Southern Playboy (North Carolina Highlands 4)

I laugh softly, my face arranging itself into some semblance of a grin. “I should probably be careful, considering I’m on the hunt for a new job. But thanks for the offer.”

I give myself twenty-four hours to wallow. Despite the whiskey and the exhaustion, I can’t sleep. Instead, I lie very still in the guest bed, which somehow manages to be both creaky and comfortable all at once. I lie there with my eyes closed and my head thumping, waiting for the time to pass.

I throw off the covers. Turn on the fan.

Nothing keeps me from thinking about Rhett and Liam. Crazy to think this time yesterday, I was in Rhett’s bed, probably enjoying my second or third orgasm of the day. The way his body told me what his words didn’t have to—that I was right-sized, beautiful as is, no edits or omissions necessary—God, my toes curl at the memory of it.

I taste the salt of tears on my lips. They trail into my hair, onto the pillow.

Somewhere in the house, I smell my grandmother’s weed. Funny, but there’s a definite lemon hint to it.

Good for her.

I wonder if I’ll ever get to that level of self-possession. Rose always lived life on her own terms, and I’m pretty sure she’s enjoying a bitchin’ stretch of old age because of it.

I’m trying to do the same. Only I keep getting crushed.

The universe keeps making a fool of me, and it makes me wonder if living this way—keeping the faith, staying soft, staying hopeful—is right, or if it just makes me a chump.

I miss Liam. His screams of delight and the smell of his hair. Our morning routine. The way he’d light up when I walked into a room.

Does he still have a fever? Should I text Junie to find out?

I feel a stab of pain at the reminder I’ve lost the Beauregards. Again.

I can’t go through this again. I need to pull a Quarterflash and harden my heart already.

Only the idea makes me cry harder. It feels wrong, like I’ve introduced an extra organ into my chest that definitely doesn’t belong there. But whatever. Rhett doesn’t belong there either, and if this is what it takes to scoop him out of my body, then screw it.

I’m in. After all, quitting is what I’m best at.

Case in point? My heart, being the stupid jerk it was before, would’ve leaped every five seconds at the prospect of Rhett barging through Rose’s front door, begging to see me. Begging to make things right.

Now I know better. My heart is dead, and so is any hope of reconciliation. Rhett isn’t coming. Sounds dramatic, but I’m delirious and hot and desperate, and it’s got to be better this way. Even if it doesn’t feel like it at first.

Even if I know my mom’s shaking her head, wherever she is.

Chapter Thirty-Four

Rhett

“Want to talk about it?”

I look up from my son, who’s snuggled into my shoulder with uncharacteristic . . . chillness, I guess, to see Mom standing at my elbow, brow furrowed and arms crossed.

My chest clenches. Mom saw Amelia leave. She’s taking in my puffy eyes and tearstained shirt. She knows something’s up.

But I know if I talk about it, I’ll lose my shit, and we have a sick baby to take care of.

“When was the last time you gave him Tylenol?” I ask, dropping my cheek onto the top of his head. The smell of his hair, the feel of his little body tucked into mine—it’s a comfort, one I need.

“Just did while you were in the bathroom. His fever hasn’t broken yet, but the pediatrician said—”

“That we should take him in at the forty-eight-hour mark if that’s the case. I know. He take his fluids okay?”

“Yes. He drained his sippy cup before bed, and I may or may not have made him a milkshake because I’m the grandma, and grandmas get to spoil their grandkids. Isn’t that right, Liam?” She taps his chin, and he smiles. “Poor baby.” She looks up at me. “Both of you are pitiful this morning.”

I roll my eyes. I’ll be fine. But the words get caught in my throat, making my eyes sting. I squeeze them shut.

“Think you could help out with Li this week?” I manage.

Mom puts a hand on my back. “Of course. But you need to tell me what’s going on, son. I’m worried about you. Did you and Amelia get in a fight?”

“Yup.” Breathe. I just need to keep breathing. I open my eyes. “I’m sorry if you heard any of that.”

“It didn’t sound good, whatever y’all were discussing. I came downstairs to make sure everything was all right.”

I begin to rock Liam, keeping my cheek pressed to his head. “She’s gone, Mom.”

“Gone?” Mom blinks. “For the day?”

“For good. We”—I clear my throat—“we, um . . . couldn’t work things out.”