Page 7 of Hard to Love

I’ve never been more attracted to a woman in my life. Thayer drives me insane, but by God, I want her. What am I supposed to do with that fact? I want her in my life, but I’m afraid of the cost. The price that will need to be paid to be with me.

A wet nose bumps my leg; I reach down to pat Lulu’s head. “Hey, girl. I know, I like her too. But it’s just us.” Turning to look at her, I kneel in front of her. “Don’t look so sad. We’re good together; we don’t need a mommy for you,” I say as I scratch her head. She licks my face before I stand to grab my things for a shower.

I’ve stood in front of my closet for thirty minutes and still can’t decide on clothes. Who the hell am I? Who have I become? I’m not the man to wage a fashion war before I go out the door. I’m the kinda guy that enjoys ripped jeans, band shirts, and hats.

Shaking my head, I grab my best jeans and a button-up shirt. I hit the shirt a few times with my favorite cologne and grab my keys on the way out. A big brown truck sits at the end of my driveway. I’m certainly happy to see it.

“Hey, man. Please tell me you have my corner panel?” Smiling as I ask. His reply makes me smile bigger.

“Hardy, I do believe I do. How’s she coming?” he asks. Knowing how long it took me to find this for my baby, he’s almost as invested as I am.

“Just this and the interior before she goes to paint. I can’t wait to tear up the strip in her,” I reply with a huge grin.

“Heard that, man. Can’t wait to see her.” He waves as he pulls away. Good dude.

I head up Ocean Boulevard with a few minutes to spare. So against my better judgment, I whip into a parking spot and hit up this nifty little specialty shop.

What am I looking for? Absolutely no clue. I’m open to suggestions. So I look around. Trying to find something that hits the nail on the head. After a few minutes, I spot it.

Package in hand, I hit the road again. Although, I’m now late. I’m sure it’ll not be a problem, or at least I hope it won’t. Sitting at a traffic light, I keep replaying all that’s happened over the last twenty-four hours. Lost in thought, it takes a horn behind me to make me move.

My lifted Chevy Silverado would be all kinds of outta place if it wasn’t for the place I was going. Never one to judge, I love these people like no one else. Years of foster homes and street living taught me the appreciation of good friends.

Twenty-five years ago, I lost my parents in a car accident. Seven years later, my only grandparent died of natural causes. It left me with no one at the age of ten. Put into state care until I was placed into a foster home, I would have chosen to be left in the state orphanage.

Moving from home to home every few months—sometimes more often—was tiring. By the time I became a teen, I’d had enough of wannabe mommies and asshole daddies. The streets became my home.

My first foster home introduced me to my best friend. Eighteen years later, our friendship is still going strong. Yeah, we lost touch every once in a while, but each time we met up again, it was like old times.

I grew up in Raleigh and was there for the more significant part of my life. I was never really far from the area until I was sixteen when I moved to Charleston, South Carolina. Being in Charleston changed my life forever.

At one time, I thought of it as a curse. Living the way I did as a kid was terrible, but Charleston and its events were even worse. Now, I can say I’m happy I made it out alive. Some weren’t so lucky.

Pulling up to the gate of the sprawling coastal mansion, I hit the speaker for someone to let me in. The gates open slowly without me even saying a word. I’ve been here many times, but today is different.

Checking myself in the rearview mirror, I step from my truck with the trinket in my pocket. No way was I going to make a show of giving this away. Not today. I’ll be happy not to shit my pants from nerves.

Steadying myself, I take a few more deep breaths. Taking two steps, I stop as I catch my reflection on the side of my black truck. A few minutes later, I’ve straightened my clothes and situated my hair.

My cell vibrates with an incoming text about the time I hit the top step. Pulling it from my pocket, I’m told everyone’s around back. Retracing my efforts, I’m back down by the main entrance quickly. Slowing my pace to calm my nerves, I work my way around the side of the house to the back gate.

Pushing it open, I look around first. There is no sign of the special guest, so I step on in silently, praying this goes as planned. Or at least, as well as it can go.

“Hey, man. You made it. It’s good to see you.” A younger version of my best friend walks over to me and slaps me on the back. He’s getting old, shit, I’m getting old.

“Dude, it’s good to see you. How have you been?” Shaking his hand as I look around, he’s made enough noise to introduce the Queen of England. No one looks, but I already feel outta place.

“He didn’t say it was a cookout. I look ridiculous.” Stretching my collar as I say it. I take the time to roll my sleeves up to not look too much like an oddball. “Where’s your brother?”

“Inside working on the burgers. He’s in a fucking mood lately. Maybe he just needs to get laid.” We both chuckle. There’s one thing for sure, he needs no help in getting laid.

“I’ll give him your suggestion.” Before he can say a word, Elise finds us.

“Hardy, welcome. It’s so good to see you. You look so nice,” she compliments me as she pulls me into a hug.

“He didn’t tell me it was a cookout.” I’m rolling my eyes as I whisper it to her.

“It’s fine, you know that. Please, come in and grab yourself a drink. I’m looking for the guest of honor.” She’s searching from side to side as she says it. I join her in looking for the special guest, hoping to get a vantage point.