by LK Farlow
I hope and pray the body doesn’t match the voice. Please, God.
But no, they match. Taylor is Mrs. Mills’ son and Myla’s ex, and he’s just as douchey as ever. He’s decked out in the official Bro-Douche uniform of the South, a pastel seersucker and plaid patchwork button-down, way too short khaki shorts, and Sperry topsiders.
He stalks into the room, coming to rest at his mother’s side before his eyes land on me. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he seethes. “Mother, why is he here?”
Kathy looks utterly perplexed. “Taylor, darling, whatever do you mean? Mr. Carson is here to build your buffet.”
“That miscreant isn’t building shit for us.”
“Taylor Augustus Mills, you watch your—”
“I will not. This loser is playing house with Myla Rose. Jesus, he’s probably her bastard’s dad.”
Silently, I sit on the antique couch, listening as he spouts off one line of bullshit after another. This kid is talking straight out of his ass, and my top is about to blow. He’s messing with the wrong man and talking about the wrong girl.
“I mean, Jesus, Mother, for all we know, she planned this. When her attempt to trap me with a baby didn’t work, she probably concocted some scheme with Mr. Carson here to rob us blind under the guise of working.”
Does this jerk-off even hear himself? Yeah, no. That’s it. I’m done. Quietly, I stand and begin gathering up the things I brought. Without a word, I make my way to the double-doors. Taylor has stopped talking. Kathy has stopped talking. The room is blanketed in silence. The calm before the storm.
I pause in the entryway and turn to face the mother and son, and I know they see the lightning flashing in my eyes, and I’ll make damn sure they hear the thunder in my voice. “You keep Myla’s name outta your mouth, you hear me? Better yet, don’t even think it. She’s not your concern. She’s mine. But you keep on spreading shit like this around about her? You’ll become my problem, and let me assure you . . . that’s not something you want.”
“Now you listen here—” I turn and walk away in the middle of whatever garbage Taylor Mills was planning to spew, because I’ve heard more than enough. He’s the goddamn epitome of an entitled, over-privileged prick, and I sure don’t know what Myla ever saw in him.
Running on adrenaline and instinct alone, I don’t even realize I’ve driven to Myla’s house until I’m parked under the shade of her oak tree. I know she’s not home from the salon yet, but the need to be near her is overwhelming.
The way Taylor talked about her made me want to snap his neck, and I know that her presence will calm me. So, I’ll kick my feet up and wait. God knows, she’s worth it.
I also know she keeps a key under her potted plant, so I shoot her a quick text to let her know I’m here and waiting on her. I’m so fucking anxious to have her near me. I know she didn’t hear the things he said, but my gut tells me she’s probably heard him say much, much worse.
Gotta be real, too. It’s eating at me, wondering why she was with him—what she saw in him—because all I see is a Grade-A loser. He’s the kind of guy who peaks in high school and tries desperately to hang onto those ‘golden years’ for far too long. Guys like Taylor Mills have expiration dates, and goddamn if he isn’t way past his sell-by date.
I leave my boots at the door and make myself right at home, settling down into that same loveseat where I first got my hands on Myla Rose.
I smile, remembering how on fire she was for me, how her entire body lit up with my touch, so responsive. Before I know it, my eyes slip shut and I drift off with a goofy-ass grin curled on my lips.
I startle at the sound of the front door opening, straightening up just in time to see Myla walk in. Even after standing all day with back-to-back clients, she’s fucking radiant. “Hey there, darlin’,” I rasp out as I stand to hug her, drawing her into my arms and holding her there.
“I was glad to get your text—surprised, but glad. What’s going on, babe?” She tilts her head up to look at me but stays wrapped in my arms as if she knows I need her touch.
“Let’s sit down, yeah?” I realize my mistake the moment it happens. She’s staring back at me with fear blanketing her every feature. “Nothing bad, darlin’, just got a lot to say, and maybe a few questions.” Dropping a quick kiss to her forehead, I pull her down beside me onto the loveseat.
“Okay . . . talk.”
“Well, lemme start from the beginning. The other day, I met a lady at The Pig while I was waiting to check out. She was looking to have a piece of furniture built, so I gave her my card. She called a few days later, and we set up a consultation for today.”
“Cash! That’s awesome. You’re so talented—”
“Hang on, I’m not finished.” I reach down and clasp her hands in mine. “So, I get to her house today and we’re chatting, going over plans, and her son walks in.”
“Right, I’m following. Keep going.”
“Her son is Taylor. Your ex.” She pales and attempts to pull her hands back from mine.
“O–okay. Th–that’s fine. Just because he and I have a history doesn’t mean you can’t do work for them.” She nods her head a few times, as if to convince herself that her words aren’t utter bullshit.
“Darlin’. If you think I’d do any work for them, you’re sorely mistaken. He recognized me from the beach, and shit got ugly and I stormed outta there. But before leaving, I told him to keep your name outta his mouth.”
“Oh, Cash . . .” She brings her head to rest on my shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t want to harm your business.”
“Look at me, darlin’. Don’t you know you’re worth more than any sum of money? With the shit he was popping off at the mouth with, he’s lucky I didn’t knock his teeth down his throat. What did you ever see in him?”
I’m not trying to be funny, but she cracks up at my question. “Oh, babe. I wish I knew. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’d crushed on him since we were kids. He used to be so sweet, and I guess over the years, I’d put him on a pedestal, and when he finally gave me the time of day, I was so excited. I thought he was ready to admit he felt the same way when he just wanted to drag me along and brag to his friends. I was nothing more than a game to him . . . and our game ended with me getting one hell of a prize, huh?”
“That baby in your belly is for sure a prize—the only good thing that deadbeat will ever make. Too bad for him, he’ll never know him. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Wh–what do you mean, Cash?”
“What I mean . . .” I take a deep breath, praying with all my might that this doesn’t send her running for the hills. “Is that, if you’ll allow me the honor, I’d like to raise this baby with you. It’d mean the goddamn world to be his dad.”
Her eyes well with tears, and they drop one after another. And this time, when she goes to pull her hands from mine, I let her. She bolts from the couch and starts pacing.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
After what feels like an eternity of pacing and tears, I stand, causing her to run smack into my chest on her return trip. However, instead of pushing me away, she wraps her arms around my neck and burrows her head into my chest. “Y–you mean that?”
“With all my heart, darlin’. I can’t think of a thing on this earth that would mean more to me.”
“You realize you’re one of a kind, Cash Carson?” she sniffles and wipes her tears on my sleeve. “A dream come true.”
“As long as I have you, I don’t need to dream, because you’re more than I could ever ask for.” Bending low, I scoop her into my arms. “Which way to your room?”
She directs me, and I set off up the stairs. I push open her door and set her down. “Get undressed, Myla.”
“Undressed?”
“Yup,” I tell her, popping the ‘P’ as I make my way into her bathroom.
I set to work drawing her a bath but come to a dead stop when she steps into the room. She’s com
pletely bare and completely breathtaking. Goddamn. This may not be the first time I’ve seen her body, but with it constantly growing and changing, every time is like the first time, and I fucking love it . . . her.
Wordlessly, she makes her way to me, and I help her step into the tub. “You relax, darlin’, and I’ll start dinner, yeah?”
“Yeah, babe. No way am I gonna argue with that.” I step out of the bathroom and rifle through her clothes for her phone. Finding it, I bring it to her. “What’s that for?” she asks with a sweet smile.
“Just thought you might wanna tell Azalea the news.”
“Well, you’ve just thought of everything, huh?”
She laughs but takes her phone from me, and not even two seconds later, it trills out her text tone. Her gaze grows hazy and distant as it beeps again. And again.
“Everything okay?”
“Uh . . . yeah, yes. Everything is f–fine.” I can tell she’s lying from the wobble in her voice, but I don’t call her on it. We’ve both had an emotional day, and with all the resolve I’m capable of, I turn and head out to the kitchen to whip us up some dinner.
Even if it kills me, I have to trust that if those texts were important, she’d tell me. Especially after today.
36
Myla Rose
I should be relaxing.
I should be over the moon giddy.
All my dreams just became reality, but with a handful of text messages, it feels like the walls are closing in on me.
When my phone flashed with a text from an unknown number, I figured it was a new client or a referral. But as soon as my eyes scanned those cruel words, I knew it was Taylor.
In my heart, I know I need to tell Cash about the texts. And in my heart, I know he’s who he says he is and that he’s in this for the long haul. I know we aren’t just playing house, but what if this proves to be too much? I know he says he wants my heart and that he can handle my baggage, but what if this breaks us?
It’s one thing to say he wants to raise this sweet baby with me, but it’s totally another to go toe-to-toe with Taylor and all of his family’s resources and connections.
Sinking lower into the water, I let the tears fall as I read his awful, hate-filled texts again.
Unknown: I may not want you, but there is no way that trash is going to have you.
Taylor: Mark my words, Myla Rose. Just because I don’t want you doesn’t mean I’m willing to share. I may not be yours, but you’re mine.
Taylor: That baby is mine. I own you. Both of you.
Taylor: Expect to hear from my attorney. Maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll give you every other weekend.
This feels impossible. Insurmountable. I need Cash. I love him. So very much. From the very second I heard his deep, rumbly voice and looked into those rain cloud eyes. He’s haunted my dreams and occupied my waking thoughts since day one, and deep in my soul, I know we can weather this storm together.
He’s my strength, my support, and I know he can only help me through things he’s aware of. I also know that means I need to buck up and tell him about Taylor’s texts. I just hate the thought of such a special night being tainted by such ugliness.
So, later. I’ll tell him later.
I soak until my skin shrivels and prunes, which takes me back to the beach with Preston and Lucas. Those boys are such a joy, and thinking of them brings me the smile I need to head out and face Cash.
Dressed for comfort in ribbed sleep shorts and a matching tank, I make my way into the kitchen where I find Cash effortlessly plating our dinner. “Mmm,” I moan. “Something sure smells good.”
“Perfect timing. Hope you like alfredo?”
“Does a cow have spots?” I pick up one of the plates and follow him out to the dining room table. Sitting down, I waste no time digging in. I’m emotional and hormonal . . . and just plain hungry. “Oh-mah-gah,” I say around a forkful of pasta, savoring the explosion of flavor. “This is so good. Like, so good.”
“Glad you like it, darlin’.”
We make it through dinner without any mention of the texts, which elates me. I’m thanking my lucky stars, thinking he’s gonna let it drop. What a joke, and damn if I shouldn’t’ve known better. Cash Michael Carson is nothing if not persistent.
After scrubbing the dishes and loading the dishwasher, Cash leads me to the bedroom. I fix my gaze on him, staring hungrily as he sheds his T-shirt, jeans, and socks before crawling into my bed and sliding under the sheets.
When he pats the spot next to him, I realize I’m still standing at the foot of the bed staring at him. “You coming, Myla?” I climb into the bed next to him, nestling my head on his warm, strong chest, and he wraps me in his arms, and it just feels so right.
Which is why my heart drops clear into my gut when he hits me with, “Myla Rose, you wanna tell me why that message on your phone got you all upset?”
My entire body tenses, and I know he feels it, but after a deep breath or two, I manage to relax . . . sort of. “Nothing to worry about, babe. Just a difficult client.” Oh, God, I hate lying to him.
“You sure, darlin’?” His tone tells me he’s suspicious. My belly feels like it’s full of lead.
“Yeah, Cash, I’m sure.” Sure that I’m going straight to hell.
“Okay,” Cash says on a resigned huff. “If you say so.” He threads his fingers through my hair, using my long strands as leverage to lift my face to his. His lips come down hard on mine, his kiss searing me. “Good night, darlin’.”
“G’night, babe.” I toss and turn restlessly. This baby boy already has me all kinds of uncomfortable, and adding another body to the bed is an adjustment. After a few more rounds of side-back-side-back, I find my sweet spot curled up on my right side against Cash’s warm body.
I’m finally drifting off, wrapped once again in the arms I’ve dreamed about so many nights, when I hear Cash mumble oh, so softly, “Love you, darlin’.” It’s so quiet, I almost wonder if I imagined it.
But like Cash, I’m not one to let things go, so just as softly, I reply, “I love you too, Cash Carson.” I sigh and snuggle closer to him, reveling in the feel of his rough hand palming my bump as we both succumb to sleep.
I wake the next morning to the scent of bacon and coffee, and hot damn, if that isn’t the best way to start the day. Mid-stretch, I realize that delicious scent is coming closer, and when I open my eyes, Cash is standing in the doorway with a tray.
“How do you feel about breakfast in bed?”
“Is that even a real question?”
“No, ma’am, I just wanted to hear that sweet, sleepy voice of yours.” I can feel my cheeks pinken at his swoon-worthy words.
“Well, get in here, babe.” Setting the tray at the end of the bed, Cash carefully gets back into bed before passing me my coffee—with just the right amount of half-n-half—along with a plate of bacon and fruit. Maybe not the most balanced meal, but it’s perfect to me. Just like the man who made it.
“Hey, Cash?”
“Yeah?”
I fidget, turning to face him a little more fully. “Would you wanna come with me to my doctor’s appointment Friday? I mean, you don’t have to, but—”
Cash silences me with a quick kiss. “Darlin’, there’s no other place I’d rather be. Text me the time and address, and I’ll be there.”
“You’re something else, Cash. An entirely different breed of man. The kind my Grams always said they didn’t make anymore, but I know she’d be gaga over you.”
“Well, that’s an honor, from what you’ve told me about her.” Yep, he knows every right thing to say to make my heart pitter-patter. “Now, eat up. We both have busy work days.”
37
Myla Rose
“Yup, my appointment’s at ten, Simon,” I huff out, struggling to hold my phone and get dressed. “Sim, hang on. Gotta put you on speaker.”
“Do you want me to come with you? This is the big appointment, right?”
“It sure is. But,
no. You don’t have to come with. Cash is.”
“Cash, huh? Y’all serious?”
“I–I love him. So, yeah, it’s pretty serious.”
“Well damn, girl. Look at you all grown up.”
I can’t help the laugh that topples from my lips. “I’ve been grown.”
He responds with a deep chuckle of his own. “You keep telling yourself that, Myles. No matter what, I’ll always see you as that scrawny little freckle-faced girl with knobby knees and braces.”
His words transport me back to when we first met.
I was sitting on Grams’ porch—like I’d been doing every day since Mama dropped me off a week ago, waiting for her to change her mind and come back.
I was staring down at my lap, drawing shapes in the dirt on the bottom step, when a raspy voice called out, “She ain’t coming back. You gotta know that.”
I looked up, only to come eye-to-eye with the most beautiful blue eyes I’d ever seen. Blue like a swimming pool on a hot summer’s day. Far too pretty for a boy, but belonging to a boy all the same. “S–she might,” I told him defiantly. I could tell he was older, but not by too much.
“Naw. She ain’t. Heard your Grams telling my mom. She’s gone.” I burst into tears at his words, realization blanketing me. “Now, don’t cry, girl.”
But I can’t help it. I devolved into a teary, snotty mess. She may not have been a good mother, but she was all I’d ever known.
“C’mon, please don’t cry.” The boy wrapped me tightly in his arms and held me until my tears dried. “You’re better off without her.”
“You think so?” I asked, taking the time to really look at him. He was scrawny, with matted hair and covered with dirt smudges.
“I know so. Now, what’s your name?”
“Myla Rose,” I told him, thankful to have a friend.
We both startled when from beyond the clearing, we heard a booming voice roar, “SIMON, YOU GET YOUR ASS HOME, BOY.”
