by Meghan March
Real Good Love
Book Two of the Real Duet
Meghan March
Copyright © 2017 by Meghan March LLC
All rights reserved.
Editor: Pam Berehulke, Bulletproof Editing
www.bulletproofediting.com
Cover design: @ by Hang Le
www.byhangle.com
Cover photo: @ Regina Wamba, Mae I Design
www.maeidesign.com
Interior Design: Stacey Blake, Champagne Formats
www.champagneformats.com
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
Visit my website at www.meghanmarch.com.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
About This Book
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Epilogue
Dirty Billionaire—Chapter 1
Also by Meghan March
Acknowledgments
Author’s Note
About the Author
About This Book
I’ve had my fair share of bad boys, but nothing prepared me for what it was like to be with a real good man.
Logan Brantley changed everything.
Somewhere along the way, what started as a fling became the best part of my life. He makes me want all the things I’ve never had, like forever and happily ever after, but nothing worth having comes easily.
Everyone is betting on us to fail, but I’m ready to fight for this real good love.
Real Good Love is the conclusion of the Real Duet and should be read following Real Good Man.
Chapter 1
Breaking news tonight from country star Holly Wix’s hometown of Gold Haven, Kentucky. Although a small village of only about two thousand residents, it has been plagued by the methamphetamine epidemic that has impacted much of rural America. Sources in Gold Haven report the explosion of a third meth house in a matter of weeks, and we’re told this one is located near a residence Wix owns and still visits on occasion.
Even more devastating to the town, an unidentified body has been discovered inside. No name has been released yet, pending notification of the family.
We’ll have more as the story develops. We’re sending our top investigative reporter, Memphis Lockwood, to Gold Haven to dig for answers. Stay tuned for her reports coming live from Kentucky.
Banner
By the time my flight touches down in New York, I find myself feeling anxious. It’s hard to believe I only left here a couple of weeks ago. The city that has been my home already feels foreign.
As I climb into the back of a cab at JFK, I rattle off the address of my old apartment building. I cringe as the driver slams on the brakes, honks his horn, and yells out the window at a Mercedes that cut him off. It’s nothing like driving through the one blinking red light in Gold Haven. The people and cyclists cutting across the street force yet another abrupt stop, annoying me.
After the nauseating hour-long ride, I find myself wondering why I’ve always considered Manhattan the only truly livable city on the planet. Maybe because it’s all I’ve ever really known, but Logan has shown me a completely different perspective. New York may be the center of the world in a lot of ways, but it’s no longer the center of my world.
When I climb out of the cab in front of the building, the doorman’s eyebrows shoot up.
“Ms. Regent. We’ve missed you. I hope you’re doing well.”
“Thank you, Joe. I’m doing great.”
The lines around his eyes deepen as his quick smile dies away. “I assume you’ve heard about Mrs. Frances passing.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Tears burn my eyes, but I blink them away.
“She always liked you. May not have acted like it, but she did. Do you need me to call up to the apartment, or are they expecting you?”
I shake my head. “Sofia asked me to come. I texted her on the way here.”
He glances toward the elevator. “You know the way then.”
With a small smile, I drag my suitcase toward the shiny gold doors and press the call button. When it finally arrives, I step inside and select my old floor.
As the doors slide closed, a man shoves his briefcase between them to stop them. Typical New York. He and a woman bustle inside. He reaches for the button panel but yanks his hand back almost immediately without pressing one.
Are they the new tenants in my former apartment? My question is answered within moments when the man speaks.
“You must be helping clean out the apartment across the hall. We heard the old lady passed away.”
My hackles rise at the way he refers to Myrna, even though I’ve called her the old lady plenty of times myself. But still, that was after years of the privilege of knowing her. These people don’t know crap.
“Her name was Myrna Frances.” My tone is frosty at best, dripping with an unspoken layer of go fuck yourself.
The woman presses a hand to her chest. “Are you family? We’re terribly sorry for your loss. She seemed . . . lovely.”
My hold on my temper snaps, weakened by grief and hours of travel. “I lived across the hall from her for five years, which is a hell of a lot more than you can say. Don’t feed me your bullshit sympathy. You didn’t know her.”
Guilt settles in both their expressions as the woman’s hand lowers to her rounded stomach. “We’re sorry about that. I’m due in four months, and we really needed a bigger place. It wasn’t personal. It was just . . . we needed the space more than you did.”
Her words don’t make sense . . . at first. But then the pieces snap together.
I open my mouth and close it again before finally speaking. “Are you . . . are you telling me that you sold me out to the association board and got me evicted so you could have more space?”
The woman recoils at my harsh tone. “Not us personally. A friend in the building who knew we couldn’t stay in our place when the baby came. I’ve felt really guilty ever since, though.”
A rusty laugh escapes my throat. “You’ve felt guilty? For making sure I ended up homeless?” I look down at her stomach and back up to her face as the elevator doors slide open. “God help your kid. I hope you’re not as shitty of a parent as you are a person.”
I stalk out of the elevator and down to Myrna’s door, wrath fueling my every step. One of the tears I’ve been holding at bay sneaks through and lands on my cheek. I swipe it away, even more furious.
I’ve spent all this time being angry at Myrna, thinking she ratted me out, but it was some asshole trying to get a bigger place for a friend. The knowledge overwhelms me, and another tear falls.
My fist lands on the door harder than I intend, but I have to get out of this hallway before I let them see me cry. I don’t turn to see if they’re following or are wisely choosing to wait in the elevator until I’m out of sight.
Thankfully, Sofia opens the door and throws her arms around me. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
I hug her back hard as she begins to shake. Pulling away, I meet her tear-filled gaze, which matches my own. “Me too. I’m so sorry.”
“It’ll be better now. You’re here, and I don’t have to do this alone.” She sniffles as another tear tracks down her cheek. “Mrs. Frances’s daughter just called and said she’s not coming.”
“What?” Rage and grief take turns slamming fist after fist into my gut. “What do you mean, she’s not coming? Her mother died. She has to come.”
Sofia shakes her head. “I don’t understand either. She was so angry. She just yelled and yelled and hung up on me.”
Myrna’s relationship with her daughter is about as good as mine with my mother. And yet I still don’t understand how she could decide she’s opting out of this responsibility. If she’s serious . . . that’s tragic. But maybe that’s how my mother would react if something happened to me. I can practically hear her.
“Now isn’t a good time. I’m not able to leave until this segment of the research is concluded.”
Not. Acceptable.
I wrap a hand around each of Sofia’s shoulders and squeeze. “I’ll call her. There’s got to be some kind of mistake. Maybe she just delayed her flight because she had something going on.”
I pull out my phone and find Dee Booker’s contact information. She answers on the second ring.
“Hi, this is Banner Regent. You know, I used to live across—”
“Are you calling to tell me I should’ve visited more while she was alive, and maybe she wouldn’t have screwed me over so hard in death?” She spits the angry words at me, not sounding at all like a congresswoman.
“I’m sorry, Ms. Booker. I know that this isn’t easy. My mother and I have a . . . difficult relationship too, but I would—”
“Am I supposed to care that you have mommy issues? If that’s what you think this is, you are woefully mistaken.”
Her jab about mommy issues hits home, and I stiffen. Myrna would be so embarrassed, and I’m embarrassed for her.
“Yeah, I do have mommy issues. Actually, I have shitty, disconnected parent issues. But that’s not what this is about. Who do you think is going to handle Myrna’s estate and apartment if you don’t step up? She didn’t ask a whole lot from you while she was alive; the least you could do is give her some consideration now that she’s gone.”
I almost expect lightning to strike me down because someone could say the same thing to me if my mom died tomorrow. Grief for a parent I haven’t even lost yet rises up, and those few tears from earlier multiply.
Dee Booker is silent for a beat after I stop speaking. “You don’t even know, do you?” A bitter laugh comes over the line. “I don’t need to spare a moment of consideration for my mother because she didn’t have any for me. After all, she left every damn thing to you.”
Chapter 2
Logan
This tight deadline on the most important project I’ve ever had is all that’s keeping me from getting on a plane to New York to track Banner down and get answers from the source. I can’t stop fucking thinking about the box of pregnancy tests I found in the bathroom.
As much as I want to call or text her to demand answers, this isn’t the kind of conversation that’s happening over the phone.
Before I can get lost in wrenching on the car, Jock yells over the beat of Boone Thrasher’s latest album playing in the garage.
“Cop wants to talk to you, boss.”
I jerk my head up and look in his direction. Sure enough, Cody Reeves is standing in the doorway between the waiting room and the shop.
Fuck. I toss the wrench into the top of my toolbox and yank the rag from the back pocket of my coveralls to wipe my hands. After turning down the stereo, I head in his direction.
“What can I do for you, Cody?” I ask as he backs up into the waiting room. Having a cop show up is never a good sign in my book. “You here about Jeff? Because I haven’t seen him or talked to him.”
“No. I got a few questions about a former employee of yours.”
“Who?”
“Roy Planter. I understand you fired him a few months back.”
My suspicions rise. Roy? What the fuck is going on with Roy? “Yeah, I fired him.”
He pulls out his cop notepad. “Do you remember when that was?”
“I’d have to check my records. I don’t recall the exact date.”
“Can you tell me why you fired him?”
“He showed up drunk one too many times, and I couldn’t have that kind of liability in my shop.”
Cody makes a note and looks up. “When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Why all the questions about Roy? What the hell is going on?”
“I need to know the last time you saw him, Logan.”
“At Piggly Wiggly. He was checking out ahead of me a couple weeks ago. Haven’t seen him since.”
“His daughter says you never liked him.”
I look up at the ceiling, trying for patience before I answer. “I fired the guy. It wasn’t personal; it was business. Rachel’s feelings on the matter don’t count. She and everyone else in this town know Roy needs to have his ass in a seat at AA if he wants to get some help.”
“That’s not gonna happen. His body was identified this morning by his dental records.”
Shock squeezes my chest like a vise. “What the fuck are you talking about?”
Cody closes his notepad and shoves it in his front pocket before he answers. “Roy Planter is dead. Seems he blew up himself and the old Nigel place early this morning.”
I start putting the pieces together. “I heard about it on the radio on my way to work. He was cookin’ meth?”
Cody gives me the cop shrug. “Allegedly. The crew is still going through the structure, but it was definitely a lab. Chief Timmons finally decided to take this shit seriously now that the national news is reporting on Gold Haven, so we’ve been told to investigate all possible avenues. We’re getting famous again, but this time for all the wrong reasons.”
I jam my hand into my hair. “Shit. What a fucking mess.”
“Damn right it is. Thanks for answering my questions.” Cody turns to walk toward the door, but pauses with his hand on the metal bar that stretches across the glass. “Is it just me, or does it seem like you’ve got connections to a lot of the people I’m investigating lately?”
I give him a hard look. “What are you trying to say, man? This is a small town. You could connect just about anyone to everyone else.”
“I’m not trying to say anything, just making an observation. Have a good one, Logan.”
He pushes open the door, leaving me standing in the waiting room with a punch of guilt. My hands clench into fists.
This isn’t my fault.
Fuck.
* * *
Six hours later, my stomach is gnawing on my spine, and I straighten from under the hood of Boone Thrasher’s Olds 442. This restoration is testing my limits, including this stubborn carburetor. I back away from the car
and wipe my hands. My back and shoulders are aching, and the only thing I want right now is a shower, a burger, a beer, and Banner. Not necessarily in that order.
I still haven’t called her. I got a text from her to let me know she made it to New York, and I replied with a simple Good to hear. Be safe.
Maybe I’m naive for expecting her to bring up the subject of the pregnancy tests now that she’s hundreds of miles away, considering she didn’t bother to mention it when we were in the same bed last night. Either way, her lack of response is grating on me.
My phone rings as I finish scrubbing up with Fast Orange, and I dry my hands and reach for it.
Not Banner.
“What up, man?”
Granger Ryan, my best friend and Gold Haven’s fire chief, says, “It’s been a shit day. You wanna meet for a beer at Pints and Pins?”
“I heard about the fire and the body. Definitely a shit day. You get it handled all right?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want to sit home and drink by myself. You up for it?”
“Sure. Give me forty-five minutes and I’ll be there.” Maybe this way I’ll be able to keep myself from calling Banner to demand answers.
“Cool. See you then.”
I hang up and look around my shop.
Someday, this place will be on the map, and I won’t have to hustle so fucking hard to make sure it stays solidly in the black.
I cross the room to hit the lights and lock up.
Today just isn’t that day.
Chapter 3
Logan
“This shit is enough to make me hate my job. Do you know how much it fucking sucks to trip over a charred body?”
I drop the last bite of my burger in the red plastic basket on the table in front of me. The thought and visual of Roy Planter’s remains has officially killed my appetite.
Granger lifts his beer and takes a swig. “Poor, stupid motherfucker. Shoulda known better. Got my ass out of bed at three a.m. to deal with his mess.”