Blurb:

“I love you guys. Don’t you worry about that SOB from Ohio, Bells. We’ll find you a real man.”

“Yeah,” Sonia agrees, as she stumbles and Foster reaches out to keep her from falling on her ass.

“Oops,” she giggles.

A black sedan pulls in and she rights herself.

“That’s my ride,” she says as she breaks off and makes her way toward the vehicle listing sideways.

“Are you kidding me?” Walker mumbles as he catches up to her and guides her to the passenger door. He opens it, and helps her in as she waves and blows kisses back to the girls.

Once she is in and the door closes behind her, the car peels off in a cloud of dust.

Walker throws his hand in the air.

“You’re welcome for helping your wife into the car douchebag,” he calls after the taillights.

Elle and Bellamy are still holding on to each other, with Foster keeping them steady.

“Come on baby, let’s get you home,” Walker beckons to Elle.

“I guess that means you’re on my couch tonight, honey,” Payne says, as he slaps Foster’s back.

“I expect breakfast in the morning, dear,” Foster quips.

“Of course, I’m a gentleman.”

“I have to drop Bellamy off and I’ll be right behind you.”

“I’ll take her,” I offer.

She looks up at me.

“I mean, it’s on the way to town. That way you don’t have to backtrack,” I clarify.

“It’s okay by me if it’s okay with you, Bells,” Foster puts the ball in her court.

“Works for me,” she says before taking off for my truck.

“Glad you came out tonight, Doc,” Payne says before offering me his hand.

I shake it and then Foster’s.

“Yeah, you should come more often,” Foster agrees.

“I’ll do that.”

Walker shouts his goodbye from his truck and I join Bellamy in mine.

She’s kicked her boots to the floorboard and her feet are on the dash and she's focused on the radio. She has one eye closed and her tongue out in concentration as she turns all the knobs.

“It works better once I start the engine,” I tease her and she looks up.

“That’s what the problem is.” She giggles.

“You’re an adorable drunk,” I tell her.

“You’re an adorable sober, Doc,” she says on a hiccup.

“I have a great idea, let’s get donuts,” she blurts out.

“Donuts? It’s two in the morning. I don’t think there are any donut shops open at this hour,” I tell her and her face falls.

“Tell you what,” I lean in and whisper.

She focuses her eyes on me and leans in too.

“I promise to bring you some donuts to the office in the morning.”

“Oh my goodness, I have to work in the morning. And my boss knows I’ve been out late drinking,” she says as her eyes widen.

“I think he’ll give you a pass this time.”

“Whew, thank goodness, if I was still on ranch duty, Pop would probably make me sling manure till I puked.”

That makes me bark out a laugh.

“Let’s get you home so you can sleep it off before it's time to clock in.”

“Okay,” she says before a yawn escapes and she closes her eyes. By the time we make it to Stoney Ridge, she's fast asleep.

I pull up the drive slowly and leave the engine running as I round the front of the truck and open her door. I try to wake her, but she mumbles something incoherent and pulls her legs into a ball under her.

I wrap an arm under her, gently lifting her as she sighs, and leans into me. I move her to get a better grip around her waist and feed my other arm under her legs to lift her from the truck. The front porch light blinks on and Winston Wilson steps out. He stands and waits as I make my way carefully to him, while holding a sleeping Bellamy close to my chest.

“I’m sorry we woke you,” I apologize as I climb the steps.

“You didn’t, it’s the darnest thing. I know she’s grown but I can’t fall off until I know she’s tucked safely in her bed,” he says as we make it to him and he opens his arms to take her weight from me.

She stirs as I transfer her to your father's embrace.

“Poppy,” she mutters, “I want donuts.”

He laughs quietly, as her eyes drift back closed and her breath evens out.

“She would randomly ask for donuts when she was little. At night before bed, during her riding lessons, at church, while the Reverend was in the middle of his sermon. Silly baby. She’ll always be my baby girl. Whether she’s twenty-five, thirty-five, and even when she’s sixty-five. I’ll worry and carry her as long as I’m able. Or until the Lord sends someone else to do the job for me.”

A parent’s love is powerful.

“I hate we kept you up,” I tell him.

“I don’t mind at all, son. I’m glad she had a good night. Her mother tells me it’s been a rough week for her.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Thank you for making sure she got home safe.”

“My pleasure,” I reply as I smile down at her. She looks like an angel in her daddy’s arms.

He clears his throat.

“Oh, um, I’ll get her boots. I’ll be right back.”

I turn and hurry to the truck, plucking her discarded boots from the floorboard and take them back. Winston has already carried Bellamy in and made his way back to the door. I hand him her boots.

“Good night, Doc. We’ll see you tomorrow,” he bids me farewell and I make my way home.

It was a fun night. I can’t remember the last time I actually went out and enjoyed myself.

When I make it to my apartment I take a quick shower and get settled in.

I fall right off to sleep and have a dreamless reprieve until the alarm starts blaring at eight am.


 

 

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Amber Kelly is a romance author that calls North Carolina home. She has been a avid reader from a young age and you could always find her with her nose in a book completely enthralled in an adventure. With the support of her husband and family, in 2018, she decided to finally give a voice to the stories in her head and her debut novel, Both of Me was born. You can connect with Amber on Facebook at facebook.com/AuthorAmberKelly, on IG @authoramberkelly or on twitter @AuthorAmberKel1.
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“I did. Twice. It says it’s been declined, Bud. If you want this beef jerky and Pedialyte, you’ll have to pay for it another way,” the cashier observed with obvious judgment.

Matt smiled, grabbed his card, and walked out of the shop dialing Rob Rolle as he did. He got his voicemail. “Rob on a Rolle,” Matt boomed over the line, using the nickname he’d given his father’s wunderkind of a CFO when Matt was 21 and Rob was 30. Rob on a Rolle hated that nickname, which is exactly why Matt kept calling him that. Matt hated Rob. “It’s me, Matt. I was just trying to buy some,” he paused grappling for a word other than “garbage at the 7-Eleven” and landed instead on, “groceries and my card got declined. Give me a quick call.”  

He hung up and told himself it was a fluke. The pit in his stomach said it was more than that.  The card in question was his debit card linked to his savings account, which drew directly from his trust fund. Each month money appeared there, and Matt vacationed, partied, and surfed his way through it. The thought that his father might finally have made good on a longstanding threat to freeze it made him dizzy, or was that hunger? He was starving, and still a little drunk, he thought. He reached in his pockets searching for cash. He didn’t even have enough to go back in and buy just that Slim Jim. I’m screwed, he decided.  

His phone rang. It wasn’t Rob. It was Leandra Jennings, the head of business services for his father’s company, Milles-Lade Enterprises. He thought about not answering, but knew it was Rob’s way of saying he wasn’t going to call back. Screw you too, Rob, Matt thought vehemently.  

“Hey Lee, what’s new?” he said, forcing optimism into his voice and putting on all his charms, which wasn’t hard. Matt Milles-Lade was all charm.

“Rob just rang saying he wishes he had a moment to chat, but”—Matt and Rob both knew that was a lie—“he and your father are on their way to Zurich. He wanted me to pass along some updates. Hate to be the bearer of bad news, Matthew, but they’ve frozen your trust…”

Rob said your father plans to reinstate your funds once you accomplish a few things on a checklist he’s emailed you….”

Matt pulled the phone away from his ear to look at the screen. Sure enough, his inbox blinked back at him. He opened the email.

“Son, I’ve frozen your trust. I’m happy to give you your access back, but first you’ll have to do the following, STOP BEING SUCH A FUCK-UP. Get a job. Drink less. Care more. Basically, be the sort of human that doesn’t have to be extorted by their own father to get their act together. Dad.”

He waited to read more until he pulled into the small corner parking lot of the café that resided halfway down the hill from their Bel-Air home, Coyote Café. It was one of the rare remaining canyon coffee shops. On any given weekend, all manner of celebrities could be found there, bedhead and all. There was no place for the paparazzi to stand and snap their picture on the way in or out. It was a hidden gem that only locals knew about. Their hours were strange, but their sandwiches were amazing, and yet Matt couldn’t remember the last time he’d been there. It was a hole in the wall that lacked any real décor but made up for it by the way they took care of their customers. As Matt idled in the lot, he read the text.

You’re out of chances, Son. Find a new place to live.