CASH
I walk out of Southern Roots on cloud nine. A little stiff in my stance, but cloud-fucking-nine nonetheless.
Every time I see Myla Rose, I feel a little bit lighter. She just has this constant glow, this joy, and damn if she doesn’t pour that light into others. Spending a little time with her before heading out to Mrs. Mills’ consultation was just what the doctor ordered.
Plugging the address Kathy gave me into my GPS, I shift my truck into gear, smiling all the while. Legit, after the last few days, there’s not a thing on this earth or otherwise that could knock this goofy-ass love-drunk grin from my lips.
As long as I’ve got Myla Rose, I’ve got everything I need and then some. She’s everything I thought I had with Kayla and so much more. And even though we haven’t really discussed it, I’m pretty positive we’re on the same page.
“You have arrived at your destination,” my GPS alerts me with her crisp British accent, all proper and shit.
I take in my surroundings and double-check the address. What I thought was a narrow road is, in fact, the Mills’ driveway. It’s long and winding, and about halfway down it is a massive iron gate with a family crest on each side of the opening. The landscaping, which runs the length of the drive and surrounds the house, is impeccable, and they even have a fountain in the middle of the circle drive.
The house itself is towering and slightly formidable with its deep red brick rising three stories high.
Who needs this much? I think to myself as I check to make sure I have everything I need for this consult, which I do. My notebook is nestled in my back pocket, my tape measure is secured at my side, and my pencil’s tucked behind my ear.
It’s show time.
I lift the ornate brass knocker, tapping it against the glossy black door, and not even two seconds later, the door opens, bringing me face-to-face with a butler. A butler. In a little butler suit and everything.
“Please, sir, do come in. Mrs. Mills will see you in the formal living room.”
“Uh, sure. Lead the way,” I tell him, trying my hardest not to laugh. He’s only doing his job, but come the fuck on.
I follow him through the house, taking several turns along the way. The floors are a white marble and the walls are papered in shades of gold. This shit’s like something out of a movie.
“Here we are, sir,” The butler informs me as we come to a set of French doors.
“Mr. Carson, how nice of you to join us. I was starting to think you weren’t going to show.” Her words instantly have my hackles up because I know I’m nowhere near late, and for her to imply it—yeah, that pisses me off. But, like they say, The customer is always right, so clenching my jaw, I grin and bear it.
“Yes, ma’am, traffic was a real beast today.” We both know I’m talking out of my ass, because in a town like this, the only thing that causes traffic is a tractor, and even then . . . “So, let’s talk a little more about the look you’re going for.”
“Yes, well, as we discussed, I’m in need of a new buffet. It’s meant for my son, as a pre-engagement gift. He’ll be here shortly, but until then, this is what I am imagining for him.” Mrs. Mills gestures to the huge scrapbook on the coffee table, and together, we begin flipping through it, looking at different designs.
Five minutes later, there’s a crackle of static before a voice floats through the room. “Your son has arrived, ma’am. Shall I send him back?”
“Yes, please do,” Kathy says as she presses a button on the wall next to her chair.
A few moments later, a voice I prayed I’d never—ever—hear again trickles into the room. “Mother, I’m here . . .”
I hope and pray the body doesn’t match the voice. Please, God.
But no, they match. Taylor is Mrs. Mills’ son and Myla’s ex, and he’s just as douchey as ever. He’s decked out in the official Bro-Douche uniform of the South, a pastel seersucker and plaid patchwork button-down, way too short khaki shorts, and Sperry topsiders.
He stalks into the room, coming to rest at his mother’s side before his eyes land on me. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here?” he seethes. “Mother, why is he here?”
Kathy looks utterly perplexed. “Taylor, darling, whatever do you mean? Mr. Carson is here to build your buffet.”
“That miscreant isn’t building shit for us.”
“Taylor Augustus Mills, you watch your—”
“I will not. This loser is playing house with Myla Rose. Jesus, he’s probably her bastard’s dad.”
Silently, I sit on the antique couch, listening as he spouts off one line of bullshit after another. This kid is talking straight out of his ass, and my top is about to blow. He’s messing with the wrong man and talking about the wrong girl.
“I mean, Jesus, Mother, for all we know, she planned this. When her attempt to trap me with a baby didn’t work, she probably concocted some scheme with Mr. Carson here to rob us blind under the guise of working.”
Does this jerk-off even hear himself? Yeah, no. That’s it. I’m done. Quietly, I stand and begin gathering up the things I brought. Without a word, I make my way to the double-doors. Taylor has stopped talking. Kathy has stopped talking. The room is blanketed in silence. The calm before the storm.
I pause in the entryway and turn to face the mother and son, and I know they see the lightning flashing in my eyes, and I’ll make damn sure they hear the thunder in my voice. “You keep Myla’s name outta your mouth, you hear me? Better yet, don’t even think it. She’s not your concern. She’s mine. But you keep on spreading shit like this around about her? You’ll become my problem, and let me assure you . . . that’s not something you want.”
“Now you listen here—” I turn and walk away in the middle of whatever garbage Taylor Mills was planning to spew, because I’ve heard more than enough. He’s the goddamn epitome of an entitled, over-privileged prick, and I sure don’t know what Myla ever saw in him.
Running on adrenaline and instinct alone, I don’t even realize I’ve driven to Myla’s house until I’m parked under the shade of her oak tree. I know she’s not home from the salon yet, but the need to be near her is overwhelming.
The way Taylor talked about her made me want to snap his neck, and I know that her presence will calm me. So, I’ll kick my feet up and wait. God knows, she’s worth it.
I also know she keeps a key under her potted plant, so I shoot her a quick text to let her know I’m here and waiting on her. I’m so fucking anxious to have her near me. I know she didn’t hear the things he said, but my gut tells me she’s probably heard him say much, much worse.
Gotta be real, too. It’s eating at me, wondering why she was with him—what she saw in him—because all I see is a Grade-A loser. He’s the kind of guy who peaks in high school and tries desperately to hang onto those ‘golden years’ for far too long. Guys like Taylor Mills have expiration dates, and goddamn if he isn’t way past his sell-by date.
I leave my boots at the door and make myself right at home, settling down into that same loveseat where I first got my hands on Myla Rose.
I smile, remembering how on fire she was for me, how her entire body lit up with my touch, so responsive. Before I know it, my eyes slip shut and I drift off with a goofy-ass grin curled on my lips.
I startle at the sound of the front door opening, straightening up just in time to see Myla walk in. Even after standing all day with back-to-back clients, she’s fucking radiant. “Hey there, darlin’,” I rasp out as I stand to hug her, drawing her into my arms and holding her there.
“I was glad to get your text—surprised, but glad. What’s going on, babe?” She tilts her head up to look at me but stays wrapped in my arms as if she knows I need her touch.
“Let’s sit down, yeah?” I realize my mistake the moment it happens. She’s staring back at me with fear blanketing her every feature. “Nothing bad, darlin’, just got a lot to say, and maybe a few questions.” Dropping a quick kiss to her forehead, I pull her down beside me onto the loveseat.
“Okay . . . talk.”
“Well, lemme start from the beginning. The other day, I met a lady at The Pig while I was waiting to check out. She was looking to have a piece of furniture built, so I gave her my card. She called a few days later, and we set up a consultation for today.”
“Cash! That’s awesome. You’re so talented—”
“Hang on, I’m not finished.” I reach down and clasp her hands in mine. “So, I get to her house today and we’re chatting, going over plans, and her son walks in.”
“Right, I’m following. Keep going.”
“Her son is Taylor. Your ex.” She pales and attempts to pull her hands back from mine.
“O–okay. Th–that’s fine. Just because he and I have a history doesn’t mean you can’t do work for them.” She nods her head a few times, as if to convince herself that her words aren’t utter bullshit.
“Darlin’. If you think I’d do any work for them, you’re sorely mistaken. He recognized me from the beach, and shit got ugly and I stormed outta there. But before leaving, I told him to keep your name outta his mouth.”
“Oh, Cash . . .” She brings her head to rest on my shoulder. “You didn’t have to do that. I don’t want to harm your business.”
“Look at me, darlin’. Don’t you know you’re worth more than any sum of money? With the shit he was popping off at the mouth with, he’s lucky I didn’t knock his teeth down his throat. What did you ever see in him?”
I’m not trying to be funny, but she cracks up at my question. “Oh, babe. I wish I knew. I’ve known him my whole life, and I’d crushed on him since we were kids. He used to be so sweet, and I guess over the years, I’d put him on a pedestal, and when he finally gave me the time of day, I was so excited. I thought he was ready to admit he felt the same way when he just wanted to drag me along and brag to his friends. I was nothing more than a game to him . . . and our game ended with me getting one hell of a prize, huh?”
“That baby in your belly is for sure a prize—the only good thing that deadbeat will ever make. Too bad for him, he’ll never know him. Not if I have anything to say about it.”
“Wh–what do you mean, Cash?”
“What I mean . . .” I take a deep breath, praying with all my might that this doesn’t send her running for the hills. “Is that, if you’ll allow me the honor, I’d like to raise this baby with you. It’d mean the goddamn world to be his dad.”
Her eyes well with tears, and they drop one after another. And this time, when she goes to pull her hands from mine, I let her. She bolts from the couch and starts pacing.
Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth.
After what feels like an eternity of pacing and tears, I stand, causing her to run smack into my chest on her return trip. However, instead of pushing me away, she wraps her arms around my neck and burrows her head into my chest. “Y–you mean that?”
“With all my heart, darlin’. I can’t think of a thing on this earth that would mean more to me.”
“You realize you’re one of a kind, Cash Carson?” she sniffles and wipes her tears on my sleeve. “A dream come true.”
“As long as I have you, I don’t need to dream, because you’re more than I could ever ask for.” Bending low, I scoop her into my arms. “Which way to your room?”
She directs me, and I set off up the stairs. I push open her door and set her down. “Get undressed, Myla.”
“Undressed?”
“Yup,” I tell her, popping the ‘P’ as I make my way into her bathroom.
I set to work drawing her a bath but come to a dead stop when she steps into the room. She’s completely bare and completely breathtaking. Goddamn. This may not be the first time I’ve seen her body, but with it constantly growing and changing, every time is like the first time, and I fucking love it . . . her.
Wordlessly, she makes her way to me, and I help her step into the tub. “You relax, darlin’, and I’ll start dinner, yeah?”
“Yeah, babe. No way am I gonna argue with that.” I step out of the bathroom and rifle through her clothes for her phone. Finding it, I bring it to her. “What’s that for?” she asks with a sweet smile.
“Just thought you might wanna tell Azalea the news.”
“Well, you’ve just thought of everything, huh?”
She laughs but takes her phone from me, and not even two seconds later, it trills out her text tone. Her gaze grows hazy and distant as it beeps again. And again.
“Everything okay?”
“Uh . . . yeah, yes. Everything is f–fine.” I can tell she’s lying from the wobble in her voice, but I don’t call her on it. We’ve both had an emotional day, and with all the resolve I’m capable of, I turn and head out to the kitchen to whip us up some dinner.
Even if it kills me, I have to trust that if those texts were important, she’d tell me. Especially after today.