My dad just shakes his head. “You’re going to lose her boy,” he says sharply.
“I already have,” I mumble and quickly get up from the table, chair scraping loudly, plate abandoned.
I already have.
Chapter 30
Happy Fucking Birthday to Me
Layla
It’s my birthday. I’m going to have a good day.
The words feel like a mantra I’m repeating to convince myself, even as my chest aches with every breath. I stand in front of the guest house mirror, smoothing my hands over the black bodycon dress that clings to every curve, hips, soft belly, full breasts, like it was painted on.
The fabric is cool and silky against my skin, hugging tight, making me feel powerful and vulnerable at the same time. Red heels make my legs look longer, calves flexing as I shift my weight. My hair is curled in loose waves, a cute little headband holding it back, simple gold jewelry catching the soft lamp light—earrings dangling, necklace resting between my cleavage. Makeup is on point: smoky eyes, red lips that match the heels,cheeks flushed just enough to look alive. I look hot. I want to look hot. Because this is how he’ll remember me. This is the last impression I’m leaving on Cole Marshall.
What the Marshalls don’t know is that instead of leaving in a few weeks, I’m leaving tomorrow. I can’t do this anymore with Cole. I’ve expressed my feelings with him. He hasn’t returned them. The only time that man seems to say what’s on his mind is when he’s seven inches deep inside me, growling filthy praises about my body while he fucks me senseless, calling me his, telling me how perfect I feel, how he can’t get enough. I’ve given my all but after overhearing what I heard—“Sooner the better for me. So I can just move on with my life”—well… I better be on my way.
My throat tightens. I spritz vanilla perfume on my wrists and neck, the sweet, warm scent wrapping around me like a memory I’m trying to leave behind and head out. The night air hits cool and fresh, carrying the faint smell of cut grass and wood smoke from the bonfire already lit near the barn. Crickets hum, stars sharp overhead. The barn is transformed, string lights crisscross the rafters, glowing soft gold against the old wood beams. Tables are set with checkered cloths, mason jars full of wildflowers, the buffet loaded with ribs glossy with sauce, cornbread golden, coleslaw crisp. Country music thumps low from speakers, laughter and clinking bottles fill the air. The smell hits me first, smoked meat, fresh bread, beer, hay, and that faint barn scent that’s become home. It’s beautiful. It’s perfect. And it hurts like hell.
I walk in, heels clicking on the concrete floor, and heads turn. I feel eyes on me—appreciative, curious—but I only care about one pair. Cole’s. He’s across the room, dark button-down rolled at the sleeves, jeans hugging his thighs, his new buckle gleaming. His eyes find me, slowly rake from my red heels up mylegs, over my hips, lingering on my breasts, then up to my face. His jaw tightens. Good. Let him look. Let him remember.
Maggie spots me first. “There she is!” She rushes over, arms wide, pulling me into a hug that smells like hairspray and tequila. “You look like a damn knockout!”
“Thanks, Mags,” I say, hugging back tight—her warmth familiar, grounding. “This place looks incredible.”
The buffet looks great—ribs glossy with sauce, cornbread golden, coleslaw crisp—but I instantly go up to grab a shot of tequila. The glass is cold, liquor sharp and burning as it slides down my throat, warming my chest, loosening the knot there just a little.
“I hope you’re loving the party!” Maggie hugs me from behind—arms tight, voice bright over the music.
“It looks beautiful Maggie. You did a really good job,” I smile at her.
“Well me and Luke,” Maggie says as Luke walks up, grinning wide, beer in hand.
“Hey there big guy.” I reach in for a hug, his arms strong, familiar.
“Happy birthday Layla,” Luke says.
“It looks great. Both of you thank you.”
“We’re really going to miss you when you go. You’ve become like a sister to me,” Luke says, voice sincere, eyes soft.
Well at least one of the Marshall siblings knows how to express his emotions and feelings. That almost makes me tear up because they have become my family too. The words hit hard, chest tight, throat burning.
“You all have become my family too. I will miss you guys so much you have no idea! The brother and sister I never had but that I always wanted,” I say, voice cracking just a little.
And suddenly a dark cloud of mysterious smoke of a man comes walking toward me.
“You look nice,” Cole says—voice low, rough, eyes raking over me slowly, lingering on the way the dress hugs my curves, my hips, my breasts.
“Thanks. So do you,” I say, looking around, trying to find something else to distract me from just crying or being in self-loathing over a man who doesn’t love me back.
“Dance with me?” he asks—hand extended.
I side-eye him.
“One dance.”
