Southern Sinner (North Carolina Highlands 3)

Prologue

Hank

April

I have to get the fuck out of here.

Yanking my sweater over my head, it’s the first thought I have when I walk into my house after Sunday supper. I’m a little drunk and a lot worn out from playing nice.

From pretending that seeing Samuel and Emma so damn happy together doesn’t make me feel like dying.

I grab a fifth of Appalachian Red whiskey from my liquor cabinet and take a pull straight from the bottle. It burns a trail of fire down my throat.

It does nothing to lessen the intense ache inside my chest.

Doesn’t stop me from taking another swig before I set down the bottle and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.

I glance around my pristine, silent kitchen. Not so much as a glass or napkin is out of place. Probably because I don’t really live here.

Sure, I sleep in the bed every night and get ready in the gleaming master bathroom every morning, but otherwise, I’m hustling around the resort.

Work has become my life. And it took falling in love with my brother’s girlfriend to see how much I’m missing out on.

So fuck it. What do I have left to lose? I’m gonna stop putting my family first and give myself the top spot instead. I’ll do what I want when I want to do it.

I want to travel.

I want to fuck around.

I want to meet people who’ve never heard of Blue Mountain.

Tomorrow, I’ll get with my team and work out the details of my leave from guest relations. Then I’ll get on the phone with my travel agent and book a private jet to—

Where?

As far away as I can get, I guess. Thailand? South Africa? Madrid?

All I know is my broken heart ain’t gonna heal if I’m anywhere near this place.

I can’t stop thinking about how Emma looked at Samuel across the dinner table tonight. She was lit up. Eyes glowing and full, like she was so happy she might cry. I heard them flirting, talking about all the ways they’ll fuck tonight.

A slice of searing, urgent pain rips through my torso. I grab the bottle and drink, and then drink some more.

“Hey.” I startle at the voice behind me. I turn to see my brother Rhett looking at me, his brow furrowed with concern. He gently takes the bottle from my hand and sets it down. Crossing his arms, he leans his back against the counter. “I’m sorry that happened, and I’m sorry you’re hurting.”

I nod, swallowing hard. “Me too.”

He dips his head toward the whiskey. “Please tell me you aren’t going to cope by drinking yourself into a shame spiral.”

“I’m giving the shame spiral twenty-four hours, max. Then I’m hitting the road.”

“Oh? Where ya going?”

I lift a shoulder, eyeing the bottle. “Not sure yet. Someplace where there’s a bar on the beach and beautiful women.”

“The best distractions in the world.” Rhett nods. “Let’s start in the Bahamas. Paradise Island.”

“We?” I arch a brow. “Who said you’re invited?”

Rhett grabs the bottle and takes a swig, smacking his lips. “I did. I have three months until training camp starts. Besides, someone needs to babysit you at that beach bar. You won’t be able to pick up all those beautiful women if you’re wasted.”

I laugh, the tightness inside my breastbone loosening ever so slightly. “Stop. You just wanna be my wingman.”

“Well, yeah.” My younger brother grins. “If I happen to meet a lady or two while I’m making sure you don’t give yourself rum poisoning . . . well, I won’t hate it.”

“Okay.” I take the bottle from him and have another sip. “The Bahamas. Then where?”

“We’ll go around the world, obviously. Hop from the Bahamas to Ibiza. Then Mykonos, and the Seychelles . . . Bangkok. Australia. Hawaii. Final stop—”

“Vegas,” I say.

Rhett’s grin deepens into a smile. “My adopted hometown. Perfect.”

He plays for the pro football team that recently moved from California to Las Vegas. Rhett’s got a definite wild streak, so the new location suited him just fine.

Me? I’m an old soul. While I had my fun in Sin City, I never really got why my teammates and college friends were so obsessed with it.

Maybe this trip will change that.

I hold up the whiskey. “Let’s do it. Think you can leave tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah, I can.”

I take one last pull of whiskey before handing the bottle back to Rhett. He drinks too, and for several beats, we stand there in silence.

I don’t know what he’s thinking about, but as usual, I’m thinking about Emma. How I don’t want to go on this trip, and I don’t want to leave Blue Mountain, because she’s here. She’s been the bright spot in my days. The reason I jump out of bed in the mornings more excited and invigorated than I’ve felt in years.

It happened really fucking fast, me falling for her.