Delicate Promises (Southern Bride 2)

Trey groaned.

“And you, Marine boy,” he said, jerking his chin at me.

I glared at him. “I’m far from a boy, son.”

He laughed. “You’re the worst of them all. You are actually getting the girl you’ve always wanted. The girl you’ve been in love with since high school—don’t deny it. We all knew how you felt for Kynslee. If she called, you dropped us like hot potatoes, and dude, we were always okay with it because it was Kynslee. She was your girl. Any other guy here tonight would have been all over her, if we were in your shoes.”

“I haven’t been home in years. Is it a crime to want to hang out with my friends and have a good time?”

Ken shook his head. “Miles, listen to yourself. Dude, be honest. You wanted to let loose tonight, get drunk with the boys, and yes, you didn’t technically do anything wrong.”

“Thank you!” I said.

“I said technically. You might not have dry humped anyone like this asshole did with the blonde,” Ken said, pointing to Trey.

“Hey dick, I’m not the one with a girlfriend.”

“No, you’re not, but you were here with a date. Anyway, Miles, all I’m saying is if you wanted a night out with the boys, then have one. But you were here with Kynslee, your relationship is new. If that had been me and Missy, I can assure you, I’d have been by her side all night.”

“Fuck. I screwed up again.”

They all nodded, even Trey. Bastard.

Ben stood. “Listen, I’m heading home. I hope you’ve tried calling her, Miles.”

“I have. She’s not answering.”

Looking to Trey, Ben shook his head. “Dude, I done think you’ve fucked up your chances with Annie.”

Trey closed his eyes and groaned.

Willy stood. “I’m out, too. I’ve got to go over the footage from tonight’s game. Y’all have a good night.”

I lifted my hand and waved to them. “’Night, y’all. Thanks for coming.”

Ben reached for my hand and shook it. “I’m glad you’re home, Miles. Thanks for your service.”

“Yeah, dude, glad you’re home, and thanks!” Willy added.

I shook both their hands. “Later, boys.”

As they walked toward their trucks, Trey bumped me in the arm. “I’m drunk as hell, dude.”

Laughing, I said, “Me, too. You can crash on my sofa. We’ll figure out the situation with the girls tomorrow.”

He slapped my back as we stood. “Sounds like a plan.”

As we walked toward my truck, I sent Kynslee a text.

Me: Princess, I didn’t mean to make you upset. I love you, Kyns. Can we talk about this tomorrow? Please?

She never replied.

Later, I laid in bed and stared up at the ceiling. An eerie feeling washed over me, and I felt like something was sitting on my chest. I reached for my phone and pressed Kynslee’s name. It went to voicemail after it seemed to ring forever.

“Hey, it’s me. I can’t sleep, and I really need to talk to you. Please call me.”

I hit End and tossed my phone to the side. Exhaustion hit me like a wall and I closed my eyes.

Tomorrow. I’d get this fixed with Kynslee tomorrow.

The pounding on the door had me bolting up in bed. For a moment, I found myself reaching for my gun. My heart raced and sweat instantly beaded down my forehead.

“Hold on, what the hell!” I heard Trey say as he stumbled toward the door of the cabin.

“Is Miles up?”

The voice was my brother’s. I dragged my ass out of bed and toward the kitchen. I needed coffee. I needed aspirin. Hell, I needed a miracle to cure this massive hangover. Jesus, when was the last time I drank so much beer?

“Dude, stop yelling,” I said.

“Miles, you need to come up to the house. Now.”

“Rich, give me like thirty minutes to get the cotton out of my mouth and shower the smoke and booze off of me.”

He had a look on his face that made me stop in my tracks.

“What’s wrong? Mom? Lana? The baby?”

He shook his head. “They’re fine. Everyone’s fine. I mean, Mom’s a bit…pissed off and upset.”

“Why?” I asked.

Rich rubbed the back of his neck and looked down at the floor, then up to me.

“Dad’s back.”

The coffee pot I’d been holding in my hands slipped and fell to the floor, shattering everywhere.

Thirty minutes later, I walked into the living room of my mother’s house and came to an abrupt halt.

There he was, after all these years. Peter Richard Warner. My good-for-nothing dad.

My father stood before me, a smug smile on his face as he took me in. He was a mirror image of Rich. His body looked like mine. Broad chest and stocky build. Even for a guy in his early sixties, he looked like he had kept in shape. His brown hair was now leaning more toward gray. My mother sat in a seat next to Lana. Worry was etched all over her face. Lana stared at our dad with no emotion on her face at all. She was a blank canvas. Who knew what in the hell was going on in her mind.