Page 75 of Small Town Firsts
“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 untilheis 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, leavingherall alone, withme.” 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, andI 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.
“C’mon, Myles, he’s gone. Let’s get you inside.” I allow Drake to pull me up off the ground and guide me with a hand at the small of my back. I’m too humiliated to meet anyone’s stare—and my God, are they staring. There’s a small crowd of looky-loos gathered along the opposite side of the street, and Seraphine and Azalea are standing out front. The only person not accounted for is Magnolia, who turns up once we all head inside.
“Sister-girl, are you okay?” Azalea sweeps me into a tight hug, rocking me as she holds me.
“No. Not at all,” I tell her honestly. She walks me over to my station, supporting me as I lower myself into my chair.
“Everything’ll be okay, Myles. Just you wait and see.” Bless her heart. I know Seraphine is just trying to be positive, but it only stands to make me feel worse.This is my fault. I broke us.
Snatching up the coffee Cash left, I notice there’s something written on the side of the cup.
Darlin’-
The only thing hotter than this
coffee is you. Love you, C-
My breath catches and a new round of tears starts, causing the girls and Drake to spring into action. Azalea gently pries the now cooled beverage away from me. Seraphine retreats to the front desk, where she starts calling the rest of my clients for the day and rescheduling them. Magnolia busies herself at her station, trying to stay out of the way.
And Drake—thank God for Drake. He scoops me up and takes me home. He even carries me from his truck to my room and tucks me in. “I know it seems real bad right now, Myles. But just you wait. Shit has a way of getting sorted, and if I know Cash, he’ll pull his head outta his ass and get this fixed. That man loves you. Now sleep, and I’ll send Little Bit over when I get back to the salon.” He drops a quick kiss to my forehead before retreating the way he came.
I’m out cold when I feel the bed dip behind me. For a second, my heart soars, thinking Cash is here, but my hope quickly deflates when Azalea’s soft scent surrounds me. “It’ll be okay, Myla, I promise,” I hear her say, and then I’m drifting back to sleep.
CHAPTER 40
CASH
The soundof someone pounding on the shop door wakes me. And goddamn if this isn’t déjà vu. Only instead of an angry Kayla on the other side of the door, I find an even angrier Simon.
Disoriented from a night of restless sleep, I’m in no shape to deal with this shit. I attempt to shut the door, not caring one bit that I’m being rude, but Simon isn’t having it. With the force of ten linemen, Simon knocks me back with his shoulder to my chest.
“You sorry motherfucker,” he yells as we tumble to the ground. On the floor, he easily pins me. “I. Fucking. Told. You,” he clips out, reinforcing each word with jarring shakes, slamming my upper body into the concrete floor.
“The hell are you mad at me for?” I demand, shoving him off me. Jumping to my feet, I put my workbench between us. “Your girl’s the one you should be talking to.”
“My girl? Thought she was yours? Thought you loved her? Thought you were good for her. What a goddamn joke.” His fists are clenched, knuckles white from the sheer force of holding himself back.
“How are you coming at me with this? No. This is on Myla Rose.”
“The fuck you say?” Simon advances, working his way around the bench.
