Southern Gentleman (Charleston Heat 3)

I adjust my hand on the steering wheel.

Great. Now she’s going to ice me out.

Goddamn it.

“You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

A voice inside my head tells me to pull over and put the car in park and fix this. Apologize. Try to figure out what the fuck’s going on with me together by walking through what just happened.

But I can’t.

I know I’m fucking up. But because I’m apparently a pathological masochist, I can’t stop.

Instead, my throat tightens with anger. Thoughts spinning out of control. Why do I always have to be the one that does all the talking? Why am I the one who has to do all the explaining?

I pull into her driveway.

“I’m sorry that turned into a fight,” I manage.

She looks at me. Finally.

“That’s what you’re sorry for?”

“Julia. I’m trying—”

“That doesn’t mean anything to me anymore.” She shakes her head. “I’m done with your trying.”

“Jules—”

“Listen. Remember when you told me you felt this pressure to be the perfect son? The perfect partner? I think you still feel that pressure, even though I’ve told you countless times you don’t need to be perfect for me to love you. I just want you here. I just want you. Not your money. Not the prestige that comes with who you are and the name of your firm and all the fancy restaurants and bars you’re involved with. I just want you to be around. Period. That’s all I’m asking for, Grey.”

I open my mouth to reply—that’s not true, I put the gun down—but she’s already shoving the door open and launching out of my car like it’s on fire.

I hate that I’m upsetting her like this. I hate that she’s hurting on my account.

What is wrong with me?

“Can I call you? Later?” I ask.

She turns. Meets my eyes.

“If you’re ready,” she says.

What the fuck does that mean, I want to shout.

What the fuck is happening?

Heading back out onto East Bay, I unbutton the neck of my shirt and reach inside for my nicotine patch. I rip it off my shoulder and ball it up in my palm.

I grab a pack of Marlboros from a nearby grocery store. Smoke one in the parking lot while I think about what I should do next. I don’t want to be with anyone, but I also don’t want to be alone.

Bryce is still awake at Ford’s house. She can’t see me like this. Maybe he can come over to my place. Have Mom or Dad watch Bryce.

I shoot him a text.

I think I really fucked up with Julia and I don’t know what to do.

I head home and get into my stretchy pants. Head out onto the patio for another cigarette.

Ford appears on my front walkway below.

Looking up at me, he lifts a bottle of brown liquor.

“I come bearing gifts,” he says, squinting against the early evening light. “C’mon, let me in.”

I put out my cigarette and head downstairs.

“Who’d you get to watch Bryce?” I ask when we’re in my kitchen.

Ford unwinds the plastic from around the whiskey’s bottle cap. “Mom. I told her you and Julia were fighting and I had to do some triage before you chased Julia off for good. She was at my house in five minutes flat with instructions that I get the two of you back together or else.”

I set two rocks glasses on the counter.

“Dude, why do you have to tell Mom everything?”

He lifts a shoulder and pours us each a few generous fingers. “Because I like being her favorite. So what happened?”

“I don’t know.” I bring my glass to my lips. Take a sip, the liquor snaking a line of fire down my middle. “I mean, I do know. But I don’t. You know?”

Ford just looks at me. “Sounds bad. As bad as you look.”

“Do you always have to be a dick?”

“I always have to be honest. If that makes me a dick, then, well.” He shrugs, taking a sip of whiskey. “So be it. You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Tell me what happened with Julia.”

He listens while I tell him what went down. The registry, the disaster of my morning, the house on South Battery.

“I’m trying to do the right thing. I want to be Julia’s dream partner. She means the world to me. That baby in her belly means the world to me, Ford.” Ah, fuck, my throat’s tightening up again. I take a slug of whiskey. Doesn’t help. “Just lately—I feel like I’ve been drowning trying to keep up with work and the baby and Julia. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy. Genuinely happy being with her. But I’m struggling to show up at work the way I need to while showing up for her the way she needs me to. That make sense? Everything just feels so real and so…urgent. I’m overwhelmed.”

Ford ducks his head in a nod, swallowing his sip. “Makes perfect sense. I think I see what’s going on here.”