An Uphill Battle (The Southern Roots Series Book 2)

by LK Farlow

Once we’re seated, Simon bursts out laughing. “At least you let ’er down easy, Cash.”

  “Dude, at least she stepped down. Some girls don’t care one bit.”

  I sit silently—hiding behind my menu, obsessing over Azalea—while Cash and Simon talk up a damn storm. They talk about everything, from Simon’s students trying to prank him to Cash swearing up and down that Brody said “Da-Da” yesterday. I’m torn from my thoughts when our waitress comes by to take our order.

  “Hey there, fellas, my name’s Kasey, and I’m gonna be takin’ care of y’all this afternoon. Can I start y’all off with a craft beer or maybe a sweet tea?”

  Cash orders a Coke, Simon a draft Heineken, and I guess I must’ve drifted back into my pity party, because next thing I know, I feel a hand on my shoulder. “And what about you, sweetie?”

  “Oh, uh . . .” I stumble over my words. “Lemme get an ice water for now.”

  “You betcha, and be sure to let me know if I can get you anything else.” Kasey turns and saunters off, her full hips swaying from side to side.

  “Hey, D,” Simon says, elbowing me in the ribs. “You be sure to let her know if you need something. Anything.” He cracks up at his own joke, but all I offer him is a blank stare. “Oh my God, enough with it, Sir-Sulks-A-Lot. Pull your man-panties out of your ass and get your shit together.” I’m guessing someone—presumably Myla Rose—filled him and Cash in on what happened with Azalea.

  I shake my head at him because he just doesn’t get it. “I know you don’t get how I’m feelin’, Simon, but one day, you will, and I can’t friggin’ wait.”

  “Look, I don’t mean any disrespect, but . . .” He pauses, feeling me out, and I nod for him to continue. “I know you’ve been into Azalea since practically the dawn of time, but, brother, at some point, you gotta know when to cut your losses.”

  “You really think so?” I ask, my gut churning with unease.

  Simon opens his mouth to answer me but snaps it shut when we hear a burst of familiar feminine laughter from the sidewalk. Turning, we’re all met with the sight of Myla Rose, Seraphine, Magnolia, and Azalea as they stroll past. My eyes cling to Azalea, to the wide, carefree smile gracing her face. She looks so damn happy and light—like she didn’t rip apart any chance we had together. Like she doesn’t even fucking care. The fact that she’s so unaffected by everything that went down between us has my heart feeling like it’s weighted with lead.

  We all look on, tracking them, watching as Azalea exaggeratedly gestures toward a group of guys jogging down the other side of the street, Magnolia and Seraphine nodding vigorously.

  I watch on in shock and anger as she blatantly checks them out, damn-near drooling. Once the girls are out of sight, Simon speaks up. “Yeah, Drake, I really think so.”

  “Now, hold on,” Cash interjects. “You don’t know—”

  “Don’t know what?” I demand. “Don’t know that she’s smilin’ and carrying on like she hasn’t got a care in the world?” I laugh, low and angry. “What I do know far outweighs what I don’t. And everything points to me needing to move on. Clearly, she’s not losin’ any sleep over this shit, so why should I?” Simon and Cash exchange a worried look while anger and hurt churn in my gut.

  I’m pulled from the chaos that is my mind when our waitress, Kasey, reappears to take our orders. “What’ll you boys be havin’ today?”

  Simon orders a cheeseburger and fries, and Cash gets an order of smoked buffalo wings. “And how ’bout you? What’d you like?” Kasey asks me, popping her hip to the side.

  “Lemme get . . .” My words trail off and I take a minute to really look at little miss Kasey, with her caramel-colored skin and her wide blue eyes. I start at her feet, appreciating the way her legs and hips look in her tight khaki shorts, and how her raven-colored hair hangs just long enough to dust the tops of her breasts. All-in-all, she’s not bad. Quite a looker, really, and most importantly, she’s Azalea’s polar opposite. “Lemme get whatever you think is best. You look like a woman with good taste.” The words taste bitter in my mouth, but Azalea wasted no time moving on, so why should I?

  “I recommend our BBQ pork nachos,” Kasey tells me, a crimson blush staining her cheeks.

  “Kasey,” I tell her, holding her eyes. Eyes that I’ll never be able to get lost in because they’re like deep pools and not vast forests. “That sounds perfect.” She jots my order down with a little wink before she dashes away.

  “Dude, the hell are you doing?” Cash asks, his fists clenched tight, resting on the table.

  “Look, AzzyJo’s made it perfectly clear where things between us stand, and I’m not gonna sit around and wallow, feelin’ sorry for myself when she certainly isn’t.”

  “Clear?” Cash snorts. “Clear as mud, maybe.”

  Simon regards us over the rim of his glass. “Well, I think it’s a great idea. You’ve been wrapped around Azalea’s little finger for almost a decade. I mean, hell, you’ve dated—what? Three other girls in that span, and not a one of them was anything serious. Don’t think any but Kelly have met your parents, and Brent is who introduced her, not you. So do you, brother. See what’s out there—fish in the sea and all that jazz.”

  Before any of us can say anything else, Kasey approaches our table, expertly balancing the tray holding our food. “Here you boys go. Gimme a holler if y’all need anything else.” She sets a stack of napkins in the center of the table before pulling a folded one from her apron. With a shy look, she slides that napkin just under the edge of my plate and murmurs, “And you gimme a holler anytime, sweetie.”

  She saunters away, and Cash lets out a harsh exhale. “Let the record show that I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

  “Noted,” I tell him. “Now, let’s eat.”

  21

  Azalea

  I don’t remember getting in my bed last night, or even getting home, but nevertheless, it’s where I wake up. My head is pounding, and my mouth feels like it’s been stuffed with a million cotton balls. I try to sit up, only to be overcome with an aching wave of dizziness.

  Retreating to the safety of my fluffy covers and pillow, I snuggle down and will away the feelings of sickness. And it works until the events that led me to this predicament start to trickle in. Drake with Kelly. The stranger at the bar. Hitting on Brent. Drake telling me to go home. Kelly at his house. And then I’m dashing from the bed to the bathroom, where I hit my knees and pray at the altar of regret.

  “Never drinkin’ again,” I mumble to the empty room, my head resting on top of my hands on top of the toilet seat.

  “Sure, sure,” comes Myla Rose’s voice from behind me, causing me to jump and smack my head on the cabinet next to me.

  “Holy bologna! Where’d you come from?”

  She grabs a washcloth from my linen closet and dampens it at the sink before placing it against my forehead. “Magnolia let me in.”

  Peeling the cloth back, I give her a blank stare. She sighs and shakes her head at me. “Yes, Az, Magnolia. You had quite the night last night, and thankfully, she was able to come over here and sit with you. How much of what happened do you remember?”

  “Now? Pretty much all of it. Ugh.” I drop my head back down onto my hands and let the tears fall. Myla Rose crouches down and rubs my back for a few minutes before she straightens back up and starts the shower.

  “Let it all out, sister-girl, then get showered and meet us downstairs. You didn’t let me sit around and sulk, and I’m not about to let you.”

  “Us?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Mags and Seraphine are currently laid out on your couch watching some Netflix Original about two brothers and their ranch. Now, dry up them tears and get ready. We have plans.”

  I go through the motions of getting ready—tossing my hair into a messy bun and applying a light dusting of makeup with the grace of muscle memory. Thankfully, Myles laid out clothes for me, because God knows, I don’t have the energy to care what I look like. I’d probably end up throwing
something together that screamed heartbreak and remorse.

  As ready as I’ll ever be, I trudge down the steps and into my living room, where Myla Rose, Seraphine, and Magnolia are all waiting for me. “Oh, good, you’re ready!” Myla exclaims when she notices me. “I’ve only got a babysitter for so long, so let’s go!”

  “Where’re we going?” I ask, slightly nervous, because the chance of running into Drake in a town the size of Dogwood is pretty darn high.

  “Don’t worry, AzzyJo. Drake’s with the guys.” Swear to God, Myla Rose has telepathy, because that girl can read my mind.

  We all gather up our purses and sweaters and pile into Myla Rose’s beast of a Land Cruiser and head off to wherever she’s taking us. “Hey, Myles, where’d you say we were going?”

  “I didn’t.” I catch her eye in the rearview mirror, and she just smirks. I hate surprises, and she freaking knows it. Lovely.

  Ten minutes later, we’re pulling into the small parking lot for our “downtown” area—and I use that term loosely, because “downtown” is about two blocks in the middle of town, sprinkled with a handful of boutiques, a couple of restaurants, Dream Beans—our favorite coffee shop—and Southern Roots, our salon.

  “So, now ya wanna tell me what we’re doing?” I ask as we collectively make our way down Main Street.

  “I figured we could do a little retail therapy and grab lunch. Nothing crazy, just some girl time.”

  “That sounds perfect, Myles,” I tell her, linking my arm through hers. We make our way into one of my favorite boutiques, and I’m immediately drawn to the most stunning cardinal red maxi. It has a deep vee and long, belled sleeves with a cinched waist. Seraphine notices me admiring it and tells me I have to try it on.

  “I want to, but I–I can’t.”

  “Sister-girl,” Myla Rose says, walking over, “red is your color.” Seraphine nods vigorously.

  “I know, but now it just reminds me of . . . him. The last two times things went wrong for us, I was wearing a red dress.” I duck my head, hating how pathetic I sound. “Stupid, I know.”

  Myla Rose wraps her arms around me and squeezes tight while Seraphine tells me, “You can’t stay sad forever.”

  “I know, I know. But this is still so fresh.”

  Magnolia, who has been watching us, speaks up. “I’ve found that the best way to overcome things is to face them head-on. The longer you let fear and regret control you, the harder it is to break free.”

  Her words spark something in me, because dammit, she’s right. I grab my size and march directly to the register. This dress is meant for me, and I don’t plan on wearing it until Drake is mine once again. Because one way or another, I’m going to make him see that we’re meant to be together. No matter how long it takes.

  After I check out and the clerk wraps and packages my purchase, we’re out the door and on our way to grab a bite to eat. We pause outside Buster’s for Myla Rose to check her phone, and across the street, I notice a group of guys jogging, and one of them has what has to be the cutest pug in existence trotting dutifully beside him at his feet.

  I nod toward the pup, smiling, and Seraphine and Magnolia spot him instantly, both cooing over how damn cute he is. I swear, I can see his little pug underbite from clear across the street. The three of us stare after the little guy until he’s out of sight.

  “The heck are y’all lookin’ at?” Myla Rose asks, stowing her cell in her purse.

  “You totally just missed the cutest doggy ever. He was a little chunk of a pug.”

  “Seriously, Myles, he was preshy!” I roll my eyes at Seraphine and her newfound tendency to shorten words.

  “I’ve been tryin’ to talk Cash into a dog for Brody. Every boy needs a dog.”

  “Every boy grows up to be a dog.” I cough into my fist.

  “Your jaded is showing,” Myla Rose fires back as she smacks me upside my head.

  “Yeah, yeah. We can’t all have the fairy tale you do.”

  “You can. All y’all can and will. Swear it. Your man is out there, and when you meet him—or, in your case, Azalea, when y’all pull your heads out your asses—you’ll know, and it will be every bit as magical as what I have with Cash.” Seraphine and I shoot her a dubious look, and poor Mags looks downright terrified. “Trust me, ladies. It’s not always easy, and you’ll both make plenty of mistakes and you’ll hit lots of bumps, but if you both put in the time and effort, you’ll make it, and it’s so-so-so worth it.”

  “Enough talk about boys and love,” Seraphine declares. “Let’s eat!”

  Smiling, I shake my head at her, bumping her hip with mine. “Let’s!” I agree, and we pick up our pace toward the café down the street.

  22

  Drake

  It’s been over a week since everything with Azalea came to a head. She’s texted me once and called a time or two. Her message went unanswered and her calls unreturned. That girl’s an addiction, and I’ve gotta quit cold turkey.

  Doesn’t mean I don’t miss her, though. Doesn’t mean she’s not on my mind damn-near twenty-four seven. Guess Cash wasn’t too far off when he said I was obsessed with Azalea, but this shit has to end. Kasey’s number has been burning a hole in my pocket, and it’s high time I get out of the house and try and figure out my life sans Azalea.

  So, with a deep breath followed by two more, I tap out her digits and hit Send. It rings once, then twice. On the third, I’m about to hang up when a breathy “Hello” comes through the line.

  “Hey, uh, Kasey. You might not remember me, but I sat in your section—”

  “Brown eyes and a sweet little gap in your front teeth?” she asks, her voice swimming with laughter.

  “Guilty. So, uh, I was callin’ to ask if you might wanna go out with me this weekend?”

  “I’d love to, but maybe you oughta tell me your name first, sweetie?”

  I can’t help but laugh, because I seriously just asked a girl out before she even knew my name. Obviously, I’m rusty. “Drake. My name’s Drake.”

  “Well, it’s awfully nice to meet you, Drake. You already have a place in mind?”

  “No, not really,” comes my honest reply. “You can choose.”

  “I’ve been hearin’ really good things about this little picnic place. What’s it called . . .?” I already know exactly what she’s going to say, and that’s a big, fat negative. No way in hell am I taking this girl to— “FIRE! That’s it!”

  Not wanting to delve into why I’m so against taking her there, I deflect. “It’s ’sposed to be real cold this weekend, Kasey. How about we go somewhere else—somewhere warm?”

  “There is this one place I’ve been dying to try,” she says, trying to sound nonchalant.

  “Oh, yeah? Where’s that?”

  “Trattoria.” Fuck. This girl’s trying to kill me. But then again, what’s the likelihood that Azalea or her parents’ll be there? It’ll be fine. Perfect. Great. Freaking dandy.

  I audibly swallow. “Sounds great. Let’s meet at seven?”

  “See you then, and, Drake, I’m really glad you called.” She ends the call, and while I know I’ve got to move on, the knowledge does nothing to settle the sick feeling roiling in my stomach. You know, the one that’s all but shouting You’re making a huge mistake!

  The week passes in a flash, and before I know it, the weekend is here, bringing my date with Kasey with it. I take my time getting ready, not because I’m excited but because Kasey is a sweet girl and she deserves a guy who’s at least willing to put in the effort.

  So, dressed in dark-wash boot cut jeans and a blue plaid, pearl snap button-down, I make my way to my truck to make the drive into town.

  To my date.

  With a woman who isn’t Azalea.

  How the hell did I get here? I always imagined she and I would grow old together, bickering about this and that as we rocked on the porch while our grandkids chased lightning bugs in the yard. But somehow, we took a detour. Hell, we more than detoured. We crash
ed. And burned.

  Walking into the restaurant, I find Kasey waiting for me at the hostess stand. I take her in, noticing she’s almost as tall as me—so unlike my Little Bit. Stop, Drake, just stop. She’s dressed in a tight, icy-blue wrap-style dress and low heels. She’s a good-looking girl, she’s just not . . . fuck. There I go again.

  “So, Drake, what took you so long to call?” Kasey asks, looking at me over the top of her menu.

  “I help my dad run our family farm. Just been real busy,” I tell her, taking the coward’s way out. Plus, what girl wants to hear about the ex on a first date? Not that Azalea’s really my ex. Hell, I’m not even sure this is a first date.

  “Well, whatever was keeping you, I’m glad you made the call.” Kasey sips her water before glancing down at my hands, her eyes trailing over the calloused skin. “You’re a farmer, huh? I can see that. You practically scream ‘homegrown.’”

  “Do I now? How so?” I ask, wondering if it’s a mistake to play into her flirtations.

  She slowly pulls her lips from her straw, her eyes trained on mine. “Mmmhmm. With that tan skin of yours and those strong arms and rough hands. Yessir, I can tell you work hard, and it looks good on you.”

  I want to say her words have no effect on me, but hell, I’d be lying. Warmth unfurls in my chest, caressing the ever-present ache that Azalea left. It’s been so damn long since I’ve been with anyone but Little Bit, and it feels pretty good to be wanted. Even if it’s the wrong girl.

  “Damn, Kasey, aren’t you sweet? Thank you,” I say, not too proud to take a compliment. “You’re pretty damn fine yourself,” I tell her, knowing it’s the right thing to say, but fuck, do the words taste foreign in my mouth.

  Our server comes by and takes our order, and we make mindless small talk, chock full of innuendo and flirtations throughout our meal. Once our check comes, I pay and sign the credit card slip before standing to help Kasey up from her chair. With my hand on the small of her back, I guide her toward the exit, only to stop short when I hear my name.