An Uphill Battle (The Southern Roots Series Book 2)

by LK Farlow

  Maybe we’ll be all right after all.

  31

  Drake

  Azalea’s been glued to my side since the moment she realized it was me in the house with her, and I’m not complaining. Having her near feels like fucking heaven—like the part of me that’s been hollow is suddenly full again.

  “What’re you doin’ here a day early?” she asks as I navigate the winding country roads that lead into town.

  “Wanted to come ahead of you to make sure the house was warm and ready. Guess you beat me to the punch though, huh?”

  She shakes her head and gives a little laugh. “I may have gotten here sooner, but I certainly didn’t beat you. I was about to head into town to get a space heater because I couldn’t light a fire.”

  “You use a Duraflame log?” I ask her, and she shakes her head. “Didn’t Dad tell you what to do?”

  “Yeah, he did. I just forgot. Thanks for saving me,” she says, her voice all high-pitched like a cartoon princess.

  “I’ll always be there to save you, Bit,” I tell her, dead serious.

  She smiles at me, and I bask in it. I’ve missed her so damn much it almost killed me. I glance over at Azalea every couple of minutes or so. About ten minutes into the trip, her head lolls side-to-side and she drifts to sleep. I smile when I feel it hit my shoulder, and a soft snore passes her pouty lips.

  I make the rest of the drive into town in silence, not even listening to music for fear it will wake her, and it’s obvious my girl needs some sleep. Which makes me wonder if she’s not been sleeping well—and if it’s my fault.

  Guilt jabs at me until I park my truck in front of one of the only restaurants in this little town. “Wake up, Bit,” I whisper, nudging her head with my shoulder.

  “Mmm, what?” she asks, her voice heavy with sleep.

  “Gotta get up if you wanna go eat,” I tell her, and right on cue, her stomach rumbles again.

  “This is real? You’re really here?”

  I don’t answer her. Instead, I tilt her face up to mine and seal my lips to hers in a searing kiss. “That feel real to you?”

  Dazed, she nods before her cheeks split into a magnificent smile. “Yeah, D. Really real.”

  “Good, let’s get you fed.” I slide out of the truck before helping her down and leading her into the diner.

  We enter the establishment and are met with a sign directing us to Please seat Yourselves. Azalea heads for a corner booth and slides in. I follow, sliding in beside her instead of across from her. We’ve been apart long enough.

  “You know what you want?” she asks, and my nostrils flare. I sure as fuck do, I think to myself. “Drake?” she prompts me again when I don’t answer.

  “Oh, yeah. Sorry. Think I’m gonna get the pancakes and bacon. What about you?”

  “I think I’m gonna do the same,” she tells me with a sweet smile.

  “Well, alrighty then,” our waitress says, startling us both. “That makes my job easier. Two pancakes with bacon. What’ll y’all have to drink?”

  “We’ll both take a coffee, please,” I tell her, earning me a glare from the little pistol seated next to me.

  “What?” I ask her as our waitress saunters off.

  “You just assumed I’d want coffee.”

  “But you do, right?” She lets out this little huff and I grin. “I’m totally right, aren’t I?”

  “Yes, but that’s not the point.”

  “No, I’m pretty sure it is,” I tell her on a laugh, loving that things aren’t awkward or tense between us.

  “Whatever, assface. You think you’re so smooth.”

  “Smooth ain’t got nothin’ to do with it. I just know you. I know what you like—”

  She stops me with her index finger pressed to my lips. I shoot her a quizzical glance. “Hush up, Drake Collins. All you’re doing is makin’ me fall harder.”

  “Nothing wrong with that,” I murmur just as our waitress returns with two plates piled high with pancakes and bacon and two mugs of piping hot coffee.

  We make quick work of our meals, and I slap two twenties down on the table before we head to the grocery store on the other side of the town square. Once we’re stocked with the essentials for the weekend, we load the bags into my truck and make the trek back to the lake house.

  A few hours later, we’re both sitting on the rug basking in the heat of the fire. Azalea’s all sprawled out like a cat, with her head in my lap. I glance down at her and find her worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. Gently, I pull it free with my thumb. “What’s on your mind, Bit?”

  “I–I guess we should talk.”

  “Yeah, no sense in puttin’ it off any longer,” I agree, helping her to move from lying to sitting. “Where ya wanna start?”

  She lets out a long breath before offering me a sad smile. “I guess at the beginning.”

  “High school?” I ask her.

  “No, D. Way before that. Remember way back when I asked you about the day we met and you said you ‘saw me’? Said you saw my hurt and anger that I thought I’d kept hidden?”

  I nod for her to continue because I do remember.

  “I know I got all defensive and pissy, but you were right. I was hurt and angry. It’s something I’ve recently come to terms with, and it’s a lot of what caused trouble between us—even if it was unknowingly.”

  “What? What happened? Who hurt you?”

  “My dad. He . . . ugh. Mom didn’t realize she was dating a married man until after I was conceived. He pushed her for an abortion, but she took the money he offered and ran. Listening to her lament over him really shaped my views on men and love and relationships.”

  Understanding dawns, and suddenly, I’m feeling like a total tool. “That’s what made you so upset with Kelly.”

  “Yep. Pretty much. I always swore I’d never make my mom’s mistakes. And then you inadvertently made me feel like I had one foot through the door in repeating history. I know now that I overreacted. Not only then, but at Thanksgiving and after, too.”

  The pinched look to her face is a dead giveaway that it pains her a little to admit her wrongs, which makes me love her all the more. Azalea is a proud woman, and it’s one of the things I love the most about her. But this humble side? It’s pretty damn good, too.

  “Not gonna lie, you were a little nuts.” She cringes, and I reach out and take her hands between mine. “But love can make you crazy, Little Bit. You damn sure make me crazy, and as long as we’re communicating with each other and being open and honest, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She flashes a bright smile my way, her face open and full of hope. “You really mean that? Because we both know I can tend to go a bit off the deep end.”

  “As long as you tell me what’s got a burr in your britches, I can handle all the crazy you throw my way.” Hell, I’ll welcome it—not that I’m going to tell her that.

  She pulls her hands from mine and rises to her knees and crawls toward me. I draw up to my knees as well, meeting her halfway. I cup her cheek with my palm, and she fists the sides of my sweatshirt. “You’re my everything, Drake Ulysses Collins.”

  Sliding my lips over hers, I shift us so that she’s on her back with my weight pressing down on her—not enough to hurt her, just enough so that she feels me. “And you’re mine.”

  32

  Azalea

  Cold air breezes around my body and my eyes flutter open. Drake and I are in much the same position we were when we fell asleep—curled around one another on the rug in front of the now-dead fire. Blindly, I reach around until my fingers curl around the edge of the blanket draped over the end of the couch. I give it a firm yank and use it to cover Drake and myself before snuggling back into the heat his body provides and drifting back to sleep.

  The next time I wake, the sun is high enough that it filters in brightly through the windows, making me squint as I gain my bearings.

  “G’morning, sleepyhead,” Drake says from across the room.


  I stretch lazily before tying my hair up into a messy bun. “What time is it?”

  He smiles at me, his eyes dancing with humor. “One o’clock.”

  “What? You let me sleep the entire day away! What the hell?”

  “You were pretty zonked out when I woke up. Figured you must’ve needed the rest.”

  Biting my lip, I answer him. “Guess I did. Did you make coffee?”

  “Does a cow have spots? Yes, I made you coffee, Azalea.” He turns to head for the kitchen, and I follow behind him. He passes me a steaming clay mug filled to the brim with coffee.

  “Thank you. Hey, I have a few more questions—things we didn’t get around to talking about last night.”

  “Okay, shoot.”

  I take a few gulps of my coffee, hoping it’ll bolster my courage. “Kasey. Were y’all . . . did y’all . . .?”

  Drake tosses his mug into the sink with a loud clatter before rushing over to me. Tunneling his fingers into my hair, he angles my face so that we’re eye-to-eye. “Oh my God, no. No, Azalea.”

  “Not even once?” I ask, sounding small and brittle. I hate it. I hate this thread of insecurity rushing through me.

  “Not even once. Not even a kiss. Kasey is like one of the guys to me. Swear it.”

  “Then what . . .” I trail off, hoping he won’t make me ask any more questions about her.

  “Jesus, Azalea. One day, I went out with the guys, and she was our waitress. I was still so mad over everything with you, and then all of a sudden, there you were.”

  “Where? What?” I ask, confusion coloring my tone.

  “Walking down the sidewalk with your girls. And you were smiling so big, like we hadn’t just imploded. You were laughing and checking out some group of guys, all but drooling, pointin’ them out to Seraphine and Magnolia.”

  “No. No-no-no-no.”

  “Yes. I have eyes, and I know what I saw.” I laugh at how sure she is, even though it’s totally not an appropriate time for laughter. “Something funny?”

  “No, D. Please listen. I swear on my life, I wasn’t drooling over some guys. I was drooling over their dog.” Drake shoots me an incredulous look. “I mean it. One of the guys had the cutest little pug dog. He was a chunky little thing with black fur and a gnarly little underbite. If you don’t believe me, the girls will back me up. Myla Rose even mentioned that she’s been trying to talk Cash into getting a pup for Brody.”

  “Holy shit.” Drake breathes the words more than he speaks them. “You’re for real?”

  “Really real. That dog was so ugly, it was cute.”

  “Well, hell.” He sounds so dejected, and it tugs on my heartstrings like no other.

  “What does any of this have to do with Kasey, though?”

  “Dammit, this was all so avoidable. She flirted with me the whole time we were at the restaurant, and she slipped me her number when we left. I wasn’t gonna call her, but the more I thought about you moving on, the angrier I got. I ended up calling her out of spite, and we quickly realized we had no chemistry.

  “I mean, how could we? She isn’t you. After running into you and your parents, she asked about you, and I just broke down and told her all about us, and she came up with the plan to make you jealous.”

  “Well, it freaking worked. Too well. Watching y’all together was like drowning.”

  “I’m so sorry we hurt you. She’s a sweet girl. Honestly, even though I doubt you wanna hear this, y’all’d probably be great friends.”

  I scowl at him before cracking a smile. “Maybe. Did you know she and Kelly came to see me the other day?”

  Drake’s eyebrows climb into his hairline. “They what?”

  “Yessir. They stopped by the salon to make sure of my intentions toward you.”

  “Oh, God. I’m so sorr—”

  I stop him with a hard press of my lips to his. “Not a problem, D. They were nice, and I know it’s just because they care about you. My girls would do the same for me in a heartbeat.”

  “True that. Now, go get your cute ass ready. We have plans.”

  33

  Drake

  I watch Azalea’s ass as she saunters toward the bathroom, her hips swaying, stirring something fierce in me. I told her we had plans, which was an outright lie. The truth is, I needed a few to process everything she just told me.

  So much of this drama between us was nothing more than miscommunications and totally avoidable. It eats me up that we lost time together, but it makes me more determined than ever to secure our future.

  While she’s occupied with getting ready, I put plans into motion to make sure she ends up where she belongs—with me. Always with me.

  Half an hour later, Azalea pads back into the living room, her hair wrapped in a towel with her robe cinched tight at her waist.

  I stalk toward her, loving the way she looks fresh out of the shower. “You are so damn beautiful,” I growl into her ear, sending a shiver down her spine.

  “Hush up.” She tries to step out of my grasp.

  “Never. You’re beautiful inside and out.”

  “Such a charmer. What’re our plans for the day?”

  I pull her even closer so that her head is nestled just below my chin, with my hands gripping the firm globes of her ass. “I figured we could whip up a late lunch and maybe hike a bit in the woods around the lake? Did you bring your boots?”

  She nods against my chest. “I did, thanks to your dad. Yeah, that sounds nice. Why don’t you go shower, and I’ll see what I can make us to eat?”

  I pin her with a smoldering look. “I know exactly what I’d like to—”

  “Shh,” Azalea hushes me. “Not like that. Food. For both of us.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Dash all my hopes and dreams, why don’t ya.” She gives me a playful shove before heading into the kitchen to start on lunch.

  After a quick shower, I dress and make my way back to Azalea. Quietly, I sneak up behind her as she stands in front of the stove, waiting on the microwave to finish. “What’s cookin’, good lookin’?” I say into her neck, making her jump a little.

  “You’ve got to stop sneaking up on me! I’m gonna die from a heart attack one of these days.”

  “I’m sorry, Bit. What’re we eating though?”

  “Nothin’ fancy. Just steamed some veggies in the microwave to go with the rotisserie chicken we bought.”

  “I don’t need fancy. I just need you.”

  Azalea spins to face me, a wide grin lighting up her face. She waves her hand up and down her body as if she’s showcasing it. “Well, ya got me!”

  We devour the chicken and veggies, leaving just enough meat for Azalea to pull it from the bones to use in a soup.

  AZALEA

  “C’mon, Azalea, catch up,” Drake calls from the top of the hill I’m desperately trying to make my way up. I pause to glare daggers at him but get caught up in the way his thermal shirt fits him like a second skin. The man is too good-looking for his own good.

  He shakes his head at me and starts moving down the hill toward me. “You tired?”

  “Exhausted,” I tell him, shivering as I pull my scarf up to cover my mouth and nose.

  “It’s not that cold, Bit.” His eyes dance with mirth.

  Rolling my eyes, I lazily drag them over him. Truly, he’s a work of art. Meanwhile, I’m a cold, sweaty mess. Cold and sweaty! “Speak for yourself, sir. I’m dripping sweat from exertion, and every time the wind whips through the damn trees, I swear to God I can feel the sweat turning to ice!”

  Drake steps into my space and wraps me in his strong arms. “Dramatic much?”

  Snorting, I tell him, “Like that’s some kind of surprise?”

  “I love your antics, Azalea. I love you.” His words send a warm zing through me, and I slip my hands into his back pockets.

  “I love you, too, ya know?”

  He nods against me. “I do. Now, let’s head back before you become an icicle.”

  “So, you admit
it’s cold!”

  Drake turns and presents his back to me. “Hop on.” And I do, my body melting against his, trying to absorb his heat. “And for the record, I admit no such thing. I’m simply conceding that you’re cold.”

  “Potato, po-tah-to, D. Now, take us home!”

  With each step over the bumpy terrain, I rock and jolt against Drake’s strong back in the most delicious of ways. I feel like I’m on the verge of insanity by the time the lake house comes into view.

  My thighs tighten around his hips as I try to find purchase—anything to relieve this ache building in me.

  “Squirm much?” he asks, sounding smug.

  “I . . . I just . . . put me down.”

  “Why? Something bothering you?”

  Insufferable. This man is insufferable. Sweetly, I tell him, “If you set me down, I’ll show you exactly what’s bothering me.”

  Instead of doing as I say, Drake hikes me higher on his back, causing goose bumps—that aren’t from the cold—to rake my body. “Pretty sure I know what’s wrong, Bit.” He takes two more steps and lowers me at the front door. “Also, pretty sure I know how to fix it.”

  I’m about to ask him exactly what he thinks needs fixing, but before I get the chance, he’s on me. His lips clash with mine, and we’re all teeth and tongue as our bodies reunite.

  He has me pinned to the front door as he explores my body over the layers of clothing, only serving to make me want him more. “Inside,” I mumble, unable to string enough words together to form a sentence.

  Luckily, Drake speaks my cave-woman language and lifts me by my thighs, guiding my legs to wrap around him. He quickly unlocks the door and walks us inside, never once removing his lips from mine—it’s like the man has superpowers.

  “Undress,” he commands, his voice dripping with authority and seduction.