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“Seems to me she wanted to string me along asPlan Bif shit didn’t bounce back with Taylor,” I tell him, my hurt coating each word like a poison.

“Are you that dumb? You can’t seriously be that?—”

“You bust into my goddamn workshop and have the balls to call me ignorant? Get out. The facts speak louder than whatever lies you’re here to tell. Just get the fuck out, and tell Myla I’ll drop her shit off later.”

“Guess you are that dumb. Just know you’re pissing away the best thing you’ve ever had over shit you don’t understand.” This whole time, I’ve been waiting for him to deck me like I know he wants to. And deep down, maybe I’m looking for a fight too. So I’m more than a little let down when Simon turns to leave without so much as a backward glance.

As my fight leaves my body, exhaustion crashes down hard. I stagger back to the couch and drop down onto it before falling back into the same restless slumber.

When I cometo God knows how many hours later, I realize I never turned my phone back on. Patting around the couch and my pockets, it’s nowhere to be found.The truck—it’s in the truck.

Scrambling up from the couch, I rush out and plug my phone into the car charger before powering it back up. Mad and hurt or not, I want to know she’s okay.

My phone takes what feels like forever to power up, and when it does, I’m bombarded with texts and missed call alerts from damn near everyone I know.

Sixteen missed calls from Myla Rose.

Four missed calls from Southern Roots.

Two missed calls from Drake.

One missed call from Simon.

Three from an unknown number.

Two from my brother and one from my mom—I really hope those are unrelated.

Swiping away the missed calls, I toggle over to my voicemail app, skipping the text messages altogether. Thirteen new voicemails, eight from Myla. Pressing play on the first one from her, I sink back into the seat, trying my hardest to safeguard my heart.

“C–Cash.” The break in her voice just about kills me, “P–please call m–me. I–it’s not wh–what you think.” Being the glutton for punishment I am, I listen to the rest of her messages, each one less coherent than the one before it, with the final one being nothing more than the sound of her tears.

My heart is shattered, and the pain in her voice is digging splinters right into my chest. I throw my phone down to the passenger floorboard without checking the other voicemails or texts because this shit is messing with my head. What right does she have to be upset? This is her fault. She’s nothing more than a fucking cheater, just like Kayla, and it’ll serve me well to remember that.

CHAPTER 41

MYLA ROSE

My mom abandoning me?Yeah, it hurt, but eventually, I realized I was better off without her. My Grams passing away gutted me, but deep down, I knew she was in a better place. Taylor leaving me when that test came up positive tore my heart to shreds, but I found a way to paste it back together and came out stronger for it.

Cash shutting me out? Yeah, no. There is no positive spin, just a whole lotta pain, regret, and sorrow. Oh, and anger, too. Though that’s directed mostly at myself.

“Myles, let’s go, time to get up,” Azalea says as she ties back my curtains and raises the blinds.

Immediately, I pull the duvet over my head to block out the light. What business does the sun have shining when my world is so, so dark? “C’mon, sister-girl. It’s been four days. It’s time to get it together.”

“Nope. I’m fine right here, thank you very much.”

“You say that, but you’re not seeing what I’m seeing. Myles, you need a shower. You need to eat real food—if not for you, then for the baby. And Lord knows, you need to go rescue sweet Magnolia from your clients.”

“Just go, Az. I’ll rejoin the world tomorrow.” I burrow further under the covers. “Yeah, tomorrow sounds good. Promise”

“No, ma’am. TODAY!” She rips the duvet from my body, leaving it in a heap on the floor before repeating the action with the sheets. “Get up, Myles, I mean it. I’ll go start you a shower.”

Opting to take the path of least resistance, I follow her. I can always get back in bed after my shower.

Standing under the hot spray, I can’t help but cry. “You okay, Myles?”

“No,” I choke out. “I just . . . I miss him.”