Southern Hotshot (North Carolina Highlands 2)

By the way my gut seizes, I know that’s exactly what I should do. I should let Hank explain himself. I should at least attempt to make things right. The thought of missing out on a single Sunday supper, much less all of them from now on, makes me short of breath.

But my anger is the only thing keeping me from drowning in my pain. Anger is easy.

Forgiveness is not.

I know it makes me a hypocrite, asking Emma to forgive me for being a bonehead while refusing to forgive Hank for the same sin.

Then again, he was more than a bonehead. He was malicious. He knows my history, which means he definitely knows how painful his betrayal would be.

He knew exactly where to sink his dagger to hurt me most. So yeah. If Hank wants to come to me, I’ll talk. But I won’t be the one extending the olive branch. That’s up to him.

“Let me figure out things with Emma first, okay? Then…yeah, we’ll see what happens with Hank.”

Beau rises with a groan. “Don’t you play that game with me, Samuel Joseph.”

“You know, using my middle name to get me to listen only works when Mama does it.”

“You don’t figure your shit out, I’ll get Mama to kick your ass. How about that?”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

He points at the door. “Oh, I would. Now get gone so I can put this nugget to bed.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, running a hand over my face. “I really am, for being such a douchebag to Emma in the beginning. I thought you didn’t trust me to handle everything. The food and the wine programs.”

That gives Beau pause. He frowns. “Of course I trusted you. This—right now—it’s the first time I’ve ever questioned that.”

The knife twists.

Aw, fuck.

I don’t know what to do with myself when I get home.

Usually I’d check my email. Fire off some calls about John and Celeste’s big wedding, which is next weekend.

But I’m unemployed now, and not exactly in my right mind, so no point in doing that.

Usually I’d decant a bottle of something good. The cellar really is my happy place. But now wine just reminds me of Emma.

God, if only she were here right now—

We’d be in the kitchen. She’s sitting at the island, glass of Amarone in front of her as she watches me cook at the stove. I’m making comfort food, maybe breakfast for dinner? Eggs Benedict, Southern style, with fried green tomatoes, grit cakes, and Mama’s creamed collards. Homemade hollandaise and a side of crispy sweet potatoes.

The fire’s going, and Emma’s smiling, and everything is warm and cozy as it should be. We’d eat, then we’d fuck. The kind of sex that takes all night and leaves you shaking.

Instead, I’m standing in my dark kitchen alone, starving but feeling too sick to eat. I put my hand on the countertop. The marble is cold to the touch, and I start to shake for a different reason.

I can’t.

I can’t face the fucking enormity of what I’m feeling. The truth is killing me now, and if I don’t stop it, I’m afraid it’s just gonna leave my mangled body for dead.

The gym. Yeah. Maybe that’ll help. Always clears my head, and I need to come up with a plan for how to clean up this mess.

I throw on some shorts. Don’t bother with a shirt. I head downstairs to the basement. The trophy case is usually lit up, but tonight, I’m glad it’s dark down here. I can’t look at that stuff right now.

I blast music while I push my limits on one machine after another. I put on the TV. I even talk to myself in the mirror like a lunatic. But it’s still too quiet. Nothing drowns out the voice in my head telling me I’m being a fuckwad. Not the sweat dripping in my eyes or the pounding of my heart or the acute burn in my muscles.

Nothing makes me miss my girl any less.

I was annoyed my brothers showed up the other day. But now I miss them. I need someone to talk to, but they all kinda hate me right now, and I hate them right back. It’s a disaster, and I don’t know how to fix it.

One problem at a time. I’ll figure out how to get Emma back on the farm and go from there.

Emma is V. I still can’t believe it.

I want her. So badly.

I love her, deeply.

I love being the beta to her alpha.

I love her courage.

I love her adventurousness. I want to be her bastard forever and always.

But we fucked up and now I’m alone in my gym, and I’m worried sick I’ve done things and said things I can never take back or make amends for.

I have to get her back.

An hour and a half later, I’m still shaking, but I’m hoping I’ve exhausted myself to the point that I can get some sleep.