Southern Player (Charleston Heat 2)

I just stare at him. Too stunned to reply.

Does he really think that I don’t love everything he is? Everything he has? The farm and his crops and his home?

Does he really believe that I don’t love him?

“Exactly,” he says, mistaking my hesitation as confirmation. “I need to go.”

I push against his grip with everything I’ve got. Not fair.

“Stop!” he shouts, pushing back. “For fuck’s sake. You’re gonna hurt yourself, baby.”

Don’t call me baby.

But I can’t get the words out of my mouth.

With his free hand, he pulls his phone out of his back pocket.

“I’m going to put you in an Uber. He’ll take you right to your front door. Go get your stuff, all right?”

I blink. Tears streaming down my face.

He loosens his grip on my wrists. Takes that hand and wipes away my tears with his thumb.

“I need you to know I’m doin’ the right thing.” He sniffles. “I am so sorry to hurt you, Gracie. But I’d be hurtin’ you more by sticking around. Please understand.”

I spear him with a look. “I’ll never understand why you walked out on me when you promised you wouldn’t.”

I watch as a single tear slips from his left eye.

He sniffs again. Looks away. Runs a hand down his face.

“Get your stuff,” he says, looking down at his phone.

“I’ll walk home.”

“No you won’t. Go get what you need.”

“If you don’t care—”

“Gracie.” Now his voice is shaking, too. “Please. I wanna make sure you get home all right.”

I look at him. He looks at me.

That’s when I know it’s truly over. Because beneath his hurt, I see the dull spark of belief.

He really does believe he’s doing the right thing.

It’s over.

I was the star for one bright, shining moment.

Figures I’d be the kind of star to crash and burn.Chapter Thirty-OneGracieI show up to Elijah’s the next morning in dark sunglasses and the shirt I wore the night before. The usual smells of bacon and something starchy cooking are heavy in the air.

Billy whimpers when he comes over to say hello. His nose lingering at my crotch for a heartbeat longer than usual.

Olivia, who’s sitting at the island in her usual perch, looks up from her coffee. Her bright smile immediately fades when she sees me.

“Grace,” she says.

And then she’s across the room and pulling me into a hug.

I can’t help it.

I start to cry.

The whole nine yards—snotty nose, shoulders shaking, animal noises.

I hear a bang by the stove.

“What the fuck did he do?” Elijah growls. “I will fuckin’—”

“Eli!” Olivia hisses. She turns back to me, stroking my hair. “C’mon in, Grace. What can we get you? Some water? Coffee?”

“Bleach for the body?” Eli offers. “Bourbon?”

I half-sob, half-laugh. “Bourbon sounds good.”

Olivia settles me on the sofa, placing a box of tissues on the coffee table in front of me, while Eli presses an old fashioned glass into my hand.

“Wow,” I say, looking down at it. The astringent smell of brown liquor filling my head. “I was joking.”

Eli taps his glass to mine. Two fingers in each. “I wasn’t.”

Welp. Guess this is my life now—trolling around town in last night’s clothes, drinking liquor before noon.

I’ll try anything to make the ache in my chest hurt less.

I swallow a good pull of bourbon. Swallow the memory of the way Luke’s face looked when he said we’re just too damn different.

A rush of heat to my eyes. Matches the heat of the bourbon as it slides down my throat.

I don’t understand it. One minute, Luke was walking into the party. Handing me flowers. Speechless in the cutest, sweetest way possible when I showed him the grits bar.

He was still mine then. Still convinced we could make it work.

But then something happened. Something that made him change his mind. I’ve retraced my steps in my head a thousand times. Was it Greyson? Charlie and Elle? The crowd?

Luke is not a jealous guy. He’s not insecure or small-minded. What could’ve possibly set him off?

What made him genuinely believe I’d be better off without him?

Eli sits on the sofa next to me. Olivia takes the armchair to my left. Surrounding me in a little circle of sympathetic glances and silent comfort.

“Bourbon’s good,” I say, taking another sip.

“It’s Pappy,” Eli replies, referring to his favorite—and most expensive—bourbon, Pappy Van Winkle. “Desperate times call for good booze. Whatever happened, I’m real sorry, Gracie.”

My chest feels so heavy I can hardly breathe.

“Luke broke up with me.” My voice cracks with disbelief. “And I don’t know why. Something about not wanting to hold me back. He said some shit like we don’t belong in the same world or whatever.”

Eli scrunches his brow. After a beat, he scoffs, shaking his head.

“What?” I ask.

“When Luke was makin’ a delivery to The Pearl the other day—he said somethin’ similar to me. He didn’t want to take you away from everything you loved downtown. I think he was a little intimidated by all the great things you got goin’ on for yourself. Felt like maybe he had nothing to contribute.”