Southern Heart by Madison, Natasha (best fiction novels .txt) 📕

Chapter 23

Mayson

I look down as my heart beats in my chest. I think my heart stops when I look up and see the pain in her eyes, but it’s nothing like the pain I feel. "Then your brother shows up, and just like that, I’m reminded that there is no happiness for me." She looks down at her hands on the counter and rolls them around and around.

"Me here with you. Your kisses. Your touch. That is the happiest I think I could ever be." Might as well give it all to her. "Your smile." I look at her. "Your laugh, even your glare. Your touch." I close my eyes, pretending I’m close enough to touch her. Wishing I can do this with her in my arms. "Your kisses. Holding you in my arms. All of that makes me happy." My voice trembles now. "That is how I felt this morning walking out of here. But it was too good to be true. Because then there in black and white, I saw why I can’t have it. Why I’ll never ever get to have that happiness." My voice goes low with the last word.

"So I make you happy?" she asks.

"More than anything in the world,” I say. "You have to know that. You have to believe that." My stomach sinks with the thought of her not believing me.

She walks around the island now and comes over to me, sitting down at the far end of the couch. "Where are you going?" she asks with her hands in her lap as her foot moves up and down.

"Anywhere but fucking here,” I say. "As far away from you that I can get." Her head snaps back as if I slapped her in the face. "I will not let you be in the middle of this. I will not have this fucking touch you. Don’t you get that?" My hands are propped on my hips in anger now.

"No," she says, her voice cracking. "I don’t get it." She gets up now. "But it’s not my choice, now is it?”

"You think it’s my choice?" I ask, and I want to run to her and pull her in my arms. I want to kiss her and push the hair away from her face.

"We all have choices." She stands there being so fucking strong. "And you chose to leave me behind."

"Me leaving will protect you!" I shout. "Don’t you get that? Don’t you see?”

"How?" she asks the loaded question. "You leaving me leaves me open for anything. Leaving me alone for him to just come in and…" She stops talking now.

The words hit me like ice water thrown on me in the middle of the desert. "He was here." I confirm to her that he was the one who creeped her out. "He was fucking watching you." The burning in my stomach is now coming full force.

"So, he knows I’m involved in this?" she says, and I want to kick myself because she is right. "Is he still in town?"

"No," I answer. "At least, that is what they told me, but who knows."

"Well, then, I guess all the plans have been made," she says, turning to walk away from me.

"My father was fucking here!" I shout as I look up and rub my hands over my head. She turns, and I can see the sadness in her eyes. I put that there, me, me and my words.

"Yeah." Her voice is but a whisper. "And now he’s not. I’m going to go lie down." She starts to walk away, and I can see the tears in her eyes.

"I’m talking about my father. The man who killed my mother,” I say and see her face not even flinch when I mention him. "I’m talking about my father, who used my name to rack up tens of thousands of dollars in credit card debt." She doesn’t say anything, and it’s a good thing because I’m not finished. "I’m talking about my father, who married another woman and then beat her to death." I don’t stop even though I know I should. "I’m talking about my father, who tied me to a fucking tree and tortured me for five days." I ignore the tear running down my face and the tears running down her face. "So that is why I’m fucking leaving you."

"You leaving won’t change any of that." She walks over to me and stands right in front of me—my beautiful strong woman. I turn my head so the pain of looking at her will go away, but she doesn’t give me the out. She puts her hand on my cheek and turns my head to look at her. "You are not your father. Would you hit me?" Just the thought alone makes rage fill my body. "Would you hurt your child?" I’ve never imagined having a child. I never gave myself the hope I ever would. It was a dream I buried so deep and was afraid to even think it. "You are not your father."

"I would never ever hurt you,” I say, my eyes staring into hers. "If anything happened to you because of me..." I swallow down the lump in my throat.

"Then don’t go," she says. "Don’t leave me."

I don’t have time to say anything to her as the front door opens, and her hand drops from my face. She moves swiftly to the other side of the living room, and we both look over to see Ethan standing there watching us.

"What is going on here?" he asks, looking first at me and then at Chelsea. I watch his eyes, and I know he knows something is up. He just hasn’t figured it out yet.

"Nothing," Chelsea says. "He was just telling me that his father was the one watching me." She folds her arms now over her chest. "And that he’s leaving to go somewhere else.”

"He’s going to stay at the Los Angeles house," he says, and I hold up my hand.

"I’m not