “Yeah?”

  “I love you, sweetheart.”

  She grins. “I love you too.”

  The End.

  Want to meet the Kelvin McCoy, aka Coy Mason? His book, Reputation, is live now on Amazon, Audible, and in Kindle Unlimited.

  About the Author

  USA Today, Washington Post, and Amazon Charts Bestselling author Adriana Locke lives and breathes books. After years of slightly obsessive relationships with the flawed bad boys created by other authors, Adriana has created her own.

  She resides in the Midwest with her husband, four sons, and two dogs. She spends a large amount of time playing with her kids, drinking coffee, and cooking. You can find her outside if the weather's nice and there's always a piece of candy in her pocket.

  Join the Locke List for exclusive stories, tales of mishaps, behind-the-scene looks, giveaways, what Adriana is reading, what you should be reading, cool recipes, and more: http://bit.ly/LockeList

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  Goodreads Group: All Locked Up

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  Want more from Adriana? Read on for:

  1.Sneak peek of The Mason Family series, book #2: Reputation.

  2.Adriana’s Booklist

  Reputation Sneak Peek

  Chapter One

  Coy

  “You’re not doing anything stupid, are you?”

  “Not yet,” I say, slurping the milk off my spoon. “But I just got here. Give me time.”

  My eldest brother, Holt, half-laughs, half-groans through the phone.
/>   The groan is there because he knows me enough to be afraid I’m serious. The laugh is there because, as much as he hates it, he’s entertained by my antics.

  Somewhat, anyway.

  I scoop up another spoonful of fruity cereal and shove it into my mouth. Ice-cold milk dribbles down my chin, and I swipe it away with the back of my hand.

  “At least you decided to stay with Mom and Dad,” Holt says. “Maybe that’ll keep you out of trouble.”

  “Yeah, because that’s worked out so well in the past.”

  “Good point.”

  I lean against the counter. The edge of the marble is cold and bites into my hip. I wish for a split second that I had bothered to put a shirt on when I woke up twenty minutes ago.

  “I almost rented a house on Tybee Island,” I say, “but I figured I might as well save the cash. Besides, Mom cleans my room and makes food just how I like it. I can’t go wrong here.”

  “You realize you’re in your mid-twenties now and have money of your own, right?”

  “Your point, old man?”

  Holt chuckles. “I’m simply pointing out that you’re capable of procuring food and housing on your own.”

  “I procured them on my own.” I scrape the little flakes of cereal off the side of the bowl. “I called Mom myself … which was an easy choice when I got hit with how much it was going to cost on Tybee. Do you know what places are going for down there? Hell, Holt. I might quit performing and buy rental homes.”

  “Great idea. I’m sure Wade would help you.”

  “Very funny,” I say, making a face.

  Out of all my brothers, Wade is the last one I want to deal with. About anything. Not that any of them are particularly a barrel of fun—except my youngest brother, Boone—but Holt and our other brother, Oliver, and I get along just fine. Wade and I, though? We rarely see eye to eye on anything. If I’m music and mayhem, he’s silence and spreadsheets. I’m not even sure how we have the same genetics.

  “Be nice, Coy,” Holt says.

  “What? Do you think that Wade and I could do anything together? He has a resting dick face and a repulsion for strip clubs. Yeah. I think not.”

  Holt struggles to hide his laughter. He succeeds. Barely.

  “I’m just happy to hear you’re managing your money well,” Holt says. “Even if you can’t manage your women.”

  “Hey now,” I say, dunking the spoon into the bowl again with a little more force than necessary. “Keep your jealousy in check. I can’t help it that I’m a rock star and make women lose their damn minds.”

  “Rock star?” Holt’s laughter fills the line with no attempt at restraint. “That’s a stretch.”

  I smile. “Okay. You’re right. I believe the last headline I saw called me a country music sensation. If it makes you feel better to call me that, I’m good with it.”

  “Well, the last headline I saw said something about you fleeing Los Angeles with your tail between your legs.”

  Fucker.

  I fill my mouth with cereal before a bunch of verbal diarrhea comes spewing out.

  My tail between my legs.

  What-the fuck-ever.

  My stomach churns the children’s cereal as Willa Welch and a particular day last week comes to mind.

  The pretty blond actress is better at her job than anyone understands. Hell, I’m not even sure what’s real and what’s not when it comes to her.

  The only thing I am sure of is, somehow, I was automatically the bad guy in the press.

  Again.

  I swallow hard before taking another bite.

  My brain replays the incident. The way the boutique door sounded when it closed behind us. The sun’s bright rays as we strolled down the street. The way she pivoted out of nowhere and looked like she was going to cry.

  My confusion. The bag—the one holding the overpriced shirt with the semi-witty saying on it that I’d just bought Willa as a token of good faith—coming straight for my head. My shock. The shrill of her voice followed by the swarm of paparazzi who ate the dramatics up like starving hyenas.

  I’ve only been caught off guard a few times in my life, but this was one of them. My first thought was that our shared agent, Meadow, had concocted this fight for Willa and me just like she created our fake relationship. It seemed crazy but so did the original premise.

  “You need to clean up this bad-boy image you have, Coy. Willa needs to dirty hers up some to get the roles she wants. It’s perfection,” my agent said.

  I was quite satisfied with my reputation but whatever. I just wanted the cash, and if being a nice guy would get me more opportunities, I was in. Besides, all I had to do was pretend with Willa.

  All of it was bullshit.

  One of us forgot that.

  That one of us wasn’t me.

  It all came to a screeching halt—along with a dozen cars—on Sunset Boulevard. I can’t remember what I said, but I was silenced by Willa throwing her coffee in my face as the grand finale. Thankfully, it was iced.

  “Are you listening to me?” Holt asks.

  “I did get the hell out of LA,” I say, annoyed. “But the only thing between my legs was my giant—”

  “Okay, okay.” Holt’s sigh is tinged with amusement. “When are you planning on going back?”

  “Not sure. I swore a blood oath to Meadow that I’d stay under the radar until she works her PR magic. I’m supposed to relax and write music—two of the three things I do best.”

  My brother snorts. “I don’t even want to know the third thing.”

  “Your call, but I could probably give you a few pointers.”

  Holt seamlessly changes the subject to some business deal he’s working on, but I find it hard to follow along. My attention span is already short, thanks to the reminder of Willa.

  The back of my neck tenses as I work through the asinine events leading up to me being in Savannah.

  My jaw pulses as I try to calm down. It’s a load of crap that Meadow sent me to Georgia while Willa is allowed to stay in the comfort of her home and routine. She’s not missing work. She’s not putting a pause on her to-do list. And, even worse, she’s allowed to cry to the press. About me. Over a fake relationship.

  None of that was real.

  “You can go with us if you want,” Holt says.

  “Where?”

  “You weren’t listening, were you?”

  “Kind of,” I admit. “Not really.”

  He goes on again, repeating the offer to go with him … somewhere. But my attention is diverted.

  The sound of footsteps rings through the kitchen. My mother breezes through the doorway in what looks like a lazy stroll, but it’s not. I can see the wheels turning in her head as she glances my way and floats me an easy smile.

  My mother makes everything look easy. She never used a cleaning service or bought dinner out very often for our family of seven. She managed the house, her five sons, a husband with a penchant for gin martinis and poker, and was still on the board of directors for various Savannah programs. Everyone thinks my brothers got their drive from our father, but it was really from Mom. She’s the queen around here.

  She points at the phone with a perfectly painted red fingernail. “Is that important?” she whispers.

  “Nah. It’s just Holt,” I say around a mouthful of cereal.

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full,” she admonishes before letting my error go. “I have an appointment in twenty minutes and will be home around six. Your father should be home slightly before me.”

  “Got it.”

  “Can you take the trash out for me, please?” she asks as casually as if she’s asking me what I want for dinner—a question she did not ask.

  My spoon pauses midway to my mouth. Milk drips off the sides and hits the counter.

  “Did you just ask me to take out the trash?” I ask.

  “Yes, Coy, I did.” She slides a water bottle into her oversized black leather bag. “Is that a problem?”

&nbs
p; She glances at me over her shoulder with that look in her eye. It’s a quiet challenge, a silent invitation to press the issue.

  “Mom,” I say, not really wanting to press the issue but unable to help myself. “Really?”

  She stops at the door leading to the garage. “Really what?”

  “I had the number-one song on the radio for eight weeks two months ago, and …”

  She opens the garage door as she simultaneously pins me to my seat with a firm gaze. After a long, awkward few seconds, her face breaks out into a victorious smile.

  “Do it before I get home, please. Love you, Coy. Tell Holt I love him too.”

  The door snaps closed behind her.

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” I mutter.

  “Better get that trash taken out,” Holt says with a laugh. “I’ll let ya go. I have a meeting with Oliver in a few anyway.”

  “Tell my favorite brother I said hi.”

  “I’ll remember that the next time you call me needing a favor.”

  “Well, you could be my favorite if you come over here and take out the trash for me,” I joke.

  “Hard no. I pay someone to take mine out. Besides,” Holt says with what I’m sure is a shit-eating grin, “it might do you some good to remember where you came from.”

  I look around the kitchen. The counters are a white granite and set off a dark-colored Viking range. Sub-Zero freezer drawers and a blast chiller are hidden in the cabinets. A crystal chandelier hangs arrogantly overhead.

  “Yeah,” I say, my voice full of sarcasm. “Better remember my roots.”

  “That’s not what I mean, asshole.”

  I feign shock. “Asshole? That’s it. I’m going to have to bump another brother over you on the favorites list.”

  “So what you’re saying is that Oliver and Boone are ahead of me, and Wade is last?”

  “Well, yeah, basically.”

  Holt laughs. “I gotta go. Call me later.”

  “Bye.”

  “See ya.”

  I end the call and slide my phone across the counter. It narrowly misses the splashes of milk dotting the surface around my cereal bowl.