Southern Storm (Southern 3)

I watch the sunrise and send him a text.

Me: Hope you have a great day. Missing you.

I stay out here, and when my phone rings at almost eleven, I hope it’s him. I want to reach out and tell him to come get me. I want to tell him that this is stupid, this whole thing is silly, and that I belong with him in my hometown. I look and see it’s Kallie.

“Hey,” I answer after the second ring.

“Hi,” she says, and she sounds out of breath. “I don’t want to disturb you for too long, but I just wanted to make sure that Ethan could stay out this weekend. He got invited to a birthday party on Friday, and then my father wants to take him fishing over the weekend.”

“Um, yeah,” I say, blinking. I never thought I would be able to share my son. I never thought I would be okay with a woman loving my son just as much as I do, but at the end of the day, my son is surrounded by so much love, and there is nothing wrong with that. “That sounds like fun.”

“How are you doing? Are you enjoying the alone time?” she asks. A tear falls and then another one, and suddenly, I’m sobbing. “Savannah, are you okay?”

“Not really,” I tell her. “I … just miss my family.”

“It’s not easy,” she says. She should know; she walked away from her family eight years ago because of me.

“I’m sitting on this amazing beach. I got this kick-ass house. I have people who say hello to me, and they don’t even know me. Nobody leers at me or gives me a side-eye like I’m yesterday’s trash.” It comes roaring out of me. “And all I can do is sit here and cry.”

“Oh, Savannah,” she says, her voice soft. “Let’s start with the first one. If you think about it, during one day, how many people said hello to you here?”

I watch the waves crash into the shore angrily. “I don’t know. I never really counted,” I tell her. “Plus, it depended on what I did.”

“Let’s just say you went to the grocery store,” she says. “How many?”

“I don’t know.” I watch the white foam absorb into the sand while the water comes rolling in. “There is the butcher that always asks about Ethan. Then the baker always gives me a couple of treats because I helped her sister with a job.”

“Okay,” she says. “And how many leer at you?”

I look ahead, trying to think. “I mean, my neighbors are pretty hard-core I hate Savannah fan club members.” I laugh at this now.

“Those old goats only glare at you because the missus wants your ass, and the man knows he could never get a girl like you even in his prime,” she huffs, and I laugh now. “Let’s be real.”

“Okay, fine. You got me there,” I tell her, and then my tone goes soft. “His mother doesn’t think I’ll be good for him.” I wipe away my tear because the hurt of her words still stings me.

“He chose you,” she says. “You. He knew who you were, and he chose you. He will choose you every single day of every single year because he’s been in love with you since forever.”

“I love him,” I finally say. “I love him so much, and all I want to do is be supportive to him and be there to help him do whatever he wants to do. I don’t want the town to turn their noses down on him because of me.”

“You know that he doesn’t give a shit, right?” she asks. “As long as you are on his side, to him, he’s winning.”

“Have you seen him?” I ask. “Is he okay?” I wipe a tear away from my eye with my thumb.

“He’s hanging in there,” she says. “You can see it bothers him that you aren’t here.”

“I think I’m going to just pack it in and come home,” I tell her.

“Sit out the week,” she suggests. “Make sure that this is really what you want.”

“Thank you, Kallie,” I say softly. “And I mean that in so many ways.”

“You’re welcome, Savannah,” she says. “Go enjoy the peace and quiet of the beach. I’ll see you when you get home.”

I hang up, and the only thing that repeats over and over again through my head is he is my home.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Beau

I walk into the house, my ass dragging, and toss my keys on the counter, then throw a piece of pizza in the microwave. I lean back, waiting for the beep, and my whole body aches. I rub my hands over my face, and see that it’s almost ten p.m. I eat in the dark, chasing the pizza down with the beer I pulled out of the fridge. I don’t turn on the lights as I make my way upstairs, taking off the dusty clothes and putting them in the wash. The hot water rolls all around me as the only energy I have left is in this shower.