Southern Heartbreaker (Charleston Heat 4)

“It’s too much. The sooner I rip this band-aid off…” I shake my head, crossing my arms. “Look. I just missed this huge deadline. I’m falling down on my work. I have to tell my readers that the book they’ve been dying for isn’t going to be published anytime soon. I have to tell my sponsors we won’t be getting all that extra site traffic I’ve been promising them. I’m putting my business at risk. What if this book doesn’t do well now? What if I don’t get picked up for future book deals? I’m falling down on you and Bryce—”

“How the hell are you falling down on us?” His eyes flicker with panic. “What are you even talking about? You’ve been doing an incredible job being there for both of us. As a matter of fact, I agree with you that you’re taking on way too much on. That’s the problem. Maybe if you stopped trying so much, you wouldn’t feel this way.”

My mind whirrs. Alternating anger and hurt like slides in a projection carousel. “How can I not try my best with y’all? You mean the world to me. I wanted to be the best partner to you. I wanted to be the best stepmom to Bryce. But I can’t do that and accomplish what I want to—I can’t make my own dreams happen, too.”

Ford blinks again. “Your own dreams?”

“The ones I have for my career, and my writing,” I say, rolling my wrist as I try to grasp the right words. Tears are leaking out of my eyes left and right. “You know how important my job is to me. You know how much I love what I do, and how long I’ve worked to get where I am. And I can’t—” I have to look away. “I can’t show up for my work and my readers the way I need to when I’m…you know. Trying to juggle it with you, and Bryce, and—and parenthood in general. I’m already making a sacrifice I shouldn’t be. I mean, this is just the flu. What’s going to happen when something bigger happens? Something worse? What will I have to give up then?”

The way my mom had to give up photography when shit hit the fan with my sister.

Ford just stares at me. Features frozen in a look of disbelief.

“I get why you’re upset. Really, E, I do. I feel terrible about you missing your deadline. I offered to help in any way that I could—”

“You can’t help. Not with that.”

He holds up his hands. “I know. But I offered. I’m trying my best, too. And I’m saying—trying to say, and obviously sticking my foot in my mouth while I’m saying it—is that Bryce and I don’t need you to do all these things for us. Not if they’re making you feel overwhelmed and miserable. Why didn’t you say something sooner?”

The words burst out of my mouth. “Because! I didn’t know I would end up missing my deadline because I was bedridden with the flu.”

“That only happened because you took on too damn much!” His voice rises, making my pulse jump. Even when we were angsty, dramatic twenty-somethings, he never shouted at me like this. “I told you the pizza night was lovely but ridiculous. I told you not to take the coaching position. But you did it anyway. Now you’re sick and upset. I’m upset. This all could’ve been avoided if you’d just listened to me. I’ve been doing this parent thing for a while now, E. Safe to say I know what I’m talking about.”

I glare at him. “Don’t patronize me. You think I’m ridiculous?”

“No. I said all the effort you put into pizza night is ridiculous. Bryce would be perfectly content with frozen pizza that’s still partially frozen. I mean, she’s four, so…”

“But I wanted to do better than that,” I say. “I just can’t. Not if I want to accomplish the things I do.”

“Then stop trying to be the perfect stepmom. Didn’t we talk for hours about how much I admire you for doing your own thing? Being a free spirit? I don’t need you to be some Stepford wife version of yourself for us. I just need you to be happy, E.”

I shake my head again. My face feels tight from—God, from who knows what at this point? Tears and fever and dehydration and hurt.

“Coming from the guy who tries to be the perfect dad. It’s too overwhelming. I’m overwhelmed, Ford.”

He throws up his arms. “You think I’m not? Jesus Christ, Eva, I’ve been running around like a lunatic trying to do better for you, too. I want this to work. So bad.”

My heart twists. “I want that, too. But if we’re both trying our damnedest and it isn’t happening—it never will, Ford. And maybe…I don’t know. Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe us having to put in so much effort is a sign we shouldn’t be together. You have to agree that a relationship this new shouldn’t be this difficult.”