by Miles, Ava
She tore it open and sped through the letter, pulling out her advance check. “Oh, my God! My grant from Fulbright came through. I’m going to Africa,” she said.
For four months. The timing couldn’t be better, and since all of her expenses would be covered, it would help her financial situation.
“You can rent the house while you’re away,” Myra said. “Maybe some student hasn’t found housing yet or something fell through. I’ll keep looking after the bills, but you’ll have to leave your checkbook this time. I don’t think you’ll have a phone where you’re going.”
No, she’d be living in a tent, without any air conditioner or running water in sight.
“Tory, don’t lose faith. I know this thing with Rye has hurt you, but your heart will heal. There’s still a man out there for you, I promise.” Myra’s wink was saucy. “Maybe you’ll even find him in Africa like Meryl did in Out of Africa.”
“Yeah, and she got syphilis and went bankrupt.”
“Good point. Let’s stick to a better version.”
As Myra continued to chatter on cheerily, Tory focused on steering herself away from the past, trying desperately to erase one thought: how was she supposed to give her heart to someone else when it belonged to Rye?
***
A week later, she was packing, trying not to think about Rye and his sisters in the house in Dare River. He’d spun a magical picture of his home, so much so that Tory could practically see the way the sunlight turned the river into diamonds when he took his fishing pole down there to catch trout or catfish.
Keeping her promise to Rory had been hard, but she’d told the little boy she would keep in touch. He’d written down Tammy’s phone number for her in a purple magic marker, and a few days ago, she’d dialed it into her phone. After exchanging empty pleasantries with Tammy, Tory had talked to Rory about her trip and all the animals she’d see in Kenya.
She had a good cry after saying goodbye. It seemed to be happening as regularly as clock–work lately. Part of her hoped Rory would forget her. Calling him was too hard because of the continued link to Rye, especially since the little boy would soon be living with him.
There was more packing to do, so she threw another pair of shoes in her suitcase. She was almost done when the phone rang.
“Hello,” she answered.
“Tory, it’s Connie Perkins. I know you’re trying to rent the house, but I think my news will change your mind.”
A few students had come to look at the house, but no one had called her back yet. “Okay.”
“Oh, Tory, it’s simply the most incredible news.” Her voice bubbled like candy before it cooled. “I’ve just received an incredible offer on the house. And you won’t believe who it’s from. Rye Crenshaw! Those media reports about you two getting cozy must be true after all.”
Her hand fumbled the phone. He’d made an offer on her house! Why?
“His manager, Georgia Chandler, just sent in their offer today, and it’s twenty thousand more than the asking price as a bonus for you. Can you believe it? Plus, he wants to sign it back over to you. You’ll be free and clear of the mortgage, but you’ll still have a place to live! Oh, Tory it’s simply an answer to prayer. I’ve heard about celebrities doing things like this, but I never thought I’d play a part.”
Anger burned through her. What the hell did he think she was? Some mistress he could pay off? If it was his way of assuaging his guilt, it wasn’t enough. Especially when he hadn’t even bothered to make the call himself.
“I just need to pop by with the papers. Is today good? I know you’re leaving soon.”
Even though it would make her life harder, she knew what she had to do. She’d feel guilty taking his money, and it wouldn’t change what had happened between them.
“Tell him no,” she said flatly.
Connie’s chuckling broke off. “What’d you say?”
“I said, I want you to tell him no, Connie.”
“But Tory—”
“I’ll find someone to rent it for the semester.” And she prayed she was right. “You can put it back on the market when I return around Christmas.”
There was a quiet pause. “Tory, you don’t seem to understand. Once he signs it back to you, it’s yours. You can still rent it out like you planned. In fact that’s wise. Give you some extra income.”
“Connie, please understand.” She took a breath, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice. “I’m not selling this house to Rye Crenshaw. Please tell him we’ve rejected the offer.”
“Tory, I don’t know what happened between you two, but you’re not thinking right,” she continued. “This is your best chance. You know how old that house is, what we’re up against in this market.”
Tory looked at the ceiling, at the small lines in the plaster like old wrinkles. “I know, Connie, but please don’t question me on this. Just tell him no.”
“All right, dear, if that’s what you want.”
“I have to go, Connie.” She clicked off and rolled into a ball on the bed, tears falling freely now.
Thank God, she was leaving tomorrow.
***
When Georgia called him and told him Tory had refused his offer on the house, Rye reached for the bottle of Johnnie Walker that hadn’t been out of reach since he last saw her. The ocean thundered and cracked against the beach in Padre Island, and he just wanted to punch at it with his fists. Why wouldn’t she let him do this? Goddammit, he felt guilty about how he’d treated her, and he hadn’t been able to stop worrying about her financial situation.
J.P. looked up from his James Patterson novel, and his long–time friend, poker champion Rhett Butler Blaylock, glanced over with a frown.
“What?” Rhett said. “You look like you’re about ready to start another bender.”
The shot he poured went down easy. “Tory refused my offer.”
J.P. grabbed the bottle away from him when he made another move for it.
“All this drinking’s dulled your reflexes,” Rhett said. He’d started to act like a mother hen since getting hitched to Abbie Maven. Usually they partied wild when they were together, but not anymore.
“Seems to me this girl has character,” J.P. said. “Aren’t you going to sober up soon? We leave tomorrow, and traveling with a hangover is hell. Not to mention that your family will be arriving in Dare River in a couple days.”
“When did you turn into my fucking babysitter?” he snarled. Since losing Tory, he’d been striking out at pretty much anything that moved.
J.P. stretched back. “Since I lost the coin toss with Clayton, and he bowed out this year, leaving you to Rhett and me.”
Rhett tipped his hand to the cowboy hat he wore. They all had on swimming trunks and cowboy hats.
“You don’t need any more incidents,” Rhett said. “Let me see what the chef cooked up today. If we can’t stop you from drinking like a fish, at least we can get you to eat.”
J.P. had hired a private chef since everyone who knew Rye knew about his love for good food, but he couldn’t even stand the smell of food right now. It reminded him of her, and the fact that she’d never cook for him again.
He was pathetic, acting like a girl, but he didn’t know what to do about it.
“You should call her, you know,” Rhett said. “Explain why you wanted to buy her the house. How is she supposed to know what to think of that?”
When J.P. only nodded in agreement, Rye heaved himself out of the chaise and threw himself into the hammock strung up between two palm trees. It swung madly, and he had to throw his hand to the ground to keep from falling out. What good would talking to her do? She hadn’t accepted his apology in person. And it didn’t sound like time would heal her wounds.
“I take it from that growl that you won’t,” J.P. said. “All right. Have it your way, but if you ask me, she’s the first woman who’s refused to take money from you. That says a lot.”
“I agree,” Rhett said.
Rye cradl
ed his hands under his head and stared up at the swaying palm trees. “Shut up.” And he almost winced—he knew he shouldn’t talk to his friends that way—but dammit, everyone seemed to be telling him how wrong he was lately. And didn’t he know it? Didn’t he regret every mistake he’d made with Tory?
And Tory’s last words to him kept echoing in his mind. What if he couldn’t change and be the kind of person his family needed? She was right. He had to step up for them, and he was afraid he couldn’t. He swatted away a fly buzzing around his head.
Nausea rolled over him like ocean waves.
Tory was better off without him, but deep down he feared he wasn’t better off without her.
The kernel of good,
Is inside every man.
Even a man like me.
I fight it,
But its power has dug deep inside me.
It whispers in the dark,
Even when I’m partying on the beach.
Yes, I am,
A good man.
Don’t fight it.
It won’t make me weak.
Yes, I can.
Be a good man.
Come on.
Give into the seeds.
Rye Crenshaw’s Number One Hit, “Kernel of Good In a Man”
Chapter 23
The day before his sisters arrived with the kids, Rye sobered up and shaved the beard he’d grown, leaving his signature goatee. Rhett, J.P., and Clayton had hung out with him the night before, watching him like a hawk and helping him make sure everything was ready for his family. What an odd sensation it was to see the four rooms that had been decorated for his family. It made his ten–bedroom mansion feel strange, like someone else’s home. Like a real home. The kids’ rooms—bubble gum pink walls for Annabelle and girly dolls on a twin bed decked out in white and black polka dots, and a sailor–blue trundle bed for Rory with fire trucks painted on the front—made his head spin. Tammy’s pale blue room boasted a whimsical four–poster with white netting dotted with butterflies draping the posts.
He was going to let them change anything they wanted, but at least the new décor was more welcoming than his masculine taste had been. And he’d give Amelia Ann his credit card so she could outfit her housing exactly as she wanted, since she wanted to live on her own.
Before flying back to Dare Valley, Rhett had told Rye to call when he wanted to talk turkey. Rhett, J.P., and Clayton were interfering sons of bitches sometimes, but he was grateful for their friendship, particularly now that his whole life was up in the air.
When the gate called to announce his sisters’ arrival, he stepped out of the house to meet them, his eyes tracking to Dare River. The first time he saw this house with the river cutting across it, he knew he was home. The red brick plantation–style house had eight columns, a sweeping veranda, tall French windows and doors, a mix of balconies, a gabled roof, two fireplaces flanking the sides, and black shutters. The peace he found here, away from the stage lights and the cameras, gave him fuel for his music. In Dare River, there was a special way the wind blew, the trees swayed, and the river sounded. Something about it just helped him hear the music better.
Now it was time to open this home he’d created to his family. And do everything he could not to let them down like he had Tory.
His exhale was deep as his sisters’ BMWs pulled to a stop in his circular driveway. Amelia Ann raced out, her face beaming, and pulled him in for a hug.
“We’re here, we’re here, we’re here,” she chanted. “I can’t believe it.”
Neither could he. He watched as a pale Tammy approached with the kids, who were already being greeted by his golden retrievers, Bullet and Banjo.
“Sit,” he commanded, and they immediately did.
Annabelle hugged one dog, and then crooked her finger at Rye. He crouched down and she wrapped her little arms wrapped around his neck. God, she was so little. Was she really going to be living in his house?
“Hi, Uncle Rye.” She patted his face and smiled. “You’ve got a real big house. That’s good ‘cause we brought everything in our old house now that Mama and Daddy are getting a divorce. It’s going to be fun, staying with you. Like a vacation.”
So, she didn’t understand the permanence of the situation yet. Well, that would come with time.
Rory stalked forward next, his hands in fists at his side. Clearly the boy knew what was going on. He put his hand on the kid’s shoulder, since Rory wasn’t the hugging type—well, except with Tory and his mother. The thought sent a streak of pain through him. He grew even more alarmed when Rory shrugged free of his hand.
Rising, he approached Tammy and cautiously kissed her cheek.
“Hi, Rye.” She wrung her hands, drawing his attention to her empty wedding ring finger.
What the hell was he supposed to say to her? “The drive go well?”
Tammy ran her hands down her front, smoothing away the travel wrinkles. “Yes, it was fine.” She let her gaze roam. “I like the house.”
Her ghost of a smile made him realize the irony of him choosing something antebellum.
Amelia Ann linked her arm through his. “Oh, I do, too. I’ve always wondered what it would look like.” Right, she hadn’t seen it either. It was hard to believe he’d been so distant from his family, and now this…
“And you have my favorite tree,” Amelia Ann continued. “Magnolias,” she clarified, pointing to the cluster of them to the right of the house. “Oh, I can’t believe it. We’re here, and I’m going to Vanderbilt.”
Since everyone else had shared their thoughts, he turned to Rory. “Well, son, what do you think?”
Rory glared at him and kicked a pebble in the drive. “I’m not talking to you.” His tone was angry.
“Son, you’ve just gotten here, so I can’t have made you angry already.”
Tammy crouched down in front of the boy. “Rory, we talked about this.”
He mulishly shook his head. “Mama, I’m just telling him how it is.” And he looked at Rye with a pinched face before racing off to the car. “Come on, Annabelle, let’s help unpack.”
As his niece ran off to join her brother, Rye nodded toward Rory. “What’s that about?”
Tammy averted her gaze. “He’s just upset right now. He’ll get over it.”
“He’s going to be living here, Tammy. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s broken.”
“He’s decided he won’t talk to you,” she said, lowering her voice. “He’s a little boy, so it won’t last long.”
Suddenly it was like all of the air had been sucked out of him, and he knew why. Tory. Still he asked. “Tell me why.”
His sisters exchanged a glance, and then they both looked down at their feet. “Well, Tory called this week to talk to him. Rory made her promise to stay in touch, and it meant so much to him that I couldn’t tell him no. He’s been through so much, and she’s the only one he…reaches out to.”
His head started buzzing. When Amelia Ann put a hand on his arm, he knew there was more, and he wasn’t going to like it. “When Tory told him she was leaving for a while to do some research, he got angry and blamed you.”
His heart pumped viciously. “What do you mean, she’s leaving?”
“Well, she got some grant she’s been waiting for,” Tammy said, shifting on her feet. “She’s gone to somewhere in Africa for a few months.”
Oh Jesus, it hurt to think of her being thousands of miles away from him. It made things seem more final somehow—like their worlds were further apart than ever.
“Why does Rory blame me?” he said.
“He’s got this idea that you made her leave,” she said softy. “It all makes sense to him after seeing you…angry with her. I couldn’t convince him otherwise.”
Rye rubbed his goatee, his mind spinning. He had to know more. “Rory,” he barked.
Tammy put a hand out. “Rye, please. He’s just a little boy.”
The plea in her voice made him feel sick. “I would ne
ver hurt him.”
Rory came forward, his chin stuck out. “I said I wasn’t talking to you.”
“Fine,” Rye said, crouching down beside him. “You can stop talking to me after you answer some questions.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “You talked to Tory.” He wanted to ask how she was, but he didn’t. “Did she tell you why she was leaving?”
Rory kicked at a pebble. “She said she got her money to study things…in Africa. But I know it’s your fault.”
“What makes you think that, son?”
He pushed at Rye suddenly, making him fall on his backside. “You made her cry. I heard her the night she stayed with us on your birthday.”
“Rory, you shouldn’t talk to your Uncle Rye that way,” Tammy said. Amelia Ann headed off Annabelle as the little girl ran back toward them, the retrievers following her worshipfully.
“It wasn’t his fault she left,” Tammy continued. “I’ve told you that. She had to finish her schooling. She has her own life, baby.”
His nephew punched his little fists against his sides. “But now I won’t be able to talk to her for a long time. She said so. Everybody leaves,” the little boy cried. “Nothing’s the same anymore.”
Rye grabbed Bullet’s collar when the dog butted his arm. He stroked his fur as the pain radiated through his body. No, nothing was the same.
Tammy pulled Rory to her. “She’s coming back, sweetie. She’ll be home around Christmas, remember? She’ll talk to you then.”
“How do you know? It’s just like Daddy. He said he’d call, but I know he didn’t mean it. And I don’t care. I hate him.” He turned to Rye. “And I hate you!”
“Rory—” Tammy whispered, her face stricken.
He ran back to the car and climbed in, slamming the door behind him.
“Jesus, Tammy,” Rye said, rubbing his throat. How was he supposed to recover from what had happened with Tory when his nephew was leveling charges like that at him?
