Sweet Southern Sorrow Read online

  “Cheyenne, how’d that guy back there know you?” Bryan asks as I let out a deep breath. It’s times like these that I’m so thankful I have him, a guy best friend.

  “Did you not hear his introduction, Bry?” I ask wryly, wondering how in the hell I’m going to deal with this mess. I knew it was possible to see Sawyer in Atlanta, but to be honest, I’ve been telling myself that it’s a big city and the likelihood of running into him would be minimal. Fate must’ve been laughing at me every time I had that thought.

  “Yeah, he said his name was Sawyer Calla—oh fuck, are you serious?” he asks, his eyes wide with disbelief.

  “Serious as a redneck bettin’ on a tractor pull,” I drawl, knowing how much he loves my Southern accent, trying to make light of the situation.

  “So you’re telling me the head of the production department, the production department that you’re about to start working for, is…?” he trails off, shaking his head incredulously.

  “Sawyer Callahan. First love. Taker of my virtue. Breaker of my heart. And last but not least, my stepbrother.”

  June 2008

  “HAPPY BIRTHDAY, BIRDIE,” MY daddy tells me, and I smile at him as he wraps me up in his warm embrace.

  I can feel his arms around me, holding me tight when the world suddenly shifts. We’re no longer in the park watching the birds. I’m clinging to his uniform¸ crying for him not to go. He pulls out of my grasp and starts to walk away, but he turns back to me before he fades away.

  “Always watch for the swallows, Birdie. When they’re with you, know that I’m there, too,” he says softly as the slow, creeping fog envelopes him, taking him completely from my sight. I’m running towards him, but no matter how far I go, I can’t quite reach the fog, can’t reach Daddy.

  Falling to my knees, I’m back in the park, alone, distraught, tears rolling down my face. Lying down in the grass, I curl up into the fetal position and cry. For my daddy, my mama, my life. I don’t know who I’m crying for anymore, but the tears keep coming until darkness envelopes me.

  “Hey, you can’t sleep here,” I hear a far-off voice saying to me as I feel a large hand on my shoulder, shaking me. Slowly, I come out of what must’ve been a dream, and when I sit up, I look around, half expecting to see Daddy there.

  When I come to my senses, my heart falls, realizing that it was just a dream. This is the tenth birthday I’ve spent without my dad, and it’s not gotten any easier. The first couple of years, Mama tried to make a big deal about it, but eventually the booze and the men took precedent, so it’s not surprising that I’m spending my eighteenth birthday snoozing at the watering hole on Wyatt Worthington’s land.

  Sitting up, I have to place my forearm over my eyes to shade the sun. When I rode my bike out here this morning, the sun was barely rising, but now it’s halfway up the sky, indicating that it’s around noon or so. I look to the human alarm clock and my heart stops when I meet his eyes. They’re green, a bright green, with golden brown flecks speckled throughout the irises. I can’t help but be drawn to them, and when he holds a hand out, I don’t hesitate to place mine in his, allowing him to pull me up right before he drops our hands.

  He’s much taller than me, and he’s lean, almost like a swimmer. I realize I’m staring, and immediately go to smooth out my hair, to wipe my eyes, only imagining how I look post sleep. Raising his eyebrows at me, he gestures towards my towel and my bike.

  “You’re trespassin’,” he says, with just a slight Southern drawl, deep and refined, letting me know he’s not from around these parts.

  “’Scuse me? I come here almost every mornin’. I’ve never been a trespasser,” I retort as I place my hands on my hips, wondering who in the hell this guy thinks he is.

  He raises an eyebrow at me like he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying. “Who owns this property?” he challenges.

  Setting my chin, I glare at him. “Wyatt Worthington owns this land, and he’s been letting me come here since I was twelve years old. Who the hell are you?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head at me, and I can’t help but notice the dimples that form in his cheeks when he smiles. Okay, although he’s my annoying interrogator, he’s flippin’ hot, and I find myself wanting to know more about him.

  Surprisingly, he holds out his hand for an introductory shake. “Sawyer Callahan. Wyatt’s my uncle. On my mama’s side. I’m here for the summer to help him out with the farm.”

  “I’m Cheyenne. Cheyenne Hamilton. Nice to meet ya. Wyatt’s nephew, huh? I didn’t know he had family,” I tell him, and it’s true. In all the years I’ve known Wyatt, I’ve never seen family visit him, other than the one nephew he has working for him. I think that’s why we were drawn together. Kindred spirits and what not. He always saw how Mama flitted around Georgia and the surrounding states, trying to nail the next wealthy husband, and I saw a man with no family who just needed someone to care about. We’re two peas in a pod, no matter the thirty-year age difference.

  “It’s a long story, and I don’t want to get into it, but I don’t know him very well. I guess I’ll get to know him just fine this summer,” Sawyer says, kicking a rock. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing just past me. When I turn around, I see my sketchpad opened up to a pencil drawing of a swallow.

  “Oh, that’s nothin’. I just like to draw scenery, wildlife. No big deal,” I say, snatching up the notebook and closing it.

  He looks like he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t question it. “Come on. If you’re friends with Wyatt, he’ll kick my ass if I don’t invite you in for some of his lemonade. But just to warn you, there’s whiskey in it, so try not to gag.”

  Glaring at him, I stop in my tracks. “I can handle whiskey just fine, city boy,” I hiss, and I know I’ve hit the mark when he freezes.

  “What the hell makes you think I’m a city boy, pretty girl?” he asks, his eyes boring into mine.

  “Your hands. There ain’t a callus on ‘em,” I tell him, which causes him to study his palms. “And your accent. You may sound Southern, but it’s polished. I bet you’ve never let out a ‘y’all’ in your life. And, well, your hair. No farmhand that I’ve ever met takes the time to put product in his hair when he’s about to spend ten hours in the blisterin’ sun.”

  Grinning, he holds his hands up. “I can neither confirm nor deny your allegations. Guess you’ll just have to find out for yourself. Now come on. Let’s go up to the house. It’s too damn hot out here for a pretty girl like you.”

  Part of me melts at his words, and it’s not because of the heat he just mentioned. Gathering up my things, I follow him on my bike for about a half a mile until we get to Wyatt’s house, making small talk all along the way. We’re about to step onto the porch when I spot a bird feeder just off the left side of the porch. There’s a blackbird feeding, and it reminds me of Daddy, and I smile at his memory.

  “You really have a thing for birds, don’t you?” Sawyer asks, interrupting my thoughts.

  “It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell you one day, city boy,” I tell him, causing him to laugh.

  “Lucky for you, I’ve got all the time in the world, pretty girl. All the time in the world.”

  WHEN I GOT HOME that afternoon, I was feeling a little better about it being my birthday. After all, I met a hot guy, had some spiked lemonade, and worked on my tan. It could’ve been worse.

  I’m settling in on the couch in our one-story ranch—provided by Daddy’s pension—when Mama breezes through the door, leaning down to give me a kiss on the cheek.

  “This has been the most wonderful weekend!” she gushes as she flops down on the couch beside me. I haven’t seen her in three days, and I have no idea where she’s been. She’s been leaving me alone for days on end since I was fourteen years old, and I suppose I’m immune to it. Every time she comes back either ecstatic or angry as hell, and it usually has to do with a man, money, or both. The way she’s cheesing at me with a dreamy smile on her face lets me know that this time it’s a
man.

  “I met the most wonderful man, Cheyenne,” she tells me, her eyes twinkling, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think she actually means it.

  “Great, Mama,” I say unenthusiastically, but she doesn’t notice as she continues.

  “It was all out of nowhere, too. I was driving down Route 140 when I got a flat tire. Here I was, standin’ on the side of road in my heels, not ready to change a tire. My cell phone was dead, of course, and I was afraid I was going to be stranded. All of a sudden, I saw a sleek black Mercedes rise over the hill like a cowboy on a steed coming to my rescue. He pulled over behind me, and when he got out of the car, I almost melted! He was gorgeous, sophisticated, but still manly. He was in a suit, but he took no time in rolling up his sleeves to help me out. Naturally, I noticed he had no wedding ring on, so I invited him to dinner as a way of sayin’ thanks. Instead, he had me follow him to his house in nearby Alpharetta, where he proceeded to cook me the most amazing meal.” She pauses to wink at me. “Let me just say, he’s as good in the kitchen as he is in the bedroom.”

  I groan, even though I should be used to it. “Mama, I don’t need to know what or who you were doin’ while you were gone. Seriously, that was too much information.”

  She gets up from the couch and messes with my hair. “You’re too much of a prude, Cheyenne. You need to live a little. Hopefully that California sunshine will help lighten you up,” she says, and unlike most mothers, I’m pretty sure mine’s ready for me to go away to college. I watch as she leaves the room, thankful that she doesn’t go on another one of her ‘you need to get out there and experience the world, Cheyenne’ speeches. I’ve been getting those since she put me on birth control when I was fifteen, even though at that age I’d still never even kissed a boy.

  I’m mindlessly watching some CW show on Netflix when she comes out of her room with three full suitcases. Sitting up, I can feel my forehead wrinkle. “What’s all this?”

  “Thomas—that’s his name by the way—is going out of the country for business, and he asked me to come with him. Isn’t that amazing?! He said that, even though it’s only been three days, life’s too short and he wants me to come with him. He was so romantic,” she says, and I’m waiting for her to start swooning.

  “You’re leaving the country? For how long? With a guy you just met? Are you insane?” I can’t help but pummel her with a barrage of questions.

  “Oh, Cheyenne, we just spent three days practically inseparable. I don’t want him to leave just as we’re getting to know each other. Everything will be fine, I promise. This way you can spend the summer without your mama hovering over you.”

  I’m not surprised she didn’t remember my birthday. I’m really not. But the hurt that permeates my heart knowing that she doesn’t give a shit about spending my last summer at home with me is one I can’t handle.

  “Whatever. In three months, I’ll be over two thousand miles away, so why not just pretend that I’m already gone? I hope you have a freakin’ blast with Todd or whatever the hell his name is.” I barely get the words out without breaking down into tears. Brushing past her, I run back to my room and throw my iPod, my phone, a sweatshirt, and my sketchbook into my backpack.

  “Cheyenne,” I hear and look up to see her standing in my doorway. “Please don’t be mad. It’s just, you’re independent, and you don’t need me. We’re both coming to a crossroads in our lives, and I’d be a fool to pass up this opportunity. And his name is Thomas.”

  I slide the strap over my shoulder as I stand up to face her. “I don’t need you because you’ve never let me. I don’t know why I never realized it until now. I didn’t just lose Daddy when I was eight years old. I lost you, too.” She inhales sharply, but I don’t allow myself to feel guilt over my comment. It’s true, and I’m tired of pretending that everything is fine between us. “Have a great trip. I hope Thomas is worth every second you spend with him. With any luck, I’ll be long gone in California before you get back.”

  She doesn’t say another word as I move past her, practically running to get out of the house. Hopping on my bike, I start to pedal as fast as I can. I have no idea where I’m going, but I know anywhere is better than here.

  I’VE ONLY BEEN AT Uncle Wyatt’s for a week and my body already hurts in places I didn’t even know existed. I shouldn’t even be here. I should be lying by the pool, working on my tan and catching up with all my friends that are back in town for the summer. Instead, I fucked up in my last semester at Auburn, and for punishment, Dad decided to send me to Uncle Wyatt’s, claiming I needed to learn responsibility and the merits of hard work. He went on some long spiel about how I was too spoiled, didn’t appreciate the education he was paying for, and a whole bunch of other long-winded rants I only half-listened to. I wasn’t sure how working on a farm was supposed to teach me anything, but now that I’ve been getting up at the ass crack of dawn for the past seven days and working until sunset, I’m beginning to understand. I was almost ready to call Dad and beg him to let me take summer classes when I stumbled upon the little trespasser at the lake at the edge of Wyatt’s property.

  I won’t lie. I watched her lying there for a few minutes before I approached her. Sure, it felt a little voyeuristic, but I couldn’t help myself. She looked so young and peaceful, beautiful as the sun reflected off her bronze skin. It wasn’t until I saw her shaking in her sleep that I moved closer, allowing me to see the tears spilling down her cheeks. A part of me wanted to scoop her up in my arms and hold her close, comforting her, but the sane part in me won out, so I just poked her, riling her up.

  I’m replaying the scene over in my head, and even though I’m exhausted, I’m too restless to fall asleep. Getting up out of bed, I head to the kitchen and raid the fridge. Wyatt’s famous spiked lemonade looks inviting, so I grab it and fill a huge thermos to take it with me. Where am I going? I have no idea, but I need to get out.

  Wyatt gives me a nod as I pass him. I just start walking, nothing but the moonlight and the stars to guide my way. I don’t know if it’s on purpose, but I find myself at the lake a short while later. Settling in against a tree, I take a few gulps of his concoction, enjoying the burn of the whiskey in my chest. It’s eerily quiet out here, yet really peaceful. I can’t remember the last time I heard nothing but the crickets chirping. I strain my ears, trying to hear the sounds of a highway, but I can hear no sound of civilization. Leaning my head back against the tree, I close my eyes, and for the first time in my life, I just listen to the sounds of nature all around me. And surprisingly, I find myself enjoying it.

  Thoughts of my dad, school, and my future start to roll through my head. He expects me to take over for him at his company one day, and I guess, until now, I took it for granted. I knew I had a job as soon as I graduated college, so I didn’t give a shit when it came to my courses. Dad, unfortunately, suddenly decided to find his father gene and told me he wasn’t giving me a job just because I was his son. Apparently I have to earn it now. I don’t know when he changed his mind, deciding to actually parent for once since my mom died, but apparently having a son with a 2.0 college average was enough to make him care.

  I try to push the thoughts from my mind and count the number of days I have left in this town. Too damn many, I tell myself. Drinking a little more of the lemonade, I realize I’m getting a little bit too warm. The water looks cool and inviting, and since no one’s here, I decide I might as well take a dip. Stripping down to my boxers, I look around and then laugh at myself. It’s at least ten p.m. and I’m alone. There’s no one here to see me naked, so instead of getting my boxers wet, I slide them off, putting my clothes in a pile by the tree. Entering the water, I’m instantly chilled, but it feels good on my skin. I’m not exactly used to lake water, and I’m a little freaked out about what’s lying beneath, but I man the fuck up and enjoy it. Lost in a back float, I stare up at the moon, wondering what the hell I’m doing here, feeling more alone than ever. Out of nowhere, I hear a small splash, causing me to jerk o
ut of position.

  I look around and can’t see anything until my eyes adjust. Lowering myself into the water, I only allow the top of my head, from the nose up, to be visible. All of a sudden, I see her. I can barely make out her figure, but I know it’s Cheyenne. She’s standing on the edge of the lake throwing stones in, and at first I think she’s trying to skip them. After watching her, I realize she looks angry and she’s taking her anger out on the water. I’m trying my hardest not to move so she doesn’t see me, but then something slimy slithers across my foot, and I can’t help the pussy-like yelp that comes out of my mouth. I see her stiffen and then look out into the water, eyes scanning the lake, trying to figure out where the sound came from.

  I think I’m in the clear until I hear her. “I can see you out there, ya know. The moon is nature’s nightlight, city boy,” she says, a teasing tone in her voice.

  Moving closer to shore, I stop when water is at hip level. I study her, and she looks like she’s been crying.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, unable to help myself.

  “What makes you think something’s wrong?” she retorts, crossing her arms.

  I instantly notice the way her breasts push up, and I can see the hard nipples through her tight t-shirt. My cock stirs to life, and it’s in that moment that I remember I’m completely naked in the water. Fuck.

  “Well, for the second time today, I caught you crying. Either you’re just really emotional or you’re having a pretty damn bad day.”

  “It’s my birthday,” she says, catching me off guard.

  “It’s your birthday and you’ve found yourself at an old man’s lake in the middle of nowhere twice?” I ask, wondering why in the hell she’s not with family, friends, or even a boyfriend.