Sweet Southern Sorrow Read online

  She shrugs and sits down in the sand. Dammit, she’s apparently not going anywhere soon. I might as well become a prune as I wait it out in the water, not wanting to freak her out by walking out naked.

  “No one to celebrate with,” she says simply, looking off in the distance, and if I weren’t naked right now, I’d be joining her on the shore, trying to salvage whatever’s left of her day. I’m not sure why I care, but I guess it’s probably because I understand loneliness more than most people.

  “Then you came to the right place. I’m no expert at backwoods birthdays, but I am pretty damn good company,” I tell her, and a light bulbs turns on in my brain. Gesturing towards the tree, I point at the thermos. “First things first. Go and get some of Wyatt’s lemonade. You’ve got to have whiskey on your birthday.”

  As she starts to move towards the tree, I quickly swim to the shore, hoping to get out when her back’s turned. All is clear, and I don’t hesitate to cup my dick as I get out of the water. Before I can get to the tree line, she turns around and stops when she spots me, her eyes wide. Holding up my hands, I back away slowly, not realizing I’ve just exposed myself. It isn’t until I see her looking down that I notice I’m on full display for her.

  “Umm, pretty girl, eyes up here. It’s not like you’ve never seen a dick before,” I joke, trying to keep it light.

  “I…well, I mean, I haven’t,” she says, her eyes not meeting mine. “At least not in person.”

  Holeeeeey shit. I think it’s been at least five years since I’ve met a girl who’s never seen a cock. It’s like I just found the Holy Grail, and all I want to do is worship at her innocent feet while making devious plans to corrupt her.

  Walking up to her, I pull her to me, letting her feel my erection against her belly. If I’m going to be her first, I might as well make it memorable. Leaning down, I press my lips against her ear. “Happy birthday, Cheyenne” I whisper, a slow grin spreading across my face as I feel her shudder at my touch.

  I step back a few feet so she can check me out, and she doesn’t disappoint. Her eyes slowly move down my body until I know she’s looking at the most intimate part of me. I can barely keep my composure when I see her lick her lips.

  When I clear my throat, her head snaps up, and even in the moonlight I can see the blush creep onto her cheeks.

  “I’d say it’s impressive, but I have nothing to compare it to,” she says, causing me to chuckle. Walking past her, I grab my boxers and slide them on before putting on my shorts.

  I grab the thermos, taking her hand, and drag her around to the side of the lake where there’s a small wooden dock. I don’t let go of her hand until we’re both sitting with our feet dangling into the water.

  “How old?” I ask, suddenly freaking out, hoping I didn’t just put my dick up against an underage girl.

  “Eighteen. So lame, right? I’m eighteen years old, an adult, free, and the best I can do is hang out alone at a lake. Pathetic,” she scoffs, not looking at me.

  “Hey, I might not be the best company, but you’re definitely not alone.” I hand her the thermos and she swallows a few healthy gulps.

  “You know what I mean,” she says, shrugging. “My birthdays have been shitty for ten years. No reason for this one to be any different.”

  “Wanna talk about it?” I ask, not expecting her to open up to me, but she does. Out of nowhere, she explodes, like a dam breaking open, she starts to tell me about her childhood, her dad, his passing, and how her mom changed afterwards. I can somewhat relate, knowing that Dad changed after Mom died, but I never knew her long enough to miss her.

  “So, it’s really stupid, but that’s what I was dreaming of when you found me earlier,” she says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

  “Wait, you were dreaming about what?” I ask, slightly embarrassed that I was caught not listening.

  “Swallows. I know it sounds silly, but they were our favorite bird. There’s an old Navy myth that one swallow takes a sailor away and then two swallows bring them back, signifying that the couple is back together. Well, that’s the bare-bones version of it. Anyways, it was our thing. Swallows symbolize coming home to your loved ones. Legend has it that a swallow mates for life, so they’ll always return to their mate, to their family. That’s what Daddy always promised. It’s been ten years, but I’m still looking for the swallow to bring me home.”

  Whoa. This just got a little heavier than I was anticipating, and I have no idea about the mating rituals for birds. Standing up, I hold my hand out to her. She hesitates but then puts her hand in mine.

  “What’re we doing, Sawyer?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed.

  Grinning at her, I pull her off the dock. “We’re going to celebrate eighteen the way it’s meant to be celebrated.”

  She looks nervous, but she follows me, and in a matter of minutes, we’re in my car and I’m showing her just how free eighteen can be.

  “YOU WANT TO DO what?!” I screech, looking up at the tattoo parlor Sawyer has just dragged me to. He’s already made me buy cigarettes and a lottery ticket, and he tried to get me to buy booze, but I struck out on that one thanks to the fact that Jimmy Smits was working the counter and know exactly how old I am.

  “A tattoo, Cheyenne. You’re finally free. Is there anything that’s meaningful to you, anything worth memorializing on your skin?” he asks, and I contemplate his thought. To be honest, I’ve always loved the idea of getting swallows tattooed on either my foot or my ribs, but I’m terrified that the constant reminder will be more painful than therapeutic.

  “I don’t know, Sawyer. I need time to think about this. I’m not that spontaneous,” I say, somewhat panicking. The thought of the needle doesn’t scare me, but not taking time to process and contemplate what ink I want to put in my skin is daunting.

  “Okay, okay,” he relents. “How about a piercing?”

  His suggestion is actually a good one, and I’ve always wanted to get my belly button pierced. I agree, and he smiles wide. When we go into the shop, he tells the woman at the register what I want. She shows me various belly button rings, and I choose a simple one that will dangle with a diamond gem.

  She leads me back to a damp room, and I’m glad Sawyer followed. Grabbing his hand, I close my eyes as she wipes my belly with an alcohol wipe before getting into place. I have to squeeze my eyes shut when the needle goes through, and I feel Sawyer hold my hand tightly. A moment later, the pain is gone, and I slowly open my eyes. Looking down, I immediately love it. It looks exotic on my tan skin.

  “Thank you, Sawyer,” I tell him, smiling up at him.

  His gaze darkens before he leans in and presses a small kiss on my lips. “Happy birthday, pretty girl,” he says, and I immediately wonder what the hell is going on here.

  When we leave the tattoo parlor, I’m beat, but I don’t want to leave him. Something about being with him tonight has been refreshing, simple, easy, and for the first time, I don’t feel lonely on my birthday. I can’t forget the way he pressed up against me and the sight of his hard penis, the first one I’d ever seen. It was beautiful, if you can describe it that way, and it took everything in me not to lean down for closer inspection.

  I give him directions to my house, and once we’re in the driveway, he turns to face me. “I know it wasn’t anything special, but I hope you had a better birthday than before, Cheyenne,” he says, brushing his knuckles against my cheek.

  “It was terrible… Just awful until you walked out of the lake naked. Then things looked up. They really looked up,” I tease, surprisingly myself with my brazenness. “Umm, I have the house to myself. Want to come in? I mean, to sleep. It’s late, and I’d hate to make you drive back to the farm at this hour.”

  He looks at me for a moment, and my heart stops, waiting for his response. For some reason, I just don’t want to be alone, and his presence is comforting. The request now sounds silly, knowing that he’d only have about an eight-minute car ride, but still. My heart starts beating again when he
turns off the vehicle.

  “I’d like that,” he says, and we both exit the truck.

  When we get inside, we quietly move to my room without speaking. I get into comfortable clothes, and he strips down to his boxers. Climbing into bed, he pulls me into his arms.

  “I’m leaving at the end of summer, Sawyer. I’m not looking for anything but a friend. Maybe a fling,” I say, realizing that, for the first time in my life, a fling actually sounds pretty damn good.

  Kissing my head, he squeezes me tight. “I’m not looking for any more than that either, Cheyenne.”

  “Then this should work out perfectly,” I tell him, and I try to tell myself. Forgetting all about Mama, I’m suddenly looking forward to the summer, and for once, I might take her advice and experience life once and for all.

  January 2014

  “CHEYENNE!” I CALL ACROSS the lobby, and she turns back towards me. Our eyes lock, and holy fuck, it really is her. The first girl, the only girl, I’ve ever loved is staring right back at me.

  Taking a moment to study her, I realize that she no longer looks like the girl I fell for, but a woman, an educated one, sexy and sophisticated in her business suit. Her eyes widen when she sees me, but then a cool mask covers her face, a look of indifference that I’ve never associated with her. Before I can get to her, she scurries out of the building, grabbing the hand of a tall, blond-haired guy who looks like he should be on the cover of GQ instead of working at Wellsley-Callahan. Okay, he looks like a lot of the guys who work here, but still.

  She takes one last look at me through the window, and her face is blank. I can’t read her expression. All I know is that, for the first time in almost six years, I’m staring at the face of the girl who destroyed me. Who broke my heart into a thousand pieces, ripped me to shreds, and ruined me for all others.

  Sure, some may have called it a summer romance, but to me it was so much more than that. It was the summer that I realized I didn’t need to follow in my father’s footsteps. Cheyenne helped me see that I needed to be me, to find out what I wanted to do, how I wanted to live my life. Coupled with Uncle Wyatt’s life lessons as learned on the farm, I left Shiloh Grove a broken man but somehow still a stronger one.

  As I take one last look at where I last saw Cheyenne with that guy, jealousy rages through me. Who the fuck is he? How in the fuck is she here? Why didn’t her mother or my father tell me she was moving back to Atlanta? How long has she been back in the city? All these questions are rolling through my mind, and I’m struggling to maintain my cool, collected composure.

  When I got back to Auburn, I buckled down in my studies and found that, instead of economics, I loved the accounting and marketing sides of business just like I’d told Cheyenne so many years ago. Switching majors and entering a dual program, I dove into my studies with a fervor I’d never experienced before. I was able to graduate magna cum laude and go straight into graduate school, earning a Master’s in accountancy, all the while interning at Dad’s company. I learned that I had a passion for it, even without his prompting. So yes, I followed in his footsteps, but at the end of the day, it was because I wanted to, not because he did.

  “Mr. Callahan,” I hear, a voice drawing me back to the present. Turning, I see Valerie, one of my former interns, approaching me, but I ignore her as I stare out the window, even though Cheyenne is long gone. “Sawyer?” she says, breaking through my thoughts as her hand touches my arm.

  “What?” I ask more gruffly than intended, but fuck it. I’m in a piss poor mood and I don’t feel like hiding it. At the same time, part of me feels like I’m in the Twilight Zone and I didn’t really just see Cheyenne.

  She pulls her hand back, a soft frown forming on her face. “I was just wondering if you had a minute to discuss the new prototype we’ve been testing.”

  Stopping her before she can say any more in public, I hold my hand up. “It’s not a good time, Valerie. If you have things you want to discuss, please schedule an appointment with my secretary,” I tell her absentmindedly and she probably thinks I’m being an asshole but I don’t care. Moving away from her, I rush out the revolving doors, scanning the streets, hoping to catch a glance of her, but it’s no use. Cheyenne Hamilton, once again, is out of my reach.

  I’M STEWING IN MY office, pacing the floor like an adolescent who’s just been sent to his room for a time out. It’s utterly ridiculous, and I’m wasting valuable business time, but I can’t help myself. Unable to contain it, I cross to my desk. After I take the key out of its hidden spot, I unlock the bottom drawer. Reaching into the back, I can feel the picture frame, and I wrap my hands around it, pulling it out.

  It’s a picture of the two of us on the farm. Wyatt got some weird hankering for photography and started snapping shots when we weren’t paying attention. He didn’t even show them to me until she after was gone. In this particular one, I’m trying to get her up on a horse and she’s resisting me. I look mildly annoyed yet amused, and she’s grinning at me. I feel a pang in my heart, wishing we could go back to those days. To when it was simple. Before everything got so fucked up.

  A knock interrupts my thoughts, and I’m quick to turn the picture on its face so it’s not visible. “Come in,” I bellow, wondering why my secretary, Marnie, didn’t give me a call first.

  The door opens and Katherine Richardson enters my office with Cheyenne Hamilton in tow. Apparently this is my lucky fucking day because the only reason for someone from HR to bring Cheyenne to my office would be because she’ll be working for my department. Katherine makes introductions and Cheyenne acts as if she has no idea who I am, so I do the same, pretending to be indifferent as I quickly scan her resume, which is actually pretty impressive for someone so young.

  “Hello, Mr. Callahan. It’s nice to see you. I look forward to working with you,” she says, shaking my hand.

  “Likewise, Ms. Hamilton. Your resume is quite impressive. I see you’re from California. Do you have any experience in the South?” I ask, hoping to push her buttons, wondering if she stills look cute when she gets riled up.

  Her eyes narrow as she scowls at me. “Actually, I grew up just a couple of hours from here. I know Georgia like the back of my hand,” she says, lifting her chin defiantly. “Probably more than a city boy like you, Mr. Callahan.”

  Hearing her call me that turns me on and sends all the blood in my body straight to my dick.

  “We’re fine here, Katherine. Thank you for showing Ms. Hamilton to my office,” I tell her, to which she nods before exiting my office, closing the door behind her.

  “Cheyenne,” I say cooly, and I watch as she takes a deep breath. The sight of her breasts swelling doesn’t escape me, and I quickly look away before I get caught. I gesture towards an open chair across from my desk. “Please sit so we can discuss your role here at Wellsley.”

  Smoothing out her skirt, she does as I suggested. “Wellsley-Callahan, you mean?” she asks, her right eyebrow cocking up at me. “When I took this position, I wasn’t aware that the two companies had merged.” Something about the way she says it has me wondering if she’d have still accepted the job offer if she’d known about the merge.

  “It’s a recent development. Dad was ready to retire and spend more time with Sylvia,” I tell her, and she grimaces at the mention of our parents. “Have you been by the house?”

  She’s been avoiding looking at me since she sat down, but the question causes her head to snap up, and I see her glaring at me. “Actually, I don’t even know where the house is,” she scoffs, using quotations around those two words. I’m caught off guard at her statement, but then again, I guess it does make sense that she’s never been back since she left for school.

  “You don’t even know where your own mother lives?” I ask, incredulous.

  She sighs, her face falling. “Sawyer, you were there. We didn’t exactly part on the best terms. I haven’t seen my mother since I left Shiloh Grove. Sure, we’ve talked on the phone, exchanged emails, but we don’t exactly g
et together for reunions every year.” I notice the way she says ‘mother,’ and I realize that her whole Southern accent has faded. I miss the sound of it.

  “Mother? What the hell happened to mama?” I ask. “Seriously, Cheyenne. One of the many things I loved about you was your cute drawl. Don’t tell me you went out to California and lost it.” She bristles when I say the word ‘love,’ but I don’t care. It’s the truth, and if that’s too much for her, she’ll just have to get over it.

  “When I got to Berkeley, I tried my best to blend in. The first couple of weeks, people kept asking me where I was from and commenting on my accent, so I started working on making it less pronounced. Plus, she hasn’t been my mama for a long time. She doesn’t deserve the title. Now, can we get down to business? I’d like to know what I’m going to be doing and get started please.”

  Clearing my throat, I look down at the paperwork Mrs. Richardson handed me when she brought Cheyenne into my office. I see that she’s supposed to be working as a production analyst, and while I’m sure she has the eye for it, I decide I can find a better role for her. Is it selfish of me to do this? Probably. Professionally unethical? Yeah, pretty damn sure it is, but right now I don’t give a shit. I have six years to make up for, and if I have to force her to work alongside me every day to try and work my way back in, I’ll do just that.

  “As you know, I’m the head of the production department, but I’m also the interim V.P. of Marketing. Based on your work at Berkeley and your references, I think you’d be a perfect fit as the assistant to the V.P. of Marketing,” I tell her, feeling smug and satisfied that I’m going to be her boss. With this role, we’ll be working alongside each other every single day, and I love the thought of getting to know her again under the guise of employment.