[Southern Heart 01.0] Southern Pleasure

by Kaylee Ryan

  SOUTHERN PLEASURE

  Copyright © 2015 Kaylee Ryan

  All Rights Reserved.

  This book may not be reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of Kaylee Ryan, except for the use of brief quotations in articles and or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, locations, businesses and plot are products of the author’s imagination and meant to be used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events throughout the story are purely coincidental. The author acknowledges trademark owners and trademarked status of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication and use of these trademarks is not authorized, sponsored or associated by or with the trademark owners.

  The following story contains sexual situations and strong language. It is intended for adult readers.

  Cover Design: Perfect Pear Creative Covers

  Cover Photography: Golden Czermak, FuriousFotog

  Cover Model: Mac Robinson

  Editing: Hot Tree Editing

  Proofreading: Kim Ginsberg, and Proof This, Jennifer Singh

  Formatting: Integrity Formatting

  Kaylee Lovering (Kaylee 2)

  You asked for a country boy. I hope you fall in love with Evan.

  Dedication

  1 ~ Evan

  2 ~ McKinley

  3 ~ Evan

  4 ~ McKinley

  5 ~ Evan

  6 ~ McKinley

  7 ~ Evan

  8 ~ McKinley

  9 ~ Evan

  10 ~ McKinley

  11 ~ Evan

  12 ~ McKinley

  13 ~ Evan

  14 ~ McKinley

  15 ~ Evan

  16 ~ McKinley

  17 ~ Evan

  18 ~ McKinley

  19 ~ Evan

  20 ~ McKinley

  21 ~ Evan

  22 ~ McKinley

  23 ~ Evan

  24 ~ McKinley

  25 ~ Evan

  26 ~ McKinley

  27 ~ Evan

  28 ~ McKinley

  29 ~ Evan

  30 ~ McKinley

  31 ~ Evan

  32 ~ McKinley

  33 ~ Evan

  34 ~ McKinley

  35 ~ Evan

  36 ~ McKinley

  37 ~ Evan

  38 ~ McKinley

  39 ~ Evan

  40 ~ McKinley

  41 ~ Evan

  42 ~ McKinley

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  44 ~ McKinley

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  50 ~ McKinley

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  56 ~ McKinley

  57 ~ Evan

  58 ~ McKinley

  Epilogue

  Contact Kaylee Ryan

  Other Works by Kaylee Ryan

  Acknowledgements

  My heart pounds against my chest as I watch the tears running down her face and struggle to process what she just said.

  I hate tears.

  I hate my girlfriend, Misty, for what she just said, the words still ringing in my ears.

  “Evan, I just don’t want kids. I don’t want to be a parent. My own parents sure as hell weren’t role models, and it’s just not something I want. I’m getting out of here,” she says through her tears.

  “Don’t I have a say in this? That’s my flesh and blood.” I point to her belly. “This is my baby, too.” My voice is pleading. She’s just dropped a bomb on me.

  Fuck that!

  “Evan, I just . . . I don’t want this.”

  “This is not just about you!” I roar. “This baby is a part of me, dammit. Please don’t do this,” I beg her. I’m not above pleading to save my unborn child.

  “Evan,” she sobs.

  “How did this even happen? I wrap it every damn time. You’re on the pill?” I say it like a question, even though she has always assured me she is, indeed, on birth control.

  “Nothing is 100 percent. I don’t know what happened. I take my pill religiously. All I know is I’m pregnant and I don’t want to be!” she screams.

  I’m twenty-four years old. Old enough to be a father, although this is not how I’d planned it. I always thought I would be married to the love of my life when I started a family, but the fact of the matter is I’m not. Misty and I have been together for almost a year. I knew she wasn’t the love of my life, but I didn’t care—-until now. I always figured we were having fun together and I had time. Time to find that one girl who consumes me and make her mine. Build a life together. I even thought, with time, Misty could be that girl.

  Life has other plans, or maybe I should blame this on my swimmers and the damn condom company, or even the pharmaceutical company, but I know she’s right. Nothing is 100 percent.

  “Evan, you know I want out of this town. Small town life is not for me. I’ve been saving. We’ve talked about this.”

  She’s right; we have. I think that’s a big part of why she was never the one. I love being on the farm, living in Kentucky. This is my home. Misty has always been honest about her plans to move on. Her parents are both big shot business moguls, who never paid any real attention to her. To hear her tell it, she was never good enough for them.

  Running my fingers through my hair, I take a deep breath. “Please don’t do this.” My voice cracks on my plea.

  “I just . . . I don’t want to be a mother.” She cries harder.

  “How long have you known? Give it a few weeks to sink in. It’s a shock for sure, but that’s our baby.”

  “I found out four weeks ago. I’m two months along. I’ve thought about this, Evan, and it’s always the same answer. I don’t want this.”

  “I do,” I say with conviction. That baby is a part of me. My mind races for a solution and before I know what’s happening, words are falling from my lips. “Sign over rights to me.”

  “What?” She’s looking at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “Have the baby, then sign the rights over to me. I’ll never ask you for anything. You don’t have to be a part of his or her life, just . . . please, Misty.”

  Silence grows between us. The only sound is her soft cries and the rapid beat of my heart against my chest. I know she needs to process what I’ve just said, so I bite my tongue, giving her time.

  “You really want this that badly? We’ve never talked about having kids.”

  “Yes, and I know we haven’t, but that doesn’t change the fact you are now carrying a part of me and I want that, more than I ever thought possible. Please don’t do this.”

  “So, how would this work? You’d just take the baby and what? Go on with your life?” she asks.

  “Yes. I’ll make sure you have whatever you need during the pregnancy. We can go to a lawyer and have it written up. You sign over all rights to me and that’s it. You can leave and go wherever you want. I won’t ask you for anything else. Please, Misty.” My voice is soft and pleading. I want to scream at her and demand she not do this, but I can’t. That’s only going to piss her off. Misty has a mind of her own. I need for her to come to the conclusion that this is the best option.

  “My parents agree with me; I’m not cut out for motherhood.”

  What the fuck? I’ve only met her parents once. They live in Tennessee. Misty moved here to stay with her cousin, Heather, while attending college. She dropped out, but never moved back home. The one and only time I met them, they made sure to tell t
heir daughter what a disappointment she is, as they snubbed their noses at the both of us.

  I don’t comment. If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say it at all. “Please, I can call the lawyer now, get the process started. I’ll make sure you have anything you need.”

  “Evan, there will be medical bills, clothes, things for the baby. My parents, they won’t help.”

  “I know and I got it—-all of it.” I hold her gaze as I say the words, willing her to keep my baby.

  “If I agree to this, I’m leaving as soon as I can. I don’t want this life, Evan.”

  I nod. “I know, and I won’t stop you. As long as you’ve signed all the papers, you are free to go and live your life. You won’t hear from me again.” I wipe my sweaty palms against my thighs. She’s considering it, but I have no idea which way she’ll go.

  “It needs to be clear in the papers that I want nothing to do with the baby. I know it sounds harsh, but I just . . . can’t.”

  “Whatever you want. We can go to the attorney together.”

  She paces to the window and stares out at the green pasture, arms crossed over her chest. “Okay,” she whispers.

  I exhale the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. She said okay. “Thank you, Misty. I’ll call him now and get it set up. Have you been to the doctor? When is your next appointment? I want to be there for all of it.”

  “Yeah, I went. I’m supposed to go monthly for check-ups and then more frequently closer to time. I have an appointment this afternoon. I was going to tell them to . . . you know. I just wanted to tell you first.” She turns to look at me. “I never expected this turn of events.”

  “Thank you for talking to me first and agreeing to this.” I’m going to be a father. A single father, by choice. I’m grateful she’s agreed to this, but at the same time, I want her out of my life. As soon as the words she was “taking care of it” left her mouth, I hated her.

  “I want to be there for your appointments. Anything else you need, you let me know. I’m going to go call the attorney. What time do we need to leave?” I don’t give her room to tell me no.

  “I have to be there in an hour.”

  “Great, just let me make this call, and then we can go.” I head to my office, leaving her alone in the living room. I just moved into this house six months ago. When I built it, I made sure it was big enough for a growing family. That was always in the back of my mind, but I never dreamed it would be this soon.

  Stepping into my office, I shut the door and take a seat at the desk. Cell phone in hand, I swipe the screen, find the family attorney’s number, and hit send.

  My call goes to voicemail. “Mr. Fields, hi, Evan Chamberlin. Listen, I have an urgent matter that was just brought to my attention, which I will need your services for. When you get this message, please give me a call.” I don’t bother leaving my number; he has it. Mr. Fields has been my grandparents’ attorney for years. When I took over the farm, I continued that relationship.

  I find Misty still standing by the window. Being so lost in her thoughts, she doesn’t hear me approach. I bite back the panic that she’s changed her mind. I squeeze my cell phone a little tighter, willing it to ring. I need to get these papers drawn up and signed before she does.

  “Ready?”

  She startles a little from the sound of my voice. Turning to look at me, her face is void of any emotion. It’s just . . . blank. “Yeah,” is all she says as she grabs her purse and walks toward the door. Mutely, I follow behind, locking up. She ambles to my truck and gets in the passenger side. At least she’s not trying to get out of this.

  The twenty-minute drive is uneventful. We don’t speak except for me asking which office she goes to. The silence is welcome. I’m still raging mad at the thought of her “taking care of it,” even though I’m relieved she’s agreed to sign all rights over to me.

  As soon as I put the truck in park, Misty is climbing out and heading toward the door. I catch up just in time to reach around her to open it. She says nothing as we walk inside and I follow her to the receptionist’s desk. I don’t know if she has health insurance, but I need to make sure they know all bills should come to me.

  “Good afternoon, how can I help you?” asks the chipper girl sitting behind the desk.

  “Misty Newman here for my appointment with Dr. Combs.” Her tone is flat.

  “Great, let’s see. It says here you have Medical Mutual for insurance coverage. Is that still in effect?” the receptionist inquires nicely.

  “That’s correct,” she answers.

  “Can you please make sure anything not covered by insurance is billed to me? My name is Evan Chamberlin.” The overly-friendly receptionist looks to Misty for guidance, who she nods her head. I rattle off my address.

  “I’ve got everything I need. You can have a seat and they’ll be with you shortly,” she chirps.

  Misty doesn’t acknowledge her as she turns and walks away. I smile at the receptionist, trying to cover for Misty’s rudeness. Her blinding smile in return lets me know she’s used to it.

  I take a seat next to Misty and pull out my phone. Opening my email, I see a message from Mr. Fields. He’s in court, but will call as soon as he gets a break. I reply that I will be unavailable for the next hour or so, but any time after that, no matter the time, he can call. I don’t want to delay getting her signature.

  “Misty,” a short blonde nurse calls her name from the door leading back to the exam rooms. As Misty strolls toward her, I follow behind like a puppy. “You can wait in exam room three while we get her weight,” the nurse tells me. I nod, letting her know I understand, and take a seat in one of the empty chairs next to the exam table. Misty and the nurse join me not a minute later.

  “Climb up on the exam table. I need to take your vitals.” She proceeds to take Misty’s blood pressure, temperature, and pulse. She then hands her a cup. “We need a urine sample. Leave the cup in the silver door behind the toilet. The doctor will be in shortly.”

  “I’ve already been here and taken a test. Why do I need another one?” Misty asks. Her voice is flat, uncaring.

  “Yes, we will do this at each visit to check the levels in your urine.” The nurse smiles and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her.

  Misty grumbles under her breath as she, too, leaves the room. Leaning over, I rest my elbows on my knees and bury my face in my hands. My world has been flipped upside down in the last two hours. I’m going to be a father.

  A single father.

  Misty comes back into the room, and this time, the doctor follows her in. “You must be dad? I’m Dr. Combs.” He extends his hand for me to shake.

  “Yes, sir,” I respond. I’m going to be a father. I swallow the lump in the back of my throat.

  Dr. Combs takes a seat on a stool and opens his laptop. After a minute or so of scrolling and clicking, he looks up. “Misty, vitals look good. Weight is the same as last visit. Make sure you’re eating three full meals a day. It’s good to add a healthy snack in between. You’re eating for two now,” he grins.

  Misty just stares at him.

  “Right, well, you’re eight weeks along and sometimes at this point we can hear the heartbeat. Lie back on the table and lift your shirt.”

  She does as instructed, still showing no emotion. Me, on the other hand, I feel like my heart is about to throb out of my chest. “We can really do that? We can hear the heartbeat?” I question. Even I can hear the excitement in my voice.

  “Sure can. Eight weeks is sometimes a little early, so don’t be alarmed if we can’t. Most definitely by your next appointment,” he explains.

  Wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans, I don’t bother looking at Misty. I know she’s wearing that same bland expression, and I will not let her take this moment from me. Instead, I keep my eyes trained on Dr. Combs. I watch as he pulls out a tiny device he calls a Doppler and places one end against Misty’s belly. As he gently moves it back and forth, I hold my breath, not willing
to make a sound; I don’t want to miss this. He moves the machine a little to the left and a whooshing sound encompassed with a steady thumping rhythm comes from the box in the physician’s hand. I exhale at the sound, and the lump in my throat grows along with the well of tears in my eyes.

  Hearing that sound for the first time is going down as the most amazing moment in my life to date. “Holy shit.” The croaked words fall from my lips.

  This causes Dr. Combs to laugh. “That’s usually the reaction I get from first-time parents.” He smiles at me and glances at Misty.

  “It’s his baby. I’m signing my rights over as soon as it’s born,” she blurts out.

  Dr. Combs doesn’t comment. He just nods in understanding as he places the Doppler back in the drawer. The room is silent as he measures her belly and asks a few questions about morning sickness and diet. “Everything looks good. We’ll see you back here in a month. You can make your appointment on the way out.” He then turns to look at me. “Do you have any questions?” Seems he understands all too well that Misty wants no part of this.

  “Honestly, I’m too . . . overwhelmed,” I say. “Maybe after I wrap my head around this; after it sinks in. I just found out a couple of hours ago.”

  Dr. Combs nods again, letting me know he understands. “Well, call anytime. We’ll see you all in four weeks.” With that, he grabs his laptop and flees the room.

  The ride back to my place is silent. I have nothing to say to her that’s nice, and I’m scared as hell if I piss her off she’ll go back on her word. I park in front of the garage and turn off the engine. “So what can I do? Do you need clothes? Money?” I ask. I plan to hold up my end of the deal.

  “Not yet. I’m good.” She wrings her hands together in her lap. “I guess I’ll see you later.” She reaches for the handle.

  “Wait!” I grab her wrist gently. “I want to be there for all of it. You need me, you let me know. I think we should get together a couple times a week and have dinner or something. Keep in contact.” I sound desperate, but I don’t give a fuck. I need to stay front and center. I don’t want to miss a minute of this even though we are no longer together.

  “Yeah, sounds like a plan. Call me,” she says as she jumps from the truck and briskly walks to her car. I stare after her, watching as she drives down the lane. My ringing cell phone startles me. Looking down, I see it’s Mr. Fields on the caller ID.