Page 53 of Where the Blacktop Ends

Georgia, dressed in a simple pair of Levi’s that hug her curves like they were made for her, her strawberry-blonde hair braided into two neat sections, and a long-sleeved white shirt clinging in all the right places. The collar dips just slightly as she tilts her head back, laughing at something Liam said, and God—the way she looks at him.

Like he’s her whole world.

Something tightens in my chest. Guilt that I’m going to be moving him away from her and wild, burning, desire that she’s so good to him.For him.

I’ve been telling myself for months that I need to spend more time with Liam, especially now that he’s living with me. Ishouldbe home for bedtime. Ishouldbe more present. But there’s always some crisis at work, always another fire to put out, and I’ve justified it by telling myself he’s safe. He has Eleanor. HeadoresEleanor.

So, what’s the rush, right?

But then Georgia stepped into my orbit. And suddenly, work doesn’t feel so urgent anymore.

That’s why I’m headed home early.

“And maybe I should give the nanny the night off,” I add quickly, trying to sound like the responsible guy I am when what I reallywant to do is go home andget the nanny off.I don’t want Diane to read too much into my intentions. Honesty has always been my thing, but right now, I’m barely sure of what those intentions are myself.

Barely.

Her expression shifts, the adoration fading, replaced with something more...smug. Not that she knows anything for sure, because even I don’t but if there’s anyone who could know the future, it’d be Diane.

“Stop,” I say with a chuckle, pointing at her before spinning on my heel and heading out of the office.

“I didn’t say anything!” she calls after me, her voice laced with amusement.

I push through the revolving doors of the building, stepping into the cool afternoon air. The city hums around me—horns blaring, voices blending into the rush of foot traffic. The familiar chaos of Manhattan. A quick glance at my watch. If I hurry, I can make the next train.

Weaving through the sidewalk crowd, I make it to the station just as the Hamptons-bound train screeches to a stop. The doors slide open, and I step inside, finding a seat by the window as the train lurches forward.

A request for an interview with NBC News.

A statement needed about the farmers’ strike in North Carolina from theNorth Carolina Farmer’s Post.

A request for an interview with a popular gossip magazine onPolitics Hottest Under 50s Eligible Bachelors.

I roll my eyes at that one.

I sift through them quickly, deleting what I can, leaving the rest for Diane to manage the way she always does until one email catches my eye. It’s from Colt’s lawyer.

*************

Hey Troy,

Things aren’t looking good for Colt’s appeal. I caught wind from a judge in Charlotte that the one handling his case plans on having him serve his full five-year sentence which means he’ll be in for at least the next year. It’s not right, but that’s the latest. I think some of these guys are friends with the judges in Whitewood Creek.

I should have more for you next week, but it might be a good idea to head down here as soon as you can, especially after the recent announcement regarding your run for governor.

Might stir things up a bit. Either way, I’m not optimistic.

Talk soon.

**************

Dammit.

If Colt’s lawyer isn’t optimistic about the appeal, things must be bad. That was why I hired him in the first place for my little brother—he’s an eternal optimist, a fighter until the end. The kind of guy who never gives up, even when the odds are stacked, and they are. With over twenty years of experience defending prisoners in Charlotte, if he’s feeling defeated, I know that I have to move fast.

I rub my jaw, thinking. I need to head to North Carolina for the campaign anyway, but this... this makes my visit even more urgent despite my already packed schedule.

My thoughts drift to Liam, and my dad’s words echo in my mind:Bring him home to visit.

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