Real Good Love Read online

  I reach for my beer. “Cody came around asking questions this morning. Wanting to know why I fired Roy.”

  Granger sets his beer on the table between us. “Because he was a drunk, and everyone knows you let him stay on way too long.”

  “That’s what I told him.”

  “Makes you think about how fickle of a bitch this life is. One minute you’re doing something stupid, and the next you’re dead and your family finds out you’re cooking meth.”

  “Any chance you’re wrong about the meth?”

  Granger shakes his head. “No. This is my third meth house in the last few weeks. The signs are impossible to miss. When we went to Lexington three years ago to train on this, I never thought I’d have to worry about all the extra steps we’ve gotta take, but now it’s way too familiar.”

  “Do you think they’re related?”

  He shrugs. “I don’t fucking know. It’s not my job to figure out who set ’em, just to put ’em out. But damned if they’re not pissing me off. No one thinks about me and my guys putting our asses on the line every time we ride out to a call. If this shit gets one of us killed, I’m gonna tear this town apart until I find out who’s behind it. I don’t need to be making a call to someone’s wife or parents telling them some asshole cookin’ meth is responsible for puttin’ one of my guys in the ground.”

  “Hey, guys, can I get you anything?” Rosie, the cocktail waitress, asks as she stops at our table. Banner filled in for her on one of her first nights in Gold Haven.

  Granger’s gaze shoots across the room as a gust of wind blows through the doors, followed by a familiar laugh. I glance over to see Julianne coming in with one of her salon girls, Mary something. “Better get me another beer.”

  “I’ll take one too.”

  Granger’s attention shifts to Julianne as she comes toward us. Julianne braces as soon as she sees him, but doesn’t slow her stride.

  “Where are you hiding Banner today? She was supposed to come in for nails, and she canceled.” Julianne pins her gaze on mine, completely ignoring Granger.

  “She had to go back to New York to handle something.”

  “She’s coming back here, though, right?”

  The question crashes into me with the same force as the balls slamming into pins only a dozen feet away. My answer is fast and definite.

  “Fuck yes, she’s coming back.” In my head, I add, especially if she’s pregnant with my kid.

  “I like her. It’s nice to see at least one man can recognize a good thing when he has it.” The taunt is pointed, and Julianne spins on her heel and continues to the bar.

  Granger chugs the rest of his beer before shooting another look at Julianne’s back. “Women are a fucking trap.” He turns back to me. “What the hell are you doing getting tangled up with one from New York, anyway? Is that shit serious?”

  I don’t intend to say it, but the words come out. “It might be real fucking serious if I knocked her up.”

  Granger’s eyes widen as he leans back in his chair and crosses his arms over his chest. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “I found a box of pregnancy tests in her bathroom this morning, and one was missing.”

  “And?”

  “And nothing.”

  He leans forward, dropping his elbows on the table, and I’m grateful he keeps his voice low. “You didn’t demand answers right then? What the hell, man? You know how women are. Looking to trap you any way they can.”

  This whole situation has been eating me all day, but I recognize the truth when I speak. “Banner isn’t like that. She’s not looking to trap me.”

  Granger’s gaze narrows as he leans a few inches closer. “How do you know? She’s got a job and money of her own? Doesn’t need your paycheck?”

  “She has her own business.”

  “Successful?”

  I reach for my beer. “Not yet. But she’s working on it.”

  “So she doesn’t have a job that actually brings in money, and you’re still sure she’s not trying to lock you down?” He leans back in his chair again, an expectant look on his face.

  Even with the facts objectively stacking up against her, there’s no way I can pin that motive on Banner. The more I think about it, the more I realize she’s exactly the opposite of the women I’ve dodged in Gold Haven. My New York City princess would run far and fast in the opposite direction if she thought she was trapped in Kentucky because she got knocked up by a mechanic. Or in this case, stay in New York . . .

  Fuck.

  “She’s not like that. You’ll see when you meet her.” Even though my words sound confident, I wonder what the hell I’m going to have to do to make sure Banner does come back. I’ll drive my ass up there and haul her home if I have to.

  “Whatever you say, man. I’m done with women except for a quick fuck these days.”

  Rosie comes back with our beers, and we change the subject to college basketball.

  As I’m walking out of Pints and Pins, my phone buzzes in my pocket, finally, with a text from the woman who seems to be constantly on my mind.

  BANNER NYC: It’s been a long crazy day. I have a ton of stuff to tell you, but I’m drained tonight. Talk tomorrow?

  I climb in my truck and tap out my response.

  LOGAN: Yeah. We need to start talking about all of it.

  BANNER NYC: We will. Night. xo

  LOGAN: Night, Bruce.

  I fire up my truck and turn in the direction of my empty house, frustrated that I’m not getting any resolution on this subject tonight.

  Chapter 4

  Banner

  I walk into Myrna’s lawyer’s office the next morning, not knowing what to expect.

  “Banner Regent to see Gregory Lowenstein,” I tell the receptionist when I walk up to the desk.

  “Of course, Ms. Regent. He’s expecting you. Let me tell him you’re here.”

  As the young blonde picks up the phone to call to announce my presence, I take a few steps toward the window, staring out at the New York skyline. It’s gray and cloudy, which fits my mood perfectly.

  “Ms. Regent?”

  I turn, and the receptionist indicates that I should follow her. I trail behind her to a nondescript conference room with a large wooden table matching the paneled walls. It’s also empty.

  “Mr. Lowenstein will be right in,” she says. “Just one moment. Can I bring you something to drink?”

  “Espresso would be great.”

  “Of course.”

  Moments after she shuts the door behind her, it swings open again.

  “Well, Ms. Regent, somehow you charmed my client. I’d love to know how you did it.” A man of average height wearing glasses, with a shiny spot in the middle of his gray ring of hair, smiles and holds out his hand. “I’m Greg Lowenstein, and I’ve been Ms. Frances’s lawyer for twenty-some years.”

  Twenty years of being at Myrna’s beck and call? I’m not sure I could handle it.

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I wouldn’t exactly say I charmed her. More like I drove her absolutely insane.”

  Lowenstein holds up a hand. “For her, it was kind of the same thing. She was a great old lady, sharp as a tack, but her tongue was too, as I’m sure you well know. I heard everything about everyone because she called once a week to change her will. That vibrator incident almost cost you a chunk of change.”

  Oh my God. She told her lawyer about that? Peeking at the conference room table, I wonder if there’s room to crawl under it.

  “As much of my time as Myrna took up, I’m sincerely going to miss her. Well, my billable hours are going to miss her, and my secretary is going to have to find a new source of entertainment. So, how about we get started?” He opens a file and starts running through the estate plan and how things work.

  I zone out almost immediately at all the legal jargon. Why don’t lawyers just use regular words? Do they get paid more for using the big ones?

  I raise a hand like a second grader t
o stop him. Please, God, stop.

  Thankful when he takes a breath to pause, I jump in. “I get it. Myrna’s estate plan was super fancy because you charged her a crap ton of money to work on it and keep changing it. But bottom-line it for me, Greg. What do I really need to know?”

  He takes off his glasses and lays them on the table. “Thirty.”

  “Thirty what?” I ask, wondering if there’s some legal definition for it that I’m not aware of.

  “Thirty million. That’s what you’ve inherited in various investment accounts, not including the apartment or other property. For those, we can only go from market-value estimates—”

  I raise my hand again, this time like a really rich second grader.

  “Are you shitting me?” I say as I lower my hand.

  “No, Ms. Regent, I’m not, in your vernacular, shitting you.”

  “Holy fucking shit.”

  “Indeed.”

  I discreetly slide one hand under my arm and pinch myself. Crap, that hurts. Not dreaming. Okay, then . . .

  I whip my head around to check for cameramen jumping out to surprise me.

  None.

  “You’re not joking.”

  Mr. Lowenstein shakes his head. “No. I don’t joke about lunch or money.”

  I hope he meant love and money, but I don’t ask. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the fact that Myrna’s daughter wasn’t completely full of it when she told me Myrna left me everything.

  “Why would she do this? It makes no sense at all.”

  “She liked you.”

  I meet his gaze. “She liked her dog. She tolerated me.”

  “Speaking of the dog, you’re the trustee of the Jordana Frances Pet Trust, although you did not inherit her.”

  “Please tell me it was Sofia.”

  “Indeed.”

  So I didn’t inherit everything, but holy shit.

  I pay a lot closer attention to what Lowenstein says for the rest of the meeting, which means my brain feels like it’s going to explode by the end of it.

  Part of me expected Dee Booker was exaggerating, so even though I was ready for some kind of inheritance from Myrna, I wasn’t expecting this.

  I walk out of the office and barely notice the crowds of people around me as I wander in the direction of my hotel, still reeling with shock.

  Out of habit, I pull out my phone to call Greer and tell her the news, but she doesn’t answer. Her new life is taking off in LA, and while I couldn’t be happier that my friend has found happiness, I selfishly miss having her around.

  I miss Myrna too. Last night, I couldn’t handle staying in her apartment surrounded by her things, so I hauled my suitcase to the Parker Meridian and sank into the bathtub . . . and cried.

  Grief battered me as I recalled our exchanges, and how much it bothered me that I didn’t clear the air with her on the phone. She had no clue I left New York upset with her. Maybe it’s a plus that she didn’t die thinking we had unfinished business. Although, if she’d known, maybe she would have hung on a hell of a lot longer.

  Why did I jump to conclusions? I should have just asked her. Myrna was nothing if not brutally honest with me.

  I toasted her with almost the entire contents of the minibar, which she’s ironically now paying for, and passed out on a tearstained pillow.

  When I woke up this morning, my head hammering, I rolled over looking for Logan, but the hotel decor reminded me I was a long way from Gold Haven. I left Kentucky a broke-ass CEO, and now I’m a legit baller.

  Well, I will be after who knows how many more meetings with lawyers and financial people who will finalize all the details and wind down Myrna’s affairs.

  Not to mention, I have to figure out what to do with all of her stuff. She was a pack rat of the first order, and to say I’m overwhelmed by the thought of digging through all of it is the understatement of the century.

  I wrap my coat around me tighter as I pause on the corner of Fifth Avenue. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I have zero urge to go inside any of my favorite stores and shop.

  Which is ironic, considering I could snap my fingers and demand one of everything now. My new bank account wouldn’t even blink.

  Two women burst through the doors of a store, laughing and carrying armloads of bags. I step out of their way, but can’t help but overhear their conversation as they turn toward Starbucks.

  “That top you got will be perfect for the club opening tonight. Your tits will look amazing. I can’t wait to post pictures so everyone who can’t get in will be jealous.”

  They both giggle—annoyingly, I might add—before the other responds. “God, I’m due for a good fuck too. I’m taking home the hottest guy I see.”

  “Damn, girl. Get it. But buh-bye in the morning, right?”

  “Obvi. You know how I am.”

  The two women disappear into Starbucks, and someone knocks into me from behind. The signal has changed, which means I need to move my ass across the street. Shaking myself out of my momentary eavesdropping session, I stride forward, but their words stay with me.

  Not so very long ago, that was me.

  How cringe-worthy and superficial.

  Who would have thought a guy from Kentucky I was never supposed to meet would change my life.

  I haven’t been gone long, but I legitimately miss Logan. I step into a doorway and pull out my phone to text him. He’s busy working on Boone Thrasher’s car, but I can’t help it. Other than Greer, he’s the only person I want to tell about all of this stuff. In fact, I wanted to tell him last night, but I kept my message vague in case Myrna’s daughter was full of shit.

  But she wasn’t.

  BANNER: You know how I said I had big news? I really need to tell you about it.

  Not expecting an immediate reply, I slide my phone into my purse, but pause when it vibrates.

  Except it’s not Logan. It’s my ob-gyn, who also happens to be my college roommate’s older sister.

  DR. LADY LIPS: Do you have any questions about anything?

  I don’t claim to be mature when it comes to my contact-naming skills, but at least I’m not confusing her with anyone else. Also, shit.

  BANNER: Crap! I left before it came, but I’m in NYC right now.

  DR. LADY LIPS: I can squeeze you in at noon tomorrow, but you better bring me sushi.

  BANNER: I’ll be there. BTW, I still laugh every time you text me.

  DR. LADY LIPS: YOU TOLD ME YOU CHANGED MY CONTACT INFORMATION.

  BANNER: I lied.

  DR. LADY LIPS: No sushi for you.

  Chapter 5

  Logan

  BANNER NYC: You know how I said I had big news? I really need to tell you about it.

  I’ve been staring at the text for five minutes, wondering why in the hell she thinks this is the right way to tell me she’s fucking pregnant. But this is Banner, and she doesn’t do anything the normal way.

  I finally tap out a reply.

  LOGAN: Shouldn’t we talk about it in person?

  I wait, phone in hand next to the 442, for a response.

  BANNER NYC: I can’t wait that long. I have to figure out what I’m doing, and I want your input.

  What in the actual fuck?

  She has to figure out what she’s doing? Somehow over the last twenty-four hours, I’ve gone from shock and disbelief to acceptance and even . . . excitement over the possibility of Banner being pregnant.

  The idea that she might decide not to have the kid guts me.

  It’s never been my goal to be a dad, especially right now when my business is still in the early stages, but shockingly I’m okay with the idea when the woman in question is Banner. I knew I was in deep before, but this seals it for me. And she’s fucking right that she’s not making any decisions before we talk.

  LOGAN: Call me.

  BANNER NYC Give me twenty minutes. I’ll call when I’m back at my hotel.

  Her hotel? I thought she was staying at the old lady’s pla
ce?

  Granger’s words from last night run through my head. So she doesn’t have a job that actually brings in money, and you’re still sure she’s not trying to lock you down?

  Why would Banner drop money she doesn’t have on a hotel when she could stay somewhere for free? Even though it hasn’t been long, I’m getting to know how Banner works. Wherever she picked to stay can’t be cheap. I’m not sure any place is in New York.

  Right now, nothing makes any fucking sense.

  The next twenty minutes are the longest ones in my goddamned life.

  Chapter 6

  Banner

  I let myself into my hotel room and drop my stuff on the desk before flopping backward onto the fluffy white duvet with my phone in hand.

  When I checked in last night, I was a tiny bit worried about how I was going to pay the bill if Dee Booker was full of crap, but that’s one worry I no longer have. I tap on Logan’s contact to call him, and he answers before the first ring is complete.

  “You’re never going to believe what I’m about to tell you,” I say in lieu of a greeting.

  “You’d be surprised what I’d believe,” Logan says, his drawl sounding more pronounced, or maybe it’s just the fact that I’ve been hearing only clipped New Yorkers today.

  “You know how I thought Frau Frances got me evicted from my apartment because she wanted to get rid of me?”

  “Yeah . . .” Confusion colors his tone.

  “I was wrong. It was actually this couple who straight-up admitted that they needed more room because they’re having a baby. Total assholes. But that doesn’t matter anymore, because it turns out that Myrna didn’t want to get rid of me. She actually left me everything. Thirty million dollars and the apartment and a bunch of other stuff that I haven’t totally grasped yet.”

  “What?” Logan sounds like he’s choking.