by LK Farlow
“Myles, do you want me to curl your hair?” Azalea asks as she plugs in my curling wand.
“God, yes. I’m not even thirty weeks, and getting ready makes me feel like I’ve run a damn marathon.”
“Well, sit down, sister-girl. Your shower is in less than two hours!”
Thirty minutes later, I’m primped and fluffed to Azalea’s liking. My long red locks float down my back in soft waves, and my makeup is light and tasteful, nothing more than a little eyeliner and lip gloss. Azalea says I glow enough all on my own, God love her.
“All right, time to go!” Azalea chirps as she shuffles me down the stairs and into Bertha. I swear, I think she’s more excited about my shower than I am. “I’ll follow you there. Drive safe!”
I walk in to Drake’s, and I’m immediately surrounded by all the people I hold near and dear, though as I make the rounds, I can’t help but notice Cash’s absence.
Knowing me just as well as she knows herself, AzzyJo pulls into the kitchen with Seraphine and Magnolia. “Myles, he’ll be here.”
“Why isn’t he already here?” My voice comes out high and screechy, even to my ears.
Seraphine wraps me in a hug, “Hun, chill. Your shower started like ten minutes ago. Give the man some time.”
While Mags doesn’t have much to add to the conversation, she clutches my hand in hers, giving it a quick, reassuring squeeze.
Twenty more minutes pass, and still, no Cash. Feeling dejected and miserable, I excuse myself to the washroom. “Get a grip, Myla Rose.” After splashing some cool water on my face, I make my way back out to the party.
I’m stopped in my tracks by the sight of Cash, dressed in a crisp gray button-down and dark-wash jeans, with his hair combed and gelled away from his face, standing next to my dream crib. It’s everything I could’ve ever imagined and then some. Instinctually, I know he built it, and damn if that doesn’t make me swoon.
With no hesitation, I rush to him, wrapping my arms around him, holding him tight. “I love you, Cash Carson. I’m not sure what I did to deserve you, but my Lord, I’m not gonna question it.”
He drops a kiss to my forehead and steps out of my embrace. “Speaking of questions, darlin’, I got one for you.” I gasp when he drops down to one knee. “Myla Rose McGraw, you are far and wide the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You’re the reason the sun rises and sets in my universe, and I need to know, darlin’ . . . will you do me the honor of allowing me to be your husband and that sweet little boy’s daddy?”
With tears streaming down my face, I nod and launch myself into his arms. “God, yes. Always yes. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”
“Love you too, darlin’. Both of you. Now and forever.”
Epilogue
Cash
I’ll never forget the way I felt watching Myla Rose walk down the aisle toward me. Time stood still. I was frozen, with my heart in my throat. Myla is beautiful seven days a week, but on our wedding day . . . she was fucking radiant. I’m talking a halo of light and a Hallelujah chorus surrounding her as she walked down the rose petal-strewn walkway.
I took my time, raking my eyes down her body from head to foot. Her red hair was spun up in a loose bun, and her lips were a juicy shade of peach. I couldn’t wait to find out if they tasted as good as they looked.
Her dress was off-white because she said she couldn’t wear white with her skin-tone, but what-the-fuck-ever—she’d look perfect in a paper sack. Either way, I just wanted her with my last name. Not gonna lie, though, it was the fit of the dress that had me feeling like I was gonna die, right there at the altar. The chiffon material clung to her ample chest and floated down her body, swooping over the bump that carried our son.
Our vows were filled with promises of love and trust and patience and to always put the other first, though we spoke them quietly, because they weren’t for everyone else. No, they were for us, and only us. Once we exchanged rings and were pronounced husband and wife, I gathered her up in my arms and kissed her like never before.
Our kiss was searing, branding, a promise of forever in and of itself.
When Myla Rose pulled back and looked at me with tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips, my heart felt like it was boomeranging around in my chest. She was just so damn beautiful. In that moment, I thought, life will surely never be better than this.
Well, I was wrong.
Because the birth of our son? Yeah, that’s right on up there with our wedding day. Brody Michael Carson—named Brody because Myla said he looked like one, and Michael so that he and I shared a middle name—came kicking and screaming into this world at eight A.M. on a Wednesday morning in late September. He weighed in at seven pounds, seven ounces and measured twenty-one inches long.
The first time I held him, my heart cracked. Not because it was broken, but because it was growing. That tiny baby boy became our whole world—I’m talking pure fucking perfection, swaddled in blue.
I don’t know what our future holds, but one thing I’m more than sure of is with Myla Rose and baby Brody by my side, anything is possible, and everything is coming up roses.
THE END
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Preview of An Uphill Battle
Continue reading for a sneak preview of Azalea & Drake’s story in An Uphill Battle.
Chapter One
Azalea
“When’re you gonna let me take you out?” Drake whispers huskily in my ear.
“What?” I ask, unable to believe what I’m hearing.
“You heard me, Little Bit.” He’s standing so close behind me that I can feel the heat radiating from his body. “Me. You.”
He pauses, sweeping my long hair to one side so that it cascades over my right shoulder, exposing my neck. “Dinner.” He says the words against my skin, causing my entire body to tremble.
I want so badly to say yes. To spin and face him and throw myself into his waiting arms. But I’m too scared, so I stand there, mute and unmoving. Because deep down, I know this isn’t real.
Deep down, I know I’m not this lucky.
Deep down, I know that the man I’ve loved since we were kids couldn’t possibly be here with me, asking me out. I mean, he’s had seven years to make his move—so why now?
“Don’t ignore me, Azalea. I know you want this.” He presses his lips to my neck, peppering it with barely-there kisses. “I know you want me. You already know how good we are together, but we could be so much more. We could have everything. Say it, Bit. Say ‘yes.’”
His words echo in my mind—Say yes. Say yes. Say yes—and I brace myself to turn and face him. I’m gonna do this. I’m gonna say yes to the man of my dreams, and I’m going to claim the future I’ve imagined since I was thirteen years old.
But when I turn, he’s gone. I’m wholly and completely alone. One tear falls. Then another.
With a jolt, I wake from what’s both the best and worst dream I’ve ever had, my cheeks wet with tears. “Shoulda known it wasn’t real,” I tell myself sadly as I roll over to check the time. With my alarm set for eight, and seven forty-five flashing at me from the clock display, I may as well start my day.
Even though I’d love nothing more than to rewind back to the beginning of that dream and tell Dream-Drake off for once again getting my hopes up, I know that’s not possible. So, a steaming hot shower and a veggie omelet will have to do.
On my way out the door, my phone pings with an incoming text. I know from the notification sound that it’s my bestie and business partner, Myla Rose. She’s been my person since we met in third grade. We clicked instantly and never once looked back.
Nestling into the buttery leather seat of my Z4, I slide my phone from my bag and read her text.
Myla Rose: Do you work today?
Me: You know it, why? Bored on your maternity leave?
Myla Rose: Not even a little. But B-Man and I will be by this afternoon to look at my schedul
e.
Knowing that I’m going to see Myla and her sweet baby pushes the stupid Drake dream from my mind—mostly, like seventy-five percent of the way—and turns my frown one hundred percent upside down. There’s nothing sweet baby cuddles can’t fix. Seriously. Don’t believe me? Try it.
Unfortunately, on the drive over to Southern Roots—the salon I own with Myla Rose—my dream creeps back to the forefront of my thoughts. My mind plays tricks on me, dangling my deepest desires right in front of my face, and I hate it. I especially hate the way I read into things with Drake that totally aren’t there. Sometimes, when we’re together, it truly feels like he wants more. He says all the right things, but only when we’re in bed—which is how I know he’s just caught up in the moment, and not in me.
I spend my time between my morning clients waffling between checking the time and obsessing over my stupid dream. Around three in the afternoon, I break for lunch, determined to put that man out of my mind because Lord knows, I already spend too much time thinking about him.
After scarfing down a blueberry scone at Dream Beans, I head back over to the salon, even though I’m technically done for the day, because there’s no way I’m missing out on some sweet baby snuggles. Like heat-seeking missiles, my eyes immediately land on Brody snuggled into the shoulder of our newest stylist. His chubby little face rests peacefully beneath hers, his little fingers grasping at the tips of her long, blonde hair. Five minutes pass, and then ten, and as sweet as Magnolia is, I kind of want to cut her for stealing so much of his time.
“Is it my turn to hold him yet?” I ask, practically green with envy as Magnolia strokes her fingers through his wispy curls.
“Maybe in a minute or two,” she answers in that small, soft voice of hers. She’s amazing at what she can do with color, but she has baggage for miles and is as skittish as a newborn foal.
“Ugh!” I stomp my foot, causing her to flinch a little. “That’s what you said five minutes ago! Good Lord, don’t you have an appointment or something?” My words are harsh, but there’s no heat behind them. Magnolia’s so damn sweet, I can’t imagine anyone ever actually being cross with her.
Our receptionist, Seraphine, laughs. “And ten minutes again before that, baby hog. And to answer your question, AzzyJo, nope. Her next appointment isn’t until five.”
Brody lets out a soft sigh, and Magnolia follows suit, a small, somewhat smug smile painting her lips. “I can’t help it. He’s so sweet and snuggly, and he smells like a dream. Y’all just don’t know.”
“You’re right,” I deadpan, “we don’t. Hand him over.” I walk to her, holding my arms out, and praise be, she places the bundle of joy in my arms. Things were on the verge of getting ugly.
Well, that’s a stretch, but I would’ve told Myla, that’s for sure. I hear the salon door chime, but I’m too busy loving on Little Man to pay a lick of attention, and plus, Myla Rose is up front straightening out her schedule for when she comes back to work, and she can greet anyone who walks in.
“Oh, you are so sweet,” I coo in Brody’s ear. “Such a handsome little man.”
“Someone talking ‘bout me?” I spin in place and find Drake standing behind me, watching me with a sexy smirk playing on his lips—the same lips that were offering me the world in my dream.
“Ha! You wish, asshole.” Shit! I gotta learn to watch my mouth around Brody. Don’t want his first word being one with four letters.
“Nah. Don’t gotta wish. I know.”
“You are so cocky, it’s absurd.”
“Only absurd thing here is the way you fight your feelings.”
I scoff and press my face into Brody’s neck, effectively hiding the emotions I know are dancing across my face. Because, cocky asshole or not, he’s right. I am fighting my feelings for him. Not that I’ll ever admit it to him. Lord knows, he’d gloat for an eternity.
“Oh, please. Get real.”
“You want me to get real, Bit? Okay, I’ll get real.” He saunters toward me. One step. Two steps. Three steps, and he’s all up in my personal space, his delicious earthy scent surrounding me like a warm blanket. “You want me, but you’re so damn hung up in the past that you don’t know up from down and left from right.
“I know you have trust issues. I know you think I’m a player. But I also know that deep down, you know better. I know we could be good together, Bit.” My heart stutters at his words, so similar to what he said to me in my dream. Drake pauses and presses his lips to my cheek, just below the corner of my eye. His kiss is featherlight, but I feel it all the way to the depths of my soul.
With his lips still hovering, he whispers, “So fucking good.” I’m frozen. Completely immobile. I just stand there, staring at him, clutching baby Brody to my chest. Taking a few steps back from me, he asks, “That real enough for you, Bit?” But before I answer him or determine his sincerity, he pivots and walks out the door.
Dumbstruck, I lower myself into my salon chair. “Well, that was . . . intense,” Seraphine says as she plucks Brody from my arms. I’m too shell-shocked to put up a fuss.
“He’s fighting dirty. That bastard.”
“Girl, you need to give that man a chance. You know he’ll love you right.”
I sigh. “I’m sure he would, until he wouldn’t. Drake isn’t the kind of man to settle down with one woman. He likes . . . variety.”
Tucking her coppery-red curls behind her ear, Myla Rose snorts out a laugh as she steps into the main salon area. “Do you even hear yourself? Drake has been hung up on you for going on eight years now.”
“Childbirth has obviously made you insane, Myles. Is Drake attracted to me? Yes, duh. Does Drake want me? Sure, he does. Preferably on my back, and therein lies the problem. Drake wants me as a casual hookup, and I’m not down for that.”
I finish my little rant, only to find three sets of eyes all looking at me with the same expression—the one that says I’m the insane one.
Seraphine is the first to speak up. “AzzyJo, we love you. We totally do, but you’re wrong.”
I shake my head, ready to argue that they don’t know what I know. They don’t know about our hookups—yes, that’s right, hookups, plural, as in more than one. They don’t know that we’re drawn to one another like magnets or that when we’re together, we combust into an uncontrollable inferno.
They also don’t know that every time we’re together, I swear it’ll be the last time because every time, he never asks for more. No, Drake Collins and I aren’t meant to be anything more than bedmates.
Hell, if I was smarter . . . stronger . . . we wouldn’t even be that. Because while there aren’t any strings on his part, there’s an entire web of them on mine, and my heart’s right in the center of it, mercilessly tangled up in feelings for him that run so deep, I know I’ll be irreparably broken when he moves on to whoever will weave her web around his heart.
“No, Azalea.” Myla Rose speaks up before I get the chance to set the record straight. “That man loves you. Quit hiding under all your BS excuses, and you’ll see it too.”
Love? Drake loves me. Hah! Laughable. Truly laughable. I’m still snorting with laughter when I feel a hand come down lightly on my shoulder.
I lift my gaze to see Magnolia at my side. “He does. I can see it. I may not know much about anything, but I can see his feelings for you. He all but wears them on his sleeve.” She sucks in a deep breath and continues, “Y–you can tell a lot by a person’s eyes, and if a man ever looked at me the way Drake looks at you, I’d count my lucky stars and stripes, because that’s the kinda stuff fairy tales are made of.”
“As much as I appreciate y’all’s input and opinions, I need to know what Kool-Aid y’all are sippin’ so I can steer clear.”
“Stubborn as a damn mule,” Myla Rose mutters under her breath, causing us all to dissolve in another fit of giggles. “On another topic—Azalea, can you watch Brody next weekend? I’m six weeks postpartum this week, and Cash has big plans for us,” she says, waggling
her brows. “If you know what I mean.”
“We do,” Seraphine assures her, “but we don’t wanna know.”
I grab my phone from my station and check my calendar. “Should be fine. My house or yours?”
“Mine. Cash got us a room at the Grand!”
“Sounds good, sister-girl.” I offer her a wide smile, even though I’m dying a little on the inside. Don’t get me wrong, I’m so damn happy for Myla Rose. She deserves all the good things and then some. But I want a love like hers, and I just don’t think it’s in the cards for me. Not when the man I love doesn’t love me back. “Hate to dash, ladies, but I need to get going. Mom wants me to meet her and Pops for dinner.”
I breeze through the doors of Trattoria, our favorite little Italian bistro, at half past five on the dot. The hostess waves to me as I beeline past her, straight toward our usual table, where both my mom and Pops stand to greet me.
“Azalea, dear, how’ve you been?” my mother asks me with a kiss on the cheek.
“Mom, you saw me yesterday. We spoke on the phone earlier today. And we’ve been texting.”
“Still. A mother likes to know.”
“Know what?” I can’t help but laugh. “Not much has changed in the last two hours.”
“Not much? Not much! That means something’s changed.” My mother, God bless her. Beverly Bishop Barnes is more of a s’mother than mother, but I wouldn’t trade her for all the gold in the world.
“Bevvy, leave the girl be,” my stepfather admonishes her, only to start in on me as well. “So, any gentleman suitors?”
Choking on my sip of ice water, it takes me a full two minutes to regain my composure. “Jesus, Pops, who talks like that?”
He looks downright affronted. “Talks like what?”
