Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

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?”