Page 54 of Where the Blacktop Ends

I wonder if Georgia would be up for a trip down there. Last time we talked, she made it clear moving to North Carolina isn’t an option for her, but maybe if I show her Whitewood Creek and my family’s farmstead in person, she’ll get the charm of the small town and our family businesses.

Maybe, she’ll consider moving when I win.

I like the thought of that.

What’s a woman like Georgia doing desperate to stay in New York anyhow? She’d said her family owns a ranch in Texas. With her rosy personality, carefree attitude and quick wit, it seems like she’d fit in just fine in Whitewood Creek.

She’d fit in just fine with me and my family, too.

I sigh, sinking back into the train seat, and reading over the email once more. Colt has a year left on his sentence, but my goal is to get him out by November. I want him home with the family for the holidays this year, not rotting in that cell for another twelve months. He isn’t innocent, not completely, but defending that woman shouldn’t have landed him behind bars for this long. The whole situation is messed up, and it’s personal. Every day he stays inside, I feel like I’m failing him.

I’m not the emotional type. Cash fights with his charm, Colt with his fists. Lawson? He wins wars with his patience, and Regan... well, she’s never fighting with anyone.

But me? I’ve always been the steady one—the father figure. First for my siblings, then for Max, and now for Liam. You don’t get the luxury of falling apart when you’re in politics, raising a family, holding people together. I fight behind the scenes, in ways that no one sees or understands.

But damn if I don’t feel like breaking down right here on this train full of curious, anonymous faces.

The anger, the frustration, the years of pushing everything down is starting to catch up to me. Most days it feels like I have everyone depending on me and yet I’m letting each down in their own special, terrible way.

The train pulls into the station, and I wipe at my face, realizing a tear has somehow slipped down my cheek. That’s the first one in years. Probably since I became a father twenty-two years ago.

I pull my cap lower, aCharlotte Hornetslogo on it causing a ridiculous contrast to the ten-thousand-dollarArmanisuit I’m wearing. But at least it gives me some privacy. New Yorkers aren’t interested in a politician from another state wearing an NBA hat.

Stepping off the train, I make my way to the carport, weaving through the streets. As I get closer to the shore, the tightness in my chest begins to ease. The gates to the community slide open, and with every mile that I move toward the beach house’s front door, the weight of the day—of Colt’s appeal status, ofeverything—starts to lift. And the moment I open the door to my home, I know I made the right decision leaving early. The scent hits me: pumpkin, bergamot, and cinnamon, all blended together into a warm, welcoming fragrance. It’s clean in here, like Georgia just finished vacuuming and the kitchen looks spotless.

I can’t lie—it’s a hell of a feeling, coming home after a long day dealing with headaches and assholes to a house that’s clean and smells good.

Georgia might be a whirlwind at times—a free-spirited, wild, country girl—but she’s nothing if not attentive. To Liam, and to me. Every night, without fail, there’s laundry going, the floorsare swept and spotless, and the counters wiped down. She picked up on my need for order and control right away and without hesitation or being asked, has made sure it’s happened. And I know I’m paying her to watch Max, but cleaning like this wasn’t part of the deal.

Damn if that isn’t sexy.

And dammit I haven’t thanked her once for it.

The house is quiet though it’s only six fifteen. I head upstairs, my footsteps light, until finally I hear Georgia’s cheerful voice coming from the bathroom, followed by Liam’s sweet giggles.

“A boat! Look, Liam! Brumm,” she makes the sound of an engine, and Liam’s sweet laughter rings out, filling the hallway. I smile as I listen, resting my head against the frame with a sigh.

Is there anything better than the pure joy of a child? A life untouched by the distractions and pain of the world where their only job is to play and learn.

“Okay, buddy. Time to get out and dry you off. We’ll lotion you up and get your pajamas on, then Ms. Eleanor will be here to pick you up.”

“Yay!” Liam’s tiny voice echoes back to her, full of trust and excitement. I can hear the rustle as Georgia playfully lifts him from the tub while making some sort of construction vehicle noise, drying him off with exaggerated gestures and laughter.

When the bathroom door finally swings open, Liam spots me and squeals immediately, “Papa!”

He bolts into my arms as I crouch down, scooping him up and smothering him with kisses. His freshly washed, warm and soft little body is covered in Paw Patrol pajamas, and I notice how much bigger he feels tonight.

Has he always been this big?

I cling to him, unwilling to let go, savoring the warmth of his body and the way he fits so perfectly against me. Every second I stay away, I lose moments like this—precious, fleeting hours I’ll never get back.

Georgia lingers behind us, her gaze soft, searching. Watching me hold Liam like she’s seeing something she hadn’t expected.

“Hi, buddy. I’ve missed you,” I murmur, feeling his little hands curl up around my neck to then cup either side of my face. He pulls back, looking me intensely in the eyes, and then leans in to plant a kiss on my cheek.

Oh... man.

Georgia beams. “Good job, Liam!” she coos then turns to me with a careful smile. “We’ve been working on giving hugs and high fives as greetings. I haven’t pushed him on giving kisses, but I guess he was saving it for you.”

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