Something Reckless (Dirty Southern Secrets Book 3)

by J. L. Leslie

  I am a fucking idiot for thinking that.

  Brynn is terrified of screwing up again, and in her eyes, being with me would be a total screw up. I get that explaining us to Willow will be difficult, but she doesn’t even want to try. Refuses to even talk about it. Hell, she refuses to admit she desires it.

  Frustrated, I turn off the treadmill and grab a bottle of water out of my bag. This is my last night in Missouri before I get on the road to Texas. I’m tempted to go home first, but I know I will never get to Texas on time if I do that.

  I scored well last night. When I was busy fucking Brynn, my world ranking climbed to number eighty-two. If I can continue scoring in the nineties, my ranking will continue to climb. It’s not too bad on my wallet either, but I’m not doing this for the money. It’s never been about the money for me. There is a drive in me that I can’t ignore. I can’t walk away from it.

  I chug the rest of the water and toss the empty bottle into my bag. Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and call Brynn. I’m not surprised when I get her voicemail. She probably ignored the call and is waiting to see if I leave her a message. I don’t. I’ll talk to her when I get back home.

  I pick up my bag, and as I’m walking out of the gym, my phone rings. My hopes are only slightly dashed to see that it’s my mama and not Brynn calling me back.

  “How’s my favorite son?” she asks when I answer.

  I know she’s only teasing, but it makes me laugh. “Don’t let Tauren or Kaler hear you say that.”

  “I looked up the standings this morning,” she gushes. “I’m so proud of you! Worried, of course, but still proud!”

  “I’m fine, Mama,” I promise. “I don’t need you worrying about me.”

  “I told your daddy I should go out on the road with you. He can fend for himself.”

  Again, I know she’s only teasing. This one doesn’t make me laugh, though. “You raised me to take care of myself. I don’t know that Daddy knows how to do that,” I joke. “How is everyone?”

  “Jenna’s parents are scheduled to come here in March, so they are in full wedding planning mode. It’s actually going to happen when I know you didn’t think it would. I have the menu for the reception taken care of. The church ladies are helping with that.”

  “I’m happy they’re having a wedding.”

  “ Me, too. Now, has Tauren mentioned anything to you about him and Helene trying to have a baby? I swear that girl has put on a little weight, and the last time I saw her she was dipping French fries in a vanilla milkshake.”

  I shake my head. “Mama, a lot of people dip fries in milkshakes.”

  If Tauren and Helene are pregnant, I’ll be happy for them. I know losing a baby was extremely difficult for them both and nearly caused them to get divorced. I’m sure if they are, they’ll let us all know when they’re ready. I tell my mama this.

  “Well, I just worry, that’s all. It tore us all up what happened before. You know that.”

  “I know,” I reply. “What about Willow? Does she miss her favorite uncle?”

  “Of course, she does, baby! She was just over here yesterday afternoon after school asking about her Uncle Kip.”

  “I thought Brynn picks her up from school.”

  “She usually does, but she had a work thing. Said she needed to follow up on a lead for a story or something like that,” Mama explains. “Did you see her when you were in Knoxville?”

  “Why would you ask that?” I snap.

  “Because she wrote an excellent article about the event. Jesus, Kipton. Are you getting enough rest?”

  “I’m sorry, Mama. You’re right. I’m a little tired,” I apologize. “Tell everyone I said hello, and I love them. Give Willow a kiss for me.”

  And tell her mama I miss her.

  I keep that thought to myself and hang up.

  22

  Brynn

  I’m on my second cup of coffee, and I know it wouldn’t matter if I drank the entire pot; I wouldn’t feel any better. I haven’t slept much since returning from Knoxville. My nights have been consumed with thoughts of Kipton, and when I do sleep, I dream about him.

  I miss him, but I know I did the right thing. I just hate that it didn’t go smoother. I should’ve known crossing that line would ruin the friendship we always found easily. He deserves more than what I can give him, though.

  “No offense, but you look like crap,” Ronald says, eyeing my attire. “Is this your new normal?”

  “I’ve been a little under the weather,” I lie. I refuse to tell him the reason I look like crap. “I’m starting to feel better, though, so I’ll be back to normal soon.”

  That’s a lie, too, but I know if I don’t snap out of this funk, people will start asking questions and questions, will start to lead to the fact that I’ve been in this funk since I returned from Knoxville. The gossip mill will start running, and I don’t need nor want that to happen. Jenna already asked if I was feeling okay when I dropped Willow off for school.

  “Did you meet with your source about the Hendricks firm?” he asks, changing the subject.

  “Yes, but he didn’t have a lot of information to give me really. It was more so advice on how to get close to John Leighton. He thinks that’s the only way to get intel.”

  “Go for it,” Ronald suggests. “If we break a story on that firm, it could put Chapelwood on the map.”

  “I’m not sure his advice was exactly ethical. What if there is no story? I know someone who works there who assures me there isn’t any illegal dealings going on there.”

  Ronald gives me a look. “You’re a journalist, Brynn. You may not work for the New York Times, but you do whatever it takes to get the story and there is definitely a story when it comes to the Hendricks Accounting Firm. It’s a multi-million-dollar company but doesn’t rep a single business in this town. Where does that money come from? How did it get started? Follow your gut. If your gut tells you there’s a story, then there’s a story, and I want that story.”

  I think about his words. The Chapelwood Courant is definitely not the New York Times, but I do consider myself to be a real journalist. Everywhere I’ve worked, I’ve taken my job seriously, but most of my stories were on political campaigns, fundraisers, and school events.

  I have never written an expose that could hurt people and certainly not people I know. Kipton works for John Leighton. He swears there is nothing illegal going on there. How will he feel about me doing a story on the Hendricks Accounting Firm?

  23

  Kipton

  When you grow up in a small town, you find yourself hating the tightknit community while at the same time not knowing any other way of life. I’ve been traveling with the pro circuit for a couple of weeks now. I stay in a different hotel every few nights. The only people I know are the cowboys I’m on the road with, and sometimes, those faces change. Some don’t have the dedication I do.

  I miss my family. It’s as simple as that. I miss Sunday lunches after church. The smell of fried chicken and apple pie. Willow’s laughter and Brynn’s smile.

  That’s why I’m making a detour before my next event. I need to go home, even if it’s only for a few hours. Even if I’ll be seeing my family in South Carolina at the end of this month.

  “Kipton? Good Lord, you gave me a scare! Come in, baby!” Mama says, opening the door. It’s only eight o’clock, but she’s in her nightgown already, curlers in her hair, but it doesn’t stop her from enveloping me in a warm hug. “Everything all right?”

  “Yes, Mama,” I answer. “Just making a pitstop before getting on the road again.”

  “I missed you something fierce,” she says, her hug tightening.

  “Let the boy breathe, Angie.”

  My daddy is walking down the hall, pulling on a t-shirt with his pajama pants. He slides on a pair of house slippers and comes to pat my back, telling me to come in and stay awhile. Although I tell them I can’t stay long, my mama goes to the kitchen to heat me up some leftovers.
I don’t complain at all. I haven’t had a homecooked meal since I left.

  “Tauren showed us how to watch the events online,” Daddy says. “You looked real good in Missouri. Texas could’ve been better, but Ohio was nice.”

  I don’t mention that I wasn’t in the right headspace in Texas. I had just spoken with Mama on the phone, and she’d asked me if I’d seen Brynn in Knoxville. When I thought I’d blocked her from my mind, memories of her came flooding back in full force.

  “I was a little under the weather in Texas,” I lie. “But there are more events in Texas that I’ll be competing in.”

  “You didn’t mention that on the phone,” Mama puts in.

  “Because you would’ve been trying to come to Texas,” I say, rolling my eyes. “And South Carolina is far enough for you to travel.”

  “You making time for church?” she questions.

  “I listen to a sermon on the radio on Sundays while I drive.” Part lie. Part true. It’s on the radio while I’m driving. I’m just not always listening.

  “God is the only one keeping you safe while you’re on the back of those bulls,” she reminds me. “If you insist on riding those animals, you need to be right with the Lord.”

  “He’s been right with the Lord since he was baptized when he was twelve years old, Angie. God don’t forget that.”

  God also doesn’t forget my sins either, and I committed my fair share of those in a twenty-four-hour period a couple of weeks ago. I still haven’t repented.

  “Who made this apple pie?” I ask, furrowing my brow. “It’s good, but I can tell it ain’t yours, Mama.”

  She smiles. “Brynn made that one. She wanted to pitch in for Sunday lunch this time. I tried to tell your daddy it wouldn’t be as good as mine, but he said to let her do it anyway.”

  “It’s okay,” I say. “Just not as many apples.”

  Mama gives my daddy a knowing look. I finish off the pie and take my plate to the sink, rinsing it off and putting it up.

  “Let me get the guest room ready for you,” Mama says.

  “I really need to get back on the road.”

  Mama pushes me down the hall. “What you really need is a hot shower and a good night’s rest. You don’t have to leave for Tennessee until tomorrow.”

  “No point in arguing with her, son. She knows that schedule better than you probably do.”

  I give in, stepping into the bathroom. She lets me know she’ll put some of my clothes outside the door, and I chuckle at the fact that she still keeps some of them here. I take a long, hot shower, the comfort of being in a familiar place exactly what I need to de-stress. When I get out, sure enough, a pile of clothes is there outside the door. I keep the towel around my waist and pick them up. I carry them to the guest bedroom, which happens to be my old bedroom. Kaler’s room is now Willow’s room for when she spends the night here, and Tauren’s room has been converted to my parents’ office.

  After I get dressed, I drop onto my old twin bed, phone in hand. I set an alarm, knowing I’ll wake before it ever goes off. Then, like I’ve done every night, I scroll through my contacts and hover over Brynn’s name. During the light of day, it’s easy to convince myself I’ve blocked her from my mind. Easy to concentrate on the task at hand. Ride a bull for eight seconds. Don’t get injured.

  But at night, Brynn creeps back into my mind. The feel of her nails skating over my back. The heat from her kiss. The sound of her moaning my name.

  I will never be able to block that, no matter how damn hard I try.

  24

  Brynn

  I check the time and look around the restaurant for Deacon, my source for my Hendricks story. He sent me a text asking me to meet him at a popular Chinese place in Westmont, saying he had some new developments to share. Nine is way too late for dinner, but I didn’t want to turn him down if he’s finally bringing me something I can use.

  I spot him walk in and wave him over, quickly hiding my shock when I see he isn’t alone. Deacon walks toward me, a blonde woman in tow and none other than John Leighton himself. Talk about a new development.

  “Brynn, hello, so sorry we are running late!” he says, leaning down to kiss my cheek.

  The blonde scoots into the booth, and he slides in beside her. Left with nowhere else to sit, I slide over, and John sits down beside me.

  “This is my wife, Naomi, and this is my friend, John Leighton,” Deacon introduces us.

  I extend my hand to Naomi and then over to John. John gives my hand a firm shake, his light, gray eyes fixated on me. A kind smile is on his face. He has a good fifteen years on me, but he’s still a handsome man, wearing his age well with salt and pepper hair and tanned skin.

  “You will have to forgive our tardiness. It’s entirely my fault,” he states.

  “John here is a workaholic,” Naomi says.

  “Oh? What is it that you do?” I question, pretending I don’t know exactly who is.

  “I’m an accountant.”

  I smile at his vague response. Clearly, he doesn’t want to divulge that he owns a multi-million-dollar company in one of the smallest towns in Alabama.

  “Don’t be shy, John,” Deacon says. “He owns the Hendricks Accounting Firm.”

  I see his eyes narrow for a moment before he forces a smile. “In Chapelwood?” He nods in response. “I’m from Chapelwood. Born and raised.”

  This captures his attention. “How in the world did I miss you?”

  He’s flirting. The richest man in town is flirting with me. This is what Deacon suggested. My in. My way to getting the story. Other journalists have done far worse than go on a date with a subject in order to get what they needed. How far am I willing to go for a small-town newspaper?

  “I moved away for a few years before returning a while back,” I reply. “The question is, how did I miss you?”

  Oh, my God. I am not doing this. I cannot be doing this. Did I seriously just say that to him? To Kipton’s boss? I’m fucking flirting, and it’s awful.

  “John has refused to venture out for quite some time now, basically a recluse, but those days are behind him,” Naomi reveals.

  Again, John narrows his eyes but plasters a smile on his face. I want to ask why she called him a recluse, what kept him hidden away, but I don’t want to press and make him uncomfortable. I can tell by the way his leg is bobbing under the table that although he appears smooth and debonair, he’s nervous.

  “Well, you’re in good company, John Leighton,” I say, hoping to ease his nerves.

  I have no reason not to be friendly to him. Not to assume he’s a legitimate businessman until I find details that tell me otherwise. Ronald told me to trust my gut. To get the story. I’m still not one hundred percent convinced there is one.

  I spend the next hour listening to the three of them chat, talking about their upcoming plans for a sailing trip on John’s boat. No business talk is done, which is a bit of a disappointment, but I don’t find an opening to introduce the subject, and I don’t want him to know I’m a reporter since I know he’s already turned down interviews with the paper. Besides, he doesn’t ask what I do.

  At the end of the night, we walk out together and stand outside the restaurant, making plans to do it again soon like most people do. I wave goodbye to Deacon and Naomi, silently thanking him for the impromptu introduction.

  “I apologize. I’m pretty sure you had no idea tonight was going to be a double date,” John says.

  “Did you?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “Deacon told me he had someone I needed to meet. I won’t lie to you. I was hesitant, but I’m glad I came. I need more friends.”

  John laughs when he says this, and it makes me smile. “I can relate.”

  “Well, since we both need friends, how about we do this again Thursday night?”

  There it is. Deacon gave me the opening, and here is my opportunity. Do I take it or pass up the chance for what can be the biggest story of my career?

  Kipton’s face fla
shes into my mind. I promise myself I will explain everything to him. I promise myself I will not cross any lines. No more flirting. I will not do anything that I would be ashamed of. More so, I will not do anything that Kipton would be ashamed of.

  “Sure.”

  25

  Kipton

  I pull my truck up at Kaler and Jenna’s house, stifling a yawn before I get out and head to their porch. I’ve been up a couple of hours already. Mama made me breakfast, wanting to make sure I had at least two home-cooked meals in my stomach before I got back on the road.

  After I ate, I called Kaler and asked if I could take Willow to school. Two weeks is the longest I’ve gone without seeing her, without seeing any of my family, and I figured she’d like for me to drive her. Of course, I’ll stop and grab her a donut on the way for breakfast. What can I say? I spoil my one and only niece.

  The moment Kaler opens the door, Willow bounds toward me, screaming my name! She leaps into my arms, and I pick her up, squeezing her lightly.

  “You ready? Where’s your shirt?” I ask, and she giggles.

  Jenna is holding it out, so I put her down so she can finish getting ready, and we can go. She slips on the hot pink shirt and returns to me.

  “Thanks for letting me drive her,” I say.

  “Absolutely,” Jenna replies.

  “Besides, gives us time for morning sex,” Kaler says with a grin, winking at Jenna.

  I roll my eyes and turn, carrying Willow to my truck. “You want a donut?”

  “Yes!”

  “Chocolate or strawberry?”

  “Strawberry.”

  “Strawberry or chocolate?” I ask, teasing her because I know she always answers with the second option.

  “Chocolate.”

  I chuckle and open my passenger door, placing her in the booster seat I keep tucked in the back. I buckle her up and close the door. As I’m walking around to the driver’s side, I notice Brynn pull up behind me. My heart skips a beat. I haven’t spoken with her since, well, since Knoxville.