by LK Farlow
He jumped up like someone had lit a fire under him. “Gotta go!”
From that day forward, Simon was my protector and I was his escape.
“Simon, I’m as grown as it gets. I pay my own bills, own my business, and I’m about to pop out a baby.” My words aren’t said with venom, and I know he can hear my smile.
“Yeah, yeah. Guess you’re right. Well, I wanna see pictures from the ultrasound, ‘kay? Gotta see with my own eyes that my nephew’s growin’ good.”
“That I can do. Why don’t you see if D wants to meet us for lunch, and I’ll invite the girls?”
“Sounds good. See you later, Myles.”
My fingers fly across my screen as I fire off a quick group text, asking the girls to lunch before tossing my phone in my purse and heading out the door. I’m so beyond ready to check on my little bean that I don’t even wait for their replies. Twenty weeks is the appointment every mom gets crazy-anxious-excited for. There’s something so surreal about seeing your baby on that screen, and this time, we’ll get an in-depth look.
The tech will measure his little bones and give us an estimated weight, she’ll count his fingers and toes, and I’ll get to see his sweet baby face. I’m so damn ready. Not to mention, this is also the last time I’ll see him before his grand arrival in September. And Cash will be there with me, by my side and holding my hand through it all.
Today is gonna be one for the books. I can feel it.
I pull into the parking lot, only to find Cash ready and waiting for me, coffee in hand. This man—gah! “Well, hello, handsome. That for me?” I nod, gesturing toward the coffee.
“Sure is. I read online that caffeine can help the baby be more active during an ultrasound.” Oh. Oh, my heart.
“Well, look at you. All thoughtful.”
“Always for you, darlin’. Now let’s go. I’m ready to lay eyes on my boy.” Seriously, I must have done something awfully right in a past life to have this man here and now.
After jotting my name down on the sign-in sheet, Cash and I take a seat toward the back of the waiting room. We’re both anxious, all drumming fingers and tapping feet. Thankfully, we don’t wait long before my name is called.
The nurse leads us back to the ultrasound room and instructs me the same as last time—on the table, shirt lifted, waistband rolled down. Belinda squirts the warm gel onto my belly and starts expertly shifting the wand around.
“All right, here we go.” She moves the wand, applying pressure. “Ten little fingers. Ten toes.”
The whoosh of my bean’s heartbeat fills the room, and Cash sits up straighter. “Is that—”
“Yes, sir, that’s your baby’s heartbeat. A perfect one hundred and thirty beats per minute.”
“That’s not too fast?” The worry in his voice tugs on my heartstrings, reminding me that I’m keeping secrets from him.
“No, sir, his heartbeat is one hundred percent within a normal and healthy range.” Belinda continues about her measurements, but instead of watching the screen, I’m watching Cash. His cheeks are damp with happy tears.
“All right, Miss Myla, I have some images for you and Dad to take home. Dr. Mills—”
“I’m sorry, Doctor who?” Oh, Jesus. Guess I shoulda told Cash who my doctor is. Not that he’s anything like his wife or his son.
Belinda’s eyes dart between us uncomfortably. “As I was saying, Dr. Mills isn’t quite ready, so y’all can head back out to the waiting room. A nurse will call you.”
I grab Cash by the hand, tugging him along behind me, seating us as far away from other people as possible in the small space.
“Your doctor’s related to Taylor how, exactly?”
“Don’t get mad, okay?” His mouth is tight, but he nods. “Dr. Mills is his dad.”
“His dad? You have to be kidding me, Myla. Really?”
“But he’s so different from Kathy and Taylor, I swear it, Cash. I think he might love this baby too. I mean, he’s never outright said that. He’s never been anything but professional, but I just know it.” Reaching for his hand, I take a trembling breath. “I promise, babe, I wouldn’t come here otherwise. Trust me?” Those two little words almost make me puke, because why should he trust me? I’m a liar. He just doesn’t know it.
“I know. Fuck, I know. Just don’t like it. Can I come to the rest of your appointments?”
“Sure, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“It will. It so will.” His features return to normal, and he relaxes back into his chair. His easy trust in me has me feeling lower than the floor.
Fifteen minutes later, the nurse calls my name again, and we head back with her. “Sir, you can head on to the exam room, and as soon as your wife finishes with the nurse, she’ll join you.”
I’m about to correct her, but Cash just smiles and thanks her.
Five minutes later, I’m joining him in the exam room, and shortly after that, Dr. Mills is knocking on the door.
“Come on in.” He enters the room, seating himself on the swivel stool in front of his computer.
“Not alone today, I see, Ms. McGraw.”
“No sir, this is Cash Carson.”
His eyes widen at the name, and a barely-there smile graces his lips. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Carson. Glad to see someone’s looking after these two.” He clicks around my file for several minutes before standing. “Go on and lie back, and we’ll listen to little man’s heartbeat and double-check how he’s measuring.”
I follow his instructions, and he works in silence. Though it’s not an awkward silence like you’d expect, just a calm kind of quiet. “All right, Ms. McGraw, you’re measuring right on time. The girls at the desk will get your next appointment set up. Have a nice afternoon, and it was very nice meeting you, Mr. Carson.” And just like that, he’s out the door and on to his next patient.
“Well, he’s . . .” Cash pauses, searching for the words. “Not what I expected.”
“Told you so, babe. Now, wanna meet everyone for lunch?”
“Sure thing, darlin’.” We walk hand-in-hand out to the parking lot. “I’ll follow you?”
“Sounds good.” I drop a quick kiss to his cheek before hopping into Bertha.
I guide the Land Cruiser to stop right outside Dilly’s, a cute little lunch spot about a block from the salon. Cash pulls his truck into the spot behind mine before coming over to open my door for me.
“You ate here before?” he asks, helping me out of Bertha.
“A time or two. They’re so close, but I always forget they’re here. But the bean isn’t feeling Dream Beans, and this is close enough for the girls to join. OH! You haven’t met Magnolia. I hope she comes. Warning though, babe—she’s shy. Like super shy.”
“Well, we’re at no risk for me scaring her away. Azalea though . . .” he trails off, knowing full and well that I’m catching his drift. Girl’s a freight train gone off the tracks some days. Others, she’s the Southern belle her mama raised her to be. The fun thing is that you never know which you’ll get.
It seems we’re the first to arrive, and since I’m not sure on how many are joining us, the hostess seats us at a large table in the back. Slowly but surely, our group starts to trickle in. First Drake, then Azalea.
“Hey, AzzyJo. Is Magnolia coming?” I ask her as she takes the seat next to me.
“Sure is,” she tells me before turning to face Drake. “So you sure as shit had best be on your best behavior.”
Drake holds his hands up in front of him. “Damn, Little Bit. Ain’t been here five minutes and you’re startin’ in on me.”
Azalea sighs loudly. “I mean it. She’s . . . fragile. So be nice, and calm, and quiet. You know, all the things you aren’t?”
“You wouldn’t like me if I was all those things, Bit.”
“I hardly like you now.”
“Not what you said last—”
I can feel Azalea kick him under the table as she yells, “Can you just fucking agree to be nice?”
“Is Seraphine coming with Magnolia?” I ask, attempting to slice through their tension, because damn, it’s thick.
“No, her dad’s nurse called as we were leaving. I’m finished with my clients, so we just shut down the salon. I made her swear she’d call if she needed us.”
I don’t like that, not one bit. That girl needs to realize that asking for help doesn’t make her weak, especially when she has so many people who love and want to help her.
A few moments later, the door chimes and Magnolia walks in. Her head is down and her shoulders are hunched in, as if she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Briefly, she lifts her eyes to scan the restaurant before beelining for our table.
As she draws near, I realize she has tears in her eyes. “Mags?” I use the nickname without thinking about it. “Are you okay?”
“Oh, y–yeah, sure. I . . . b–backed into someone trying to park. I’m not the best driver, still fairly n–new.” She looks down, embarrassed by her admission.
“Oh, well, that’s no big deal, hun. Not to mention, that’s what insurance is for.”
“Y–yeah. You’re r–right. H–he was just so m–mad,” she laments, taking the seat next to Azalea. Over the course of the past week, Azalea, Seraphine, and I quickly realized Magnolia gets uncomfortable around men, so we try to always be present as a buffer.
Even now, Azalea quietly asks her to switch seats, ensuring that Mags is girl-locked on both sides. She’s just gotten herself situated at her new seat when the door chimes again.
This time it’s Simon, and he’s fuming, muttering, and mumbling to himself as he heads our way. When he notices Magnolia, though, he comes to a dead stop. After forcing several deep breaths, he schools his features into what I call his calm mask.
“Sweetheart, you okay?” It takes me a moment to realize he’s addressing Mags.
She nods, refusing to make eye contact. “You sure?” She nods again. “Good. I gave that jackass the what-for and sent him on down the road. Acting like a little paint swap is the end of the goddamn world. I swear, some fucking people.”
Once we’re all here, introductions are made, and Simon relays to us the altercation outside. Lunch is amazing, and the company is even better. By the time our checks arrive, we’re all laughing, smiling, and passing around the pictures from my ultrasound.
All-in-all, today has been nothing short of magical. And I just know I’m the luckiest girl around because I have an entire lifetime of this on my horizon.
38
Cash
I read in my What to Expect book that pregnancy can cause mood swings, but for the past month, Myla has been extra-super-moody. I don’t wanna say crazy, but damn. She goes from hot to cold and back again in the blink of an eye.
Not to mention, these mood swings always go together with her text notifications. Reluctantly, I believed her the first time when she said it was a problem client, but come on. How many difficult clients can you have? Combine that with her conveniently forgetting to tell me her doctor was Taylor’s dad—pregnant brain, she called it—and my doubts are building. I hate feeling this way, but I’m at a total loss.
I’m almost at the point of asking the guys if they know anything, but that feels like a violation of our relationship. Of her trust. Which is kinda absurd, since I’m ninety-nine percent sure she’s lying to me.
Sliding my safety goggles back down, I shake off the negative thoughts fogging up my brain. This piece has a deadline, and these cuts have to be made to meet it, and distracted cutting leads to injury. No thanks.
I lose myself in my work for hours, measuring, marking, cutting, sanding. Again, and again and again. By the time I finish, the sun has long since set. I get so hyper focused when working that the outside world falls away, meaning I haven’t talked to Myla Rose at all today. Not even once. Fuck.
Scrambling around the shop, I finally locate my phone on one of my work benches. Only there’s no new notifications. Double fuck.
Unlocking my phone, I scroll as fast my fingers allow and dial Myla’s number. Thank God, her sleepy voice comes through after the second ring. “Hey there, babe.”
“Hey. Missed you today.”
“Missed you too.”
“Not to be that guy, but I was hoping to hear from you today . . .” I trail off, not wanting my agitation to upset her.
“I was so slammed at work today, and I remember you mentioning you had to get the piece you’ve been working on ready, so I figured you’d call me when you had time.”
Her voice is raspy from sleep, and even if she’s been lying to me, her words are a pang to my heart. “Fuck, darlin’. I’m sorry. Busy or not, I’ll make time for you. Know that.”
“Okay, Cash. Will you be mad if I go back to bed?”
“Not even a little. Sweet dreams, darlin’.” I end the call and make my way home, feeling a smidge lighter.
I didn’t sleep for shit last night. My mind was racing, all my thoughts centered on Myla Rose. Without bothering to check the time, I dial her number.
“Good morning, Mr. Carson,” she chirps into the phone. Love that my girl’s a morning person—after coffee, that is.
“G’morning to you too. You got another busy day?”
“Ugh, yes. We always get slammed right before summer really hits, then it slows down until fall.”
“Can’t wait for that slow time,” I tell her, imagining all the ways I could keep her occupied.
“Though I’ll probably stay busy, with little man coming in September.”
“True. Didn’t think of that. Well, I’m always here to help, darlin’. Any way I can.”
“Any way, huh? I can think of a few.” Yeah, me too.
“Why don’t you share some of those ways with me?”
“Oh, come now, a girl’s gotta have some mystery.” Her voice is laced with humor, but damn if her words don’t set me on edge. It’s her mystery that’s killing me. Like, I’m two seconds from going all Scooby-Doo on her ass.
“Guess that’s right. Well, I gotta get going, darlin’. Talk later. Love you.”
She releases a soft sigh. “Love you too, babe.”
It’s mid-morning when I finally give in to the urge to go see Myla Rose. I figure if I come bearing caffeine, I’ll be an extra-welcome sight. Add a quick kiss in, and it’ll hold me over until she’s off for the day.
Whistling a tune, I pop into Dream Beans and grab her favorite brew, pausing only to jot a little note on the side of her cup before dashing across the street to the salon.
The instant I open the door, I can sense something’s wrong. It’s like the air itself is charged. “Good morning, Miss Seraphine,” I say, my smile tight.
“Oh, C–Cash. H–hey! Is Myles expecting you?” She asks as she stands and dashes around the reception desk, placing herself between the main salon and me. Because that’s not suspicious behavior . . . not at all.
Gesturing down to the coffee in my hand, “No, ma’am. Planned on surprising her.”
“Right. Well . . . um. Lemme run and go get her?” She turns to go fetch Myla Rose, but I stop her movement with a gentle hand to her shoulder.
“I got it.”
“I really don’t mind. In fact, I insist.” I’m getting fed up with this song and dance really fast.
“Nope, I’m good.” I step around her before she can attempt to block me again. In the main salon area, Azalea is frozen mid-cut, staring at me with a look that wavers between fear and sympathy. What the fuck?
Myla Rose isn’t at her station, so I head toward the dispensary, but I don’t make it further than the entrance to the shampoo area.
Because right there, not even five feet away, my worst fucking nightmare is playing out in front of my very eyes. It’s like a goddamn train wreck. Even though I know the only end result is the carnage of my heart, I can’t look away. Not when my girl has her hands on his shoulders. Not when my g
irl is leaning into him like he’s all she’ll ever need.
This is Kayla and Kevin all over again, only a thousand times worse. This is my world not only shattering . . . no, it’s outright crumbling, disintegrating, and all that’ll be left is ashes.
I watch, rooted, unable to move as he pulls her closer. Her eyes catch mine over his shoulder. “Ca–Cash. N–no—” Her words are cut off by the press of his lips, hot and hard on hers, and goddamn if she doesn’t seem to melt into him like he isn’t the devil fucking incarnate. Like he isn’t a self-absorbed, piece of shit, broke-her-heart loser.
She finally pulls away from him, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth, before blinking up at me while still locked in his embrace. I hold her guilt-ridden eyes, totally frozen. Just like before, I didn’t see this shit coming, not from a mile away.
“Mmm, Myla, damn. I forgot how good you taste,” Taylor groans out, his voice chock-full of want and need.
I bolt, not wanting to stick around for her reply. I make a quicker than quick pit stop at her station, leaving her coffee and my heart. Because goddamn if it isn’t broken.
“Tell her I’m done and not to call,” I holler to whoever may be listening as I head straight back out the door and into my truck.
I slam the truck door before pounding my fist against the steering wheel a few times. How could I have been so stupid? Guess this explains her weird behavior—pregnancy mood swings, my ass. More like she was struggling to hide her ex from me.
I’m literally shaking with rage, far too unsteady to drive, but when I see her hauling ass toward my truck, shouting my name through her sobs along the way, I throw it in gear and floor it, leaving her and her bullshit excuses in my dust.
Not even two seconds after peeling out from Southern Roots, my phone starts ringing. I send the call to voicemail, not bothering to check who’s calling. I know who it is, and I have no desire to even hear her voice.
Because I know myself. I’m crushed by her, and she still owns my soul. The second I hear her voice, laden with tears, I’ll give in and believe whatever tale she spins.
