Page 77 of Coming Up Roses

“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.

* * *

Runningon 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.

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