Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

Am I ready to let go? Am I ready to step back?

Yes and no.

But more than anything, I want to be with Julia. Have a family with her. Be the man she needs.

If that means stepping back at work, I’ll do it.

I’ll do anything for her.

I also have a nice chunk of change in savings. Really nice. Enough to get a healthy college fund started for the baby. Plenty for whatever else she’ll need.

“Thank you,” I manage. “I don’t know what to say, Ford. But thank you. For listening. For being you.”

“Hey. You were there when I needed you, Grey. You went above and beyond to help me put my life back together after I lost Rebecca. I’ll always be there for you in any way that I can. Always.”

“I love you, brother.”

He grins. Claps me on the shoulder. “I love you too. Just promise me one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ll never wear those tuxedo pants again. If Mom ever saw—”

“Pants are gone,” I say, laughing. “I promise.”

“Good. I was worried there for a second I’d have to pretend not to know you at weddings from now on. Although I did love how you danced. Granted, it was definitely more Farley than Swayze—”

I give him a shove. “Not according to Julia. I have it on very good authority she thought my Swayze was sexy as fuck.”

“Ew.” Ford holds up his hands. “Please don’t finish that thought.”

“What? You don’t want me to tell me you that she and I got complaints at the hotel for being too loud?”

“And it’s time for me to head back home. I’ll see you at the office first thing Monday morning?”

I look at him. “You sure you’re ready?”

“I’m ready. I have been for a while. Put me back in, coach.”

“If you stop with the terrible sports metaphors, I’ll consider it,” I say. Letting out a breath.

“All right,” he says.

“All right.”

Everything’s going to be all right.

I hope.

I can only pray Julia will forgive me for the things I said and the way I acted.

I give Ford a hug. Tell him to give a kiss to the baby.

Then I head upstairs to do some serious reading. As much as I want to literally run to Julia’s place and beg her forgiveness, my gut’s telling me not to rush this. She needs time to cool down. Get some rest. And I need time to 1) download a bunch of baby books and read them (thank God for e-readers), and 2) figure out what I’m going to say to Julia.

Listening to that Oprah podcast might be a good place to start.Chapter Thirty-OneJuliaI have a lunch date with Eliza the next day.

Part of me wants to cancel. Has she heard about my fight with Grey? I don’t want to put either of us in an awkward or uncomfortable position.

I do want to stay in my pajamas and wallow in self-pity all day.

But the more I stew, the angrier—sadder—I get. It’ll be good for me to get out. And I genuinely enjoy spending time with Eliza. She’s nothing if nonjudgmental. Maybe she’ll have a nugget of wisdom or two to pass along.

Because I miss Grey. I want more than anything for us to make up. I feel horrible about how things went yesterday, and spent the night and the entire morning crying about it.

I hated going to bed alone.

I hated waking up alone even more. I love our Sunday morning routine of sex and coffee and breakfast at home.

Grey’s gotten my body trained to crave him the second I’m awake. It’s like clockwork. I open my eyes, smell him on my pillow, and poof.

I’m raring and ready to go.

I think about reaching out to him as I shower and get dressed.

I think about why he hasn’t reached out to me. His silence is deafening.

Then again, part of me appreciates the fact that I’ve had some space and time to work through my feelings. To, yes, wallow a bit in my self-righteous anger.

But now I just miss him. Even though I have no idea how to work things out. That urge to provide, to give the best to the people he loves—I can tell it runs deep in Greyson.

I never set out to change him. Like I told Grey, I’m not in the business of fixing or saving men.

But something has to change for us to work.

Something’s got to give if we’re going to be together for the long haul.

I’m scared we won’t be able to find common ground. What would that mean for Charlie Brown? What would our lives look like as co-parents? If we fucked up a relationship, are we going to fuck up parenting, too?

I meet Eliza at Craft Cafe. It’s a super cute—and super tiny—spot in an old Charleston single just off bustling Market Street.

Stepping inside, I slide my sunglasses onto my head. Eliza is waiting by the door. Her face creases into a warm smile as she holds out her arms.