Page 86 of Coming Up Roses

Myla Rose

I can’t breathe.I’m gasping, but I can’t breathe. My heart is lodged in my throat, effectively cutting off my air.

Watching Cash’s taillights, my brain keeps replaying the events that led me here, knowing deep down that this pain, this ache, is a byproduct of my own stupidity.

I woke up sporting the same perma-smile I’ve had since meeting Cash, and it only got brighter when his name flashed across my phone screen as I sipped from my second cup of coffee. Even though our call was brief, his voice was just what I needed to put me at ease about Kathy Mills being on my book today. That’s just one more secret I’ve been keeping. Cash has no clue I’m still doing her hair, and I just couldn’t bring myself to tell him.

When I walk into the salon, I’m met with the normal hustle and bustle of the day, but there’s also a chill in the air. Upon closer inspection, the smiles AzzyJo and Seraphine are wearing look forced—contrite, even. “What’s good this morning?” I ask to cut the tension.

“Not much, Myles,” Seraphine says with a small shrug. “Please know I tried to stop him.”

Her words have me on a wire’s edge, and the second I round the partition to my station, I see the problem. My chair is occupied by none other than my ex. Why the fuck . . .

“Myla, Myla, Myla. Shame on you for keeping me waiting. You know how I feel about promptness.”

Gaping at him, I hiss, “Why are you in—my—chair?”

“Use your deductive reasoning skills, doll face.” I pale at the use of his pet name for me, words I’d have gladly paid a million times over to never hear again. Taylor lets out a loud, exasperated sigh. “Obviously, I need a haircut, Myla. And we need to talk.”

“We have absolutely nothing to talk about,” I bite out, my hands on my hips. “Less than nothing.” I turn to walk away from him, but he reaches out and roughly grabs my wrist. His grip is hard, unrelenting. “LET ME GO!” I shout at him.

“Myla, really. You’re making a scene.” With his grip still firm on my arm, he all but drags me toward the shampoo area. “Shut your damn mouth.”

With more bravery than I feel, I bark at him, “Thought you wanted a haircut?”

He lets out a cruel laugh. “Like I’d trust you to cut my hair. No, I’m here for us to talk.” He tugs me further into the room, away from listening ears. “Well, I’ll talk. You’ll listen. Do what I’m saying, and maybe I won’t take that baby from you.”

Jerking back as if he’s dealt a physical blow, my eyes glisten with unshed tears. Resigned, I stand quietly and listen to the bullshit he spews. He still has a tight hold on my wrist, and the more agitated he becomes, the harder he jerks me around by it.

I place my free arm to his chest to push him away, but he only pulls me closer. Muttering on and on about nothing. I think he’s lost it. I glance up, hoping to be able to signal to Azalea to call someone.

Instead, I see Cash’s eyes glaring down at me, clouding over with hurt. Next thing I know, Taylor’s sealing his lips to mine, and I can’t seem to get him off me.

With great effort, I remove his lips from mine. Cash looks murderous. “Mmm, Myla, damn. I forgot how good you taste.” I move my eyes from Cash to Taylor, shocked at his vulgar words, and by the time I look back to Cash, he’s gone.

All I had to do was talk to him. Open up about Taylor’s texts and come to him with honesty. Instead, I lied, and now he’s gone. How can someone live without their heart?

I’m still standing frozen on the sidewalk in front of the salon when Drake’s truck slides into the spot where Cash’s had just been. “Myles, I came as soon as Azalea called.” His words are cautious, and he approaches me warily. “Are you okay?”

“Please make him leave.” My voice breaks as I fall to my knees on the sidewalk. I can only imagine the way this looks to the townsfolk milling about—pregnant and having an emotional breakdown on the side of the street in broad daylight. I have no one to blame but myself.

“C’mon, Myles, let’s getcha up off the ground.”

“No! I’m not stepping foot in there until he is gone.”

Without another word, Drake is off like a shot toward the salon. Several moments later, he stalks back out, all but dragging Taylor kicking and screaming behind him.

“Get your filthy hands off me!”

“If you don’t want my hands on you, then don’t come ‘round where you ain’t wanted.” Drake accentuates his words with a shove to Taylor’s chest. “Get gone, and stay gone.”

“Please, Myla doesn’t really want me to go.” He sniffs, squaring his shoulders. “It’s painfully obvious that her dalliance with that piece of trash was nothing more than a cry for my attention, and her lips on mine further proved it.”

“So help me God, if you ever touch her again . . . and that ‘piece of trash’ is ten times the man you could ever hope to be,” Drake tosses back, crowding Taylor’s space.

“Yeah, so much of a man that he ran off, leaving her all alone, with me.” Turning my way, Taylor drops down to his haunches and grips my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Guess he’s just not that into you, baby do—”

Before that wretched nickname can pass his lips, Drake has him pinned on his back. “Say one more word to her, and I swear I will end you. Now, do as I said. Get gone and stay gone.” Drake stands and extends a hand down as if to help Taylor up, and stupidly, Taylor accepts it. Once upright, Drake shoves him hard toward his little Mercedes coupe. Thankfully, Taylor seems to have gotten the message and gets into his car, speeding off away from us.

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