My chest feels so heavy I can hardly breathe.
“Luke broke up with me.” My voice cracks with disbelief. “And I don’t know why. Something about not wanting to hold me back. He said some shit like we don’t belong in the same world or whatever.”
Eli scrunches his brow. After a beat, he scoffs, shaking his head.
“What?” I ask.
“When Luke was makin’ a delivery to The Pearl the other day—he said somethin’ similar to me. He didn’t want to take you away from everything you loved downtown. I think he was a little intimidated by all the great things you got goin’ on for yourself. Felt like maybe he had nothing to contribute.”
“Intimidated?” I feel a rush of anger. “But that’s not fair. I am who I am. I work really hard for the things and people I love. I thought he loved them too. Or at least loved the fact that I was ambitious and ballsy enough to go after what I wanted.”
“He does love that about you,” Eli adds quickly. “Said point blank he loved how accomplished you were. But clearly that’s a double-edged sword for him. He thinks you’re so successful he don’t deserve you.”
Another rush of anger. This one mingled with a deep, searing sadness.
“I decide what I deserve.”
“I told him as much.”
“If he thinks that—” I take a breath. If that’s what he thinks, how the hell do I convince him otherwise?
I know Luke. He’s not one to play games. He wouldn’t have done what he did if he wasn’t one hundred percent convinced it was the right thing to do.
One of the things I adore most about him is that he knows what he wants.
He wanted me.
Over the course of the past couple weeks, I never had to guess how he was feeling. I never had to wonder if he liked me enough, thought I was sexy enough. Where things were going, or if he’d stick around.
His certainty made me feel certain.
And then he goes and pulls the rug out from under me.
“What do you think?” Olivia asks gently.
My face crumples. I put my hand over my eyes, clutching my temples between my thumb and middle finger as a wave of anguish moves through me.
“I think I’m in love with him, and now I don’t know what to do. He was so good to me, you guys. The best. I don’t get why he walked out on me like that.”
I hear Eli’s glass come down on the coffee table with a clap.
I drop my hand to see Olivia patting Eli’s knee. Calm down.
Doesn’t stop him from glowering.
“Luke thinks he’s being good to you by stepping aside,” Olivia says. “That way—in his mind, anyway—you’ll be free to end up with someone better. Because that’s what he thinks you deserve. Although I don’t know what he means by ‘better.’ He’s pretty damn wonderful if you ask me.”
“Exactly,” I reply, grabbing a tissue. “There’s no one better for me. I know that, and I thought he did, too. I mean, did I not make my feelings for him clear enough? Does he not know how much I fucking love him?”
Eli arches a brow. “Y’all tell each other yet? That you’re in love?”
I shake my head. “But I thought my feelings were obvious. I couldn’t hide them. Didn’t want to, especially when we were together. I gave him everything I had. I honestly feel like I left nothing on the table. But I guess—” I shake my head again. Another round of tears. “I guess it wasn’t enough.”
Eli loops an arm around my shoulders and pulls me against him. I fall easily into the crook of his arm. Thankfully he’s wearing a shirt today—most days he doesn’t.
“It’s gonna be okay, Gracie,” he says, running his palm up and down my arm. “We’ll figure this out. I’ll go talk to him. Have him tell me what the hell—”
“Please.” I tilt my head back to look Eli in the eye. “Please don’t hurt him, Elijah. As much as this sucks, I do believe he’s trying to do the right thing.”
My brother squeezes my shoulder. “I ain’t gonna hurt Luke, Gracie. But I am gonna give him a piece of my mind. ’Cause he showed his ass last night, and caused my baby sister some real grief in the process. Just need to talk some sense into him is all. Mark my words, we’ll have this resolved by dinnertime.”
I manage a small smile. I want to believe Eli. I would gladly forfeit a vital organ to sit down to dinner with Luke tonight, the two of us laughing about what a classic rom-com mix-up the past twenty-four hours have been.
But in my head I keep seeing that look in his eyes. The belief, the certainty. Not that we were gonna work out.
But that we weren’t.
Luke believes that. Fervently. And even Elijah, in all his southern silver-tongued glory, is going to have to put up one hell of a fight to get Luke to change his mind.
I feel like a shithead for putting my brother in that position.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, glancing at Eli. “I know I said I could handle this. Keep my feelings in check. If I had known—I would have never even broached the subject with Luke. I’m sorry, Eli. I know this sucks for you.”
He brushes away a tear with the pad of his first finger. “Sucks worse for you. I ain’t gonna stand on the sidelines watchin’ you hurt like this. If I can help, I will. I said all along that I just wanna see y’all happy.”
Ah, God. If that’s not a punch to the feels, I don’t know what is.
I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
“But if I call you for that bleach, you’d better damn well bring it to me. Got it?”
“Got it,” I say, laughing. Because apparently violence is funny when you’re lightheaded and heartbroken and heaving sobs.
Olivia gets up. “Here. Elijah, I have something I want you to give to Luke. I’ll be right back.”
My brother and I watch as his girlfriend disappears upstairs.
“You know what she’s talking about?” I ask.
“Not a damn clue.” Eli nudges me. “You gonna let me feed you? You’ll need your strength for all that make-up sex you and Luke’ll be havin’ tonight.”
I laugh again.
Thank God for brothers.
“I thought you didn’t want to know about what we do behind closed doors.”
“I don’t. But I gotta get food in that belly somehow. If sex gets that done, I’ll take it.”
“Sex,” I say, sighing. “Or grave digging.”
It’s Eli’s turn to laugh. “I’mma be digging right there beside you.”
“You bring the booze. I’ll bring the shovels.”
He looks at me. “We’ll make this right, Grace. I promise.”
I want to believe him. So damn badly.
I want to hope he’s right.
But hope is a foreign language to a heart that’s been broken.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Luke
I’m expecting Eli’s visit. But I still jump when I hear the knock at the door.
It’s more like a pound.
“Luke!” he calls, pounding again. “Open the damn door.”
Spearing a hand through my hair, I get up from the kitchen table. Chair screeching against the floorboards.
I ain’t slept a wink. Can’t remember a time I felt worse. Even coming out of shoulder surgery—the physical pain, the pain of knowing deep down I wasn’t ever gonna play major league ball again—I felt fifty times better than this.
Walking to the front door, I take a deep breath. I am doing the right thing here. I am sparing Gracie worse hurt down the road by hurting her now.
Sometimes doing the right thing hurts. But only at first. When she’s had time to step back, get some perspective, see our relationship for what it was—Gracie will understand.
She’ll understand when she gets scooped up by a guy who can do her dreams justice.
I grab at the back of the sofa as I pass it—feeling an invisible punch to the gut at the idea of my girl being with someone else.
She’s not your girl.
A girl like that isn’t me
ant for a guy like me. Seems so obvious now.
How the hell did I let things go so far?
Straightening, I reach for the front door. Wrap my hand around the knob. I tighten my ab muscles. Anticipating an actual punch to the gut.
Only what I deserve. Even if I am doing the right fucking thing.
Is Eli gonna legit kill me? Break my jaw at least?
Tell me to fuck off and never call him again?
I don’t want to lose Elijah as a friend. I love him. Dearly.
Only one person could ever make me put our friendship at risk.
I hope—hope—Elijah understands why I had to let Gracie go.
I squeeze my eyes shut against the burn in my eyes. Then I turn the knob and open the door.
Eli looks me right in the eye. His gaze—can’t tell if it’s anger or annoyance or sympathy in it.
He’s got a bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other.
Huh. Guess he’s gonna get me drunk. Strangle me, maybe. Then put my severed head in that bag so he can bury it away from my body. Less chance of the police making a positive ID that way.
Eli’s eyes cut to the pair of rocking chairs on the porch.
“Sit your ass down,” he says, thrusting the Jack into my hands. He pulls two cigars from his pocket. “You got some explainin’ to do, brother.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. Look down at the bottle.
I don’t deserve this kindness.
“I do. I’m sorry, E.”
I think about offering to get some glasses. But then I remember I just tore out Gracie Jackson’s heart.
What the fuck do glasses matter now?
What the fuck does anything matter? Somewhere she’s hurting because of me.
Closing the door behind me, I step out onto the porch. The old wooden floor creaks beneath my barefoot steps.
Even in the shade, the midday heat and humidity are suffocating. I already feel myself starting to sweat.
Falling into a rocking chair, I crack open the bottle.
Eli sits next to me. He grabs a cutter and his stainless steel lighter from the bag he’s put at his feet.
I take a pull straight from the bottle while he clips the heads off two Cohiba cigars.
The whiskey don’t feel good on my empty stomach.
Aw, fuck you, Jack Daniels.
I take another pull.
Eli passes a cigar and the lighter to me. “It’s not a competition, you know. You don’t need to be jealous of guys like Greyson Montgomery.”
Passing him the Jack, I light my cigar. The smoke makes my eyes sting.
“I’m not jealous,” I say, giving the cigar a good puff before plucking it out of my mouth. “I just couldn’t compete with guys like him even if I wanted to. He lives on a different planet, same as Gracie. She deserves more than what I got to offer. Hell, she’s gonna be runnin’ the whole damn city one day. But not if she’s with me. That ain’t my world, E. Shit like that is way outta my wheelhouse. And if I can’t help her get there, then I’ll be holding her back.”
Eli considers this as he lights his cigar. The earthy scent of tobacco blooms between us.
“You don’t gotta compete with Greyson,” he says, “because Gracie don’t want a man like that. She wants you. You and I both know she doesn’t need help to get where she’s goin’. Gracie is perfectly capable of getting there on her own. What she does need is a partner who’s there for her when it matters. Who cares about the shit that matters. That’s you, Luke.”
I blink. Take another puff. Blink again when my vision spins.
Lord, I’m a lightweight today.
“You’re right,” I say. “Gracie doesn’t need help. But help sure as hell wouldn’t hurt.”
Eli looks at me. “Ever consider that maybe her goal isn’t runnin’ the city, but makin’ it better? She’s not involved in all that shit she’s involved in just so she can add another fancy line item to her résumé. She’s involved because she cares. Think about it. She’s got this incredible education—years of hard work and hundreds of thousands of dollars spent on getting degrees from some of the best schools in the world. Gracie could’ve easily gone to work on Wall Street. Made her six figures a year while living in New York or London or wherever the fuck Wall Street people live these days. But instead, she chose to come back to Charleston and open up a coffee shop. You know why?”
I’m feeling a tug inside my head. My chest. Eli is onto something here.
Something I hadn’t considered.
A bead of sweat trails down my temple.
“Why?” I ask, swallowing.
“Because she saw a need here. Need for community. Comfort. A safe place for all kinds of people to gather over a really good cup of coffee.” He picks up the whiskey and takes a slug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “So she built that. On her own. Sure, she had help from people like Greyson along the way. But the vision was all Gracie. The beating heart at the center of it all is Gracie’s.” He looks at me. “That’s a heart you helped put back together. Maybe that’s the only kinda help she needs from you—keeping that heart whole and happy so she can keep makin’ the city a better place, one latte at a time.”
A searing pain shoots through my center. Sweat dampening my shirt between my shoulder blades.
Is that what Gracie really wants?
Is that what she’s really after? Not the fancy-pants alumni board positions or venture capital money or a wine cellar, but community?
Connection?
Comfort in the form of cappuccinos and sweet potato cupcakes with rhubarb frosting?
It makes sense.
Devastating sense. Because if that is what she wants—
Then I just broke her goddamn heart over nothing.
I grab the whiskey from Eli and tip it back. Mind spinning as I grasp at my reasons.
But Gracie’s got so much potential.
But our worlds are still so different.
But I don’t fit in with her friends. Her colleagues. People she cares about—I got nothing to say to them.
But but but.
But what Elijah is saying—that’s true, too.
I know it’s true. Because I know Gracie.
Still. I want to fight this. I want to prove that I’m right. If only so I don’t have to face the terrible reality of what I’ve done.
“I just don’t want to disappoint her,” I manage. “I’ve already done that one time too many. She deserves better than some guy who walks out on her like I did.”
Eli nods. A single dip of his head as he holds his cigar between his first two fingers.
“She does.”
“But doesn’t that just prove my point? Her bein’ so committed and selfless—doesn’t that shit show she’s still head and shoulders above where I am? Financially and morally speakin’?”
He’s looking at me again.
“Now that’s something I ain’t so sure about.” He takes a puff. Releases a cloud of smoke. “You’re a good man, Luke. Always have been. But this shit about you bein’ good enough for my sister—or not bein’ good enough—that’s up to you.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.” Eli spears me with a look. “Whether you are or you aren’t—whether you can be the stand up man she needs or not—that is up to you. So fuckin’ decide. Either way, make your choice, and make peace with it. Because you’ve got my sister real torn up right now. And I ain’t havin’ it, you hear?”
Oh, I hear him.
Loud and clear.
I feel sick with regret.
No matter how this goes down, I really don’t know if I can ever forgive myself for walking out on Gracie the same way the guy who came before me did.
I wouldn’t blame Gracie if she never forgave me, either.
Another draw of Jack.
My God, I’m a shit. An undeserving shit.
Proving my own goddamn point.
That don’t mean I can’t try to get her
back, though.
Should I? What would I say? How would I do it? Would she believe me?
Because despite Eli’s words of wisdom here, I still got my doubts. Yeah, Gracie may not want that wine cellar. But where does that leave us? What do we really have in common?
Most important: how the hell do I even begin to mesh our worlds?
How do I make them come together in a lasting way if they are so damn different?
I don’t know.
“I’m really fucking sorry, E,” I breathe. Not knowing what else to say. “I never meant to hurt you or your sister. I love her, I do. More than anything.”
Elijah takes the bottle out of my hands. Grabs the cap from my arm rest and screws it on.
“If you love her like you say you do, then you’ll make your decision and you’ll never look back. If you can’t be the man you believe she deserves, then at least be decent and give her a real explanation of why you can’t be with her. Let her go for good. Let her know she ain’t the reason why you walked out on her.”
I nod. Is that what Gracie really thinks? That she’s the one at fault here? That she’s the one who fell short?
Fuck.
“Understood. I’ll do the right thing.”
If I could just figure out what the right thing to do is here.
Leaning forward to tamp out his cigar in the plastic ashtray on the porch railing—I’ve kept it there for Eli since the day the renovation wrapped up—Eli takes the bag in his hand and stands. Offers it to me.
“There’s a BLT in there. Some breakfast potatoes and turnip greens I sautéed up this morning. And somethin’ from Olivia, too.”
I take the bag, feeling like an elephant has settled on my chest.
“Thanks.” I stand. “I really appreciate it, E. You got no idea how awful I feel.”
He turns his head, squinting. “Gracie feels worse. You need to go to her. Sooner rather than later.”
“I know,” I say quietly.
“Go on and eat. You look like hell. Your mamas gonna check in on you? Or do I need to come back out here and make sure you’re gettin’ outta bed?”
Waving him away, I smile tightly. “I’m good.”
Southern Player Page 25
