Southern Storm (Southern 3)

“Fine,” I say, rolling my eyes, and walk toward my bedroom. I ignore the loud thumping of my heart, and when I finally get into my bedroom, I sit on the bed and rub my hands over my face. Looking around the room, I see that nothing has actually been touched. My king-size bed is still made from this morning and the pictures of Ethan and me by the bed haven’t moved. I open the drawer beside my bed and see the one picture I keep hidden. It’s of Beau and me on New Year’s Eve last year at the bar. He walked around the bar with five seconds to go, and when the countdown hit zero, he wrapped one arm around my waist and kissed me for a split second. The picture in the frame was taken at the exact moment before he kissed me. Both of us smiling from ear to ear, it’s a picture I look at often but don’t discuss. I close the drawer right when I hear footsteps coming toward my bedroom. I look up and see Beau fill my doorframe.

“Grady just left,” he says. Leaning to the right, he folds his arms over his chest, making the muscles in his arms bulge. “How are you doing?”

“How am I doing?” I repeat his question and laugh sarcastically. “How am I doing? Well, let me see. The biggest secret of my whole life is out now. My bar got trashed, and my insurance is claiming that I did it because, well, every single normal person trashes their place of business. Destroying the only income that I have ’cause that’s a great idea,” I say angrily. I brush away the one tear that escapes my eye, not willing to give anyone else my tears. “Then someone or maybe the same person decides that I don’t have enough shit going on right now, so they decide to break my windows with bricks.” Another tear falls. “Fuck!” I shout and look up at the ceiling. “Why am I letting this get to me?”

He squats down in front of me and takes my hands in his. “You’re human.”

I shake my head. “Are you sure? I didn’t see that written on any bricks. I did see the usual slut, bitch, whore. I wonder …?” I look at him, and my voice goes low. “How would it feel to walk out of my house and have neighbors who smiled at me and waved. Or even asked me how my day was,” I say, getting up. My hands fall from his as his eyes just look into mine with a look that is almost pity and sadness. “I bet it would be amazing.” Turning, I walk into the bathroom and close the door behind me so he doesn’t see me cry yet again.

Chapter Eleven

Beau

I listen to the click of the bathroom door before I get up and sit on her bed. What the fuck? I knew that people were rough on her, and I knew that people were still assholes about everything that went down eight years ago, but she always just shrugged it off. Or at least made it seem like it didn’t matter to her, but secretly, she was hiding all this hurt. I rub my hands over my face when the phone beeps in my pocket. I take it out and see a text from Jacob.

Jacob: We need to talk when I get back. Now that you’re mayor, there are a couple of things you need to be aware of.

I put my head back, wondering what the fuck else is going on. I used to watch my father and think that this job was easy. Sure, he had to keep the people happy, but every time I saw him, he looked calmed and collected. Maybe I bit off too much. I hear the water stop, and then the door opens and she comes out. “I’ll be ready in about ten,” she says, walking to her closet.

“I’m going to make sure that someone is coming to board up the windows,” I say, and she just nods. I walk out into the hot humid air and grab my phone when I see one of Savannah’s neighbors outside watering his flowers. I walk over, and when he turns his head, I see him with his sunglasses and hat on, hose in his hand, and a cigar in his mouth. “Good afternoon, Harold. How are you doing today?”

He takes the cigar out of his mouth and smiles at me and nods. “Mr. Mayor.”

“There was some vandalism at Savannah’s house, and I was wondering if you saw anything,” I ask, and he turns to look at his flowers. “Someone threw a couple of bricks through her window.”

“Well, that’s what happens when you date all these men.” His words make my shoulders snap into place. “Could be anyone.”