by LK Farlow
My phone rings again and again, leading me to power it down. “Focus on the facts,” I chide myself as regret trickles in for not answering her call.
“She’s been keeping shit from you. Every damn time you give your heart to someone, they tear it to shreds.” My bitter ramblings last the entire drive back to my house, though I don’t stay there long because everywhere I look is a memory of her.
In the short time we’ve been together, there’s not a part of my life she hasn’t touched. She’s met my entire family, minus my mom. She’s scattered pictures of us all throughout my house and hers. Shit, she even brought one of her Grams’ quilts over here to keep a piece of the woman who raised her close when she sleeps here.
Fed the fuck up with my warring emotions, I stomp back to my truck, and I just drive. Everywhere and nowhere. I drive for hours upon hours until finally landing at my workshop. Here, maybe I’ll find the peace I need. Myla Rose has never stepped foot into this space, and thank God for it, because throwing myself into work may be the only way to scrub my brain of the events of the day.
I flip on the overheads, as well as my spotlights, only to come face-to-face with the crib I poured my blood, sweat, tears, heart, and soul into. “FUCK!” I roar before throwing a tarp over it. “Out of sight, out of mind.” I repeat the mantra a few times before beginning the actual build of the project I’ve been working on.
With each swing of the hammer, a new emotion fights for control.
Sadness—swing. Anger—swing. Guilt—swing. Rage—swing. Jealousy—swing. Again and again, until my mind’s a mess and the piece is complete.
Too tired to drive home, I pass out on the small couch in my even smaller office.
Done. I’m done.
39
Myla Rose
I can’t breathe. I’m gasping, but I can’t breathe. My heart is lodged in my throat, effectively cutting off my air.
Watching Cash’s taillights, my brain keeps replaying the events that led me here, knowing deep down that this pain, this ache, is a byproduct of my own stupidity.
I woke up sporting the same perma-smile I’ve had since meeting Cash, and it only got brighter when his name flashed across my phone screen as I sipped from my second cup of coffee. Even though our call was brief, his voice was just what I needed to put me at ease about Kathy Mills being on my book today. That’s just one more secret I’ve been keeping. Cash has no clue I’m still doing her hair, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him.
When I walk into the salon, I’m met with the normal hustle and bustle of the day, but there’s also a chill in the air. Upon closer inspection, the smiles AzzyJo and Seraphine are wearing look forced—contrite, even. “What’s good this morning?” I ask to cut the tension.
“Not much, Myles,” Seraphine says with a small shrug. “Please know I tried to stop him.”
Her words have me on a wire’s edge, and the second I round the partition to my station, I see the problem. My chair is occupied by none other than my ex. Why the fuck . . .
“Myla, Myla, Myla. Shame on you for keeping me waiting. You know how I feel about promptness.”
Gaping at him, I hiss, “Why are you in—my—chair?”
“Use your deductive reasoning skills, doll face.” I pale at the use of his pet name for me, words I’d have gladly paid a million times over to never hear again. Taylor lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Obviously, I need a haircut, Myla. And we need to talk.”
“We have absolutely nothing to talk about,” I bite out, my hands on my hips. “Less than nothing.” I turn to walk away from him, but he reaches out and roughly grabs my wrist. His grip is hard, unrelenting. “LET ME GO!” I shout at him.
“Myla, really. You’re making a scene.” With his grip still firm on my arm, he all but drags me toward the shampoo area. “Shut your damn mouth.”
With more bravery than I feel, I bark at him, “Thought you wanted a haircut?”
He lets out a cruel laugh. “Like I’d trust you to cut my hair. No, I’m here for us to talk.” He tugs me further into the room, away from listening ears. “Well, I’ll talk. You’ll listen. Do what I’m saying, and maybe I won’t take that baby from you.”
Jerking back as if he’s dealt a physical blow, my eyes glisten with unshed tears. Resigned, I stand quietly and listen to the bullshit he spews. He still has a tight hold on my wrist, and the more agitated he becomes, the harder he jerks me around by it.
I place my free arm to his chest to push him away, but he only pulls me closer. Muttering on and on about nothing. I think he’s lost it. I glance up, hoping to be able to signal to Azalea to call someone.
Instead, I see Cash’s eyes glaring down at me, clouding over with hurt. Next thing I know, Taylor’s sealing his lips to mine, and I can’t seem to get him off me.
With great effort, I remove his lips from mine. Cash looks murderous. “Mmm, Myla, damn. I forgot how good you taste.” I move my eyes from Cash to Taylor, shocked at his vulgar words, and by the time I look back to Cash, he’s gone.
All I had to do was talk to him. Open up about Taylor’s texts and come to him with honesty. Instead, I lied, and now he’s gone. How can someone live without their heart?
I’m still standing frozen on the sidewalk in front of the salon when Drake’s truck slides into the spot where Cash’s had just been. “Myles, I came as soon as Azalea called.” His words are cautious, and he approaches me warily. “Are you okay?”
“Please make him leave.” My voice breaks as I fall to my knees on the sidewalk. I can only imagine the way this looks to the townsfolk milling about—pregnant and having an emotional breakdown on the side of the street in broad daylight. I have no one to blame but myself.
“C’mon, Myles, let’s getcha up off the ground.”
“No! I’m not stepping foot in there until he is gone.”
Without another word, Drake is off like a shot toward the salon. Several moments later, he stalks back out, all but dragging Taylor kicking and screaming behind him.
“Get your filthy hands off me!”
“If you don’t want my hands on you, then don’t come ‘round where you ain’t wanted.” Drake accentuates his words with a shove to Taylor’s chest. “Get gone, and stay gone.”
“Please, Myla doesn’t really want me to go.” He sniffs, squaring his shoulders. “It’s painfully obvious that her dalliance with that piece of trash was nothing more than a cry for my attention, and her lips on mine further proved it.”
“So help me God, if you ever touch her again . . . and that ‘piece of trash’ is ten times the man you could ever hope to be,” Drake tosses back, crowding Taylor’s space.
“Yeah, so much of a man that he ran off, leaving her all alone, with me.” Turning my way, Taylor drops down to his haunches and grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Guess he’s just not that into you, baby do—”
Before that wretched nickname can pass his lips, Drake has him pinned on his back. “Say one more word to her, and I swear I will end you. Now, do as I said. Get gone and stay gone.” Drake stands and extends a hand down as if to help Taylor up, and stupidly, Taylor accepts it. Once upright, Drake shoves him hard toward his little Mercedes coupe. Thankfully, Taylor seems to have gotten the message and gets into his car, speeding off away from us.
“C’mon, Myles, he’s gone. Let’s get you inside.” I allow Drake to pull me up off the ground and guide me with a hand at the small of my back. I’m too humiliated to meet anyone’s stare—and my God, are they staring. There’s a small crowd of looky-loos gathered along the opposite side of the street, and Seraphine and Azalea are standing out front. The only person not accounted for is Magnolia, who turns up once we all head inside.
“Sister-girl, are you okay?” Azalea sweeps me into a tight hug, rocking me as she holds me.
“No. Not at all,” I tell her honestly. She walks me over to my station, supporting me as I lower myself into my chair.
“Everything’ll be okay, Myles.
Just you wait and see.” Bless her heart. I know Seraphine is just trying to be positive, but it only stands to make me feel worse. This is my fault. I broke us.
Snatching up the coffee Cash left, I notice there’s something written on the side of the cup.
Darlin’-
The only thing hotter than this coffee is you.
Love you, C-
My breath catches and a new round of tears starts, causing the girls and Drake to spring into action. Azalea gently pries the now cooled beverage away from me. Seraphine retreats to the front desk, where she starts calling the rest of my clients for the day and rescheduling them. Magnolia busies herself at her station, trying to stay out of the way.
And Drake—thank God for Drake. He scoops me up and takes me home. He even carries me from his truck to my room and tucks me in. “I know it seems real bad right now, Myles. But just you wait. Shit has a way of getting sorted, and if I know Cash, he’ll pull his head outta his ass and get this fixed. That man loves you. Now sleep, and I’ll send Little Bit over when I get back to the salon.” He drops a quick kiss to my forehead before retreating the way he came.
I’m out cold when I feel the bed dip behind me. For a second, my heart soars, thinking Cash is here, but my hope quickly deflates when Azalea’s soft scent surrounds me. “It’ll be okay, Myla, I promise,” I hear her say, and then I’m drifting back to sleep.
40
Cash
The sound of someone pounding on the shop door wakes me. And goddamn if this isn’t déjà vu. Only instead of an angry Kayla on the other side of the door, I find an even angrier Simon.
Disoriented from a night of restless sleep, I’m in no shape to deal with this shit. I attempt to shut the door, not caring one bit that I’m being rude, but Simon isn’t having it. With the force of ten linemen, Simon knocks me back with his shoulder to my chest.
“You sorry motherfucker,” he yells as we tumble to the ground. On the floor, he easily pins me. “I. Fucking. Told. You,” he clips out, reinforcing each word with jarring shakes, slamming my upper body into the concrete floor.
“The hell are you mad at me for?” I demand, shoving him off me. Jumping to my feet, I put my workbench between us. “Your girl’s the one you should be talking to.”
“My girl? Thought she was yours? Thought you loved her? Thought you were good for her. What a goddamn joke.” His fists are clenched, knuckles white from the sheer force of holding himself back.
“How are you coming at me with this? No. This is on Myla Rose.”
“The fuck you say?” Simon advances, working his way around the bench.
“Seems to me she wanted to string me along as Plan B if shit didn’t bounce back with Taylor,” I tell him, my hurt coating each word like a poison.
“Are you that dumb? You can’t seriously be that—”
“You bust into my goddamn workshop and have the balls to call me ignorant? Get out. The facts speak louder than whatever lies you’re here to tell. Just get the fuck out, and tell Myla I’ll drop her shit off later.”
“Guess you are that dumb. Just know you’re pissing away the best thing you’ve ever had over shit you don’t understand.” This whole time, I’ve been waiting for him to deck me like I know he wants to. And deep down, maybe I’m looking for a fight too. So I’m more than a little let down when Simon turns to leave without so much as a backward glance.
As my fight leaves my body, exhaustion crashes down hard. I stagger back to the couch and drop down onto it before falling back into the same restless slumber.
When I come to God knows how many hours later, I realize I never turned my phone back on. Patting around the couch and my pockets, it’s nowhere to be found. The truck—it’s in the truck.
Scrambling up from the couch, I rush out and plug my phone into the car charger before powering it back up. Mad and hurt or not, I want to know she’s okay.
My phone takes what feels like forever to power up, and when it does, I’m bombarded with texts and missed call alerts from damn near everyone I know.
Sixteen missed calls from Myla Rose.
Four missed calls from Southern Roots.
Two missed calls from Drake.
One missed call from Simon.
Three from an unknown number.
Two from my brother and one from my mom—I really hope those are unrelated.
Swiping away the missed calls, I toggle over to my voicemail app, skipping the text messages altogether. Thirteen new voicemails, eight from Myla. Pressing play on the first one from her, I sink back into the seat, trying my hardest to safeguard my heart.
“C–Cash.” The break in her voice just about kills me, “P–please call m–me. I–it’s not wh–what you think.” Being the glutton for punishment I am, I listen to the rest of her messages, each one less coherent than the one before it, with the final one being nothing more than the sound of her tears.
My heart is shattered, and the pain in her voice is digging splinters right into my chest. I throw my phone down to the passenger floorboard without checking the other voicemails or texts because this shit is messing with my head. What right does she have to be upset? This is her fault. She’s nothing more than a fucking cheater, just like Kayla, and it’ll serve me well to remember that.
41
Myla Rose
My mom abandoning me? Yeah, it hurt, but eventually, I realized I was better off without her. My Grams passing away gutted me, but deep down, I knew she was in a better place. Taylor leaving me when that test came up positive tore my heart to shreds, but I found a way to paste it back together and came out stronger for it.
Cash shutting me out? Yeah, no. There is no positive spin, just a whole lotta pain, regret, and sorrow. Oh, and anger, too. Though that’s directed mostly at myself.
“Myles, let’s go, time to get up,” Azalea says as she ties back my curtains and raises the blinds.
Immediately, I pull the duvet over my head to block out the light. What business does the sun have shining when my world is so, so dark? “C’mon, sister-girl. It’s been four days. It’s time to get it together.”
“Nope. I’m fine right here, thank you very much.”
“You say that, but you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. Myles, you need a shower. You need to eat real food—if not for you, then for the baby. And Lord knows, you need to go rescue sweet Magnolia from your clients.”
“Just go, Az. I’ll rejoin the world tomorrow.” I burrow further under the covers. “Yeah, tomorrow sounds good. Promise”
“No, ma’am. TODAY!” She rips the duvet from my body, leaving it in a heap on the floor before repeating the action with the sheets. “Get up, Myles, I mean it. I’ll go start you a shower.”
Opting to take the path of least resistance, I follow her. I can always get back in bed after my shower.
Standing under the hot spray, I can’t help but cry. “You okay, Myles?”
“No,” I choke out. “I just . . . I miss him.”
“I know you do. Have you heard from him?” Her question causes my tears to fall faster, harder.
“N–no. He’s finished with me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I do, and I deserve it. If there’s one thing Cash hates, it’s a cheater, which he thinks I am. I brought this on myself.”
“Oh, Myla—”
“No, don’t you ‘Oh, Myla’ me. I did this. I broke us, and you’re right, I need to stop wallowing. Crying hasn’t ever once changed shit, and it’s certainly not going to now.”
Azalea’s cheeks split into a wide smile. “You opened your mouth, and Grams came out, girl. Because that sounded exactly like what she’d tell you.”
At that, I smile. My first post-Cash smile—something I wasn’t sure was possible. Feeling a little stronger, I shut off the water and wrap myself in a fluffy towel. “Wanna grab something to eat?”
“Sister-girl, I thought you’d never ask.”
After getting dressed, Azalea ushers me do
wn the stairs and into the passenger seat of her little BMW Z4—a graduation gift from her mom and pops.
“Where are we going?”
“Late lunch and a movie. We gotta get your mind off he-who-shall-not-be-named.”
Through my laughter I tell her, “While I appreciate the effort, you can say his name. We share friends, and I don’t want y’all walking around on eggshells around me, okay?”
“You’re stronger than me, Myles, that’s for damn sure.”
We spend the rest of the drive in a comfortable silence—me lost in my thoughts, and Azalea, well, Lord only knows why she’s being so quiet.
I don’t realize I’ve nodded off until Azalea puts the car in park. “Come on, we’re here.”
I take a few moments to get my bearings and realize she’s driven us across the bay. “Why’re we in Mobile?”
“Thought a change of scenery would be nice, and this restaurant is supposed to be to die for.”
“Can’t argue with that,” I tell her as she links her arm with mine, leading me toward the little bistro. It’s unseasonably cool for June, so we opt to sit on the patio. Over the course of lunch, AzzyJo tries to distract my muddled brain and hurt heart with small talk, but it’s no use. Cash Carson is so embedded into my heart that thoughts of him flow through my veins.
“Myla Rose, have you heard a word I said?”
“Honestly? No.” I feel bad, but . . .
She lets out a frustrated huff. “I give up. Obviously, talking isn’t the answer. So, let’s move on to the distraction portion of our day. What movie you wanna see?”
“What’s playing?” Azalea whips out her phone and pulls up the show times before sliding it across the table to me. I scan the list twice over before settling on the new Pirates of the Caribbean movie. Johnny and Orlando aren’t a cure-all, but they’re something good, and that’s good enough.
