Hot Georgia Rein Read online

  Hot Georgia Rein

  Martha Sweeney

  WWN Publishing Group

  Hot Georgia Rein written by Martha Sweeney

  Copyright © 2017 Martha Sweeney

  Publishing 2017 WWN Publishing Group

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  Copy Editors: Martha Sweeney & Thomas Sweeney

  Cover Design: Martha Sweeney

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  All rights reserved. This book was self-published by the author, Martha Sweeney, under WWN Publishing Group. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any means without the express written permission of the author. This includes reprints, excerpts, photocopying, recording, or any future means of reproducing text and stories.

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  If you would like to do any of the above, please seek permission first by contacting the author at: www.marthasweeney.com

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  Connect with Martha Sweeney online:

  Facebook: www.facebook.com/AuthorMarthaSweeney

  Twitter: @MSweeneyAuthor

  Instagram: www.instagram.com/MarthaSweeneyAuthor

  YouTube: www.youtube.com/c/MSweeney

  Google+: plus.google.com/+MSweeney

  Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/MarthaSweeney

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  Published in The United States by WWN Publishing Group

  ISBN: 978-0-9974637-5-0 (ebook)

  Contents

  Also by Martha Sweeney

  Acknowledgments

  1. Ivy

  2. Henry

  3. Ivy

  4. Henry

  5. Ivy

  6. Henry

  7. Ivy

  8. Henry

  9. Ivy

  10. Henry

  11. Ivy

  12. Henry

  13. Ivy

  14. Henry

  15. Ivy

  16. Henry

  17. Ivy

  18. Henry

  19. Ivy

  20. Henry

  21. Ivy

  22. Henry

  23. Ivy

  24. Henry

  25. Ivy

  26. Henry

  27. Ivy

  28. Henry

  29. Ivy

  30. Henry

  31. Ivy

  32. Henry

  33. Ivy

  34. Henry

  35. Ivy

  36. Henry

  37. Ivy

  38. Henry

  Book mentioned in HGR

  Also by Martha Sweeney

  About the Author

  Also by Martha Sweeney

  The Just Breathe Series

  Breathe In

  Breathe Out

  Just Breathe

  Bookish: Adult Coloring Book

  Because Beards - anthology

  One Kiss

  The Killmore Series

  Killmore

  The Killmores (coming 2017-18)

  The Red Knight Series

  Knight Takes Pawn

  Pawn to King (coming 2018)

  Queen Takes King (coming 2018-19)

  Love Happens - anthology

  Wild Pumpkin

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you, my best friend, my partner, my lover, the love of my life, my husband, Thomas Sweeney, for being you and being in my life. Here’s to our love, our laughter, and our never-ending journey through the cosmos together. I love you!

  Thank you, Nikki Strycharz, for your love, support, and friendship! In this short time that we’ve gotten to know each other, you, yourself have grown so much with your storytelling and I can’t wait to read your next story. My sister from another mother, my author wife, my sister from a past life, I am so grateful that we have found each other again. I love your beautiful heart and soul!

  Thank you, T. R. Cupak, Lily Mahoney, and E. Mellyberry, for your friendships and support! You ladies are some of the sweetest indie author friends I’ve meet online and can’t wait to meet you all in person. Please keep writing and sharing your stories. You will always have a fan in me!

  Thank you to all of my Sex Kittens, readers, and fans! You make writing a blessing and fun in so many ways.

  Thank you to a bunch of other people who I’ve been connected with on Facebook and Instagram. Thank you for all the funny and hot posts, thank you for reading my books (if you have), and thank you for being a part of this awesome book community!

  1 Ivy

  “Hi, Momma,” I greet, answering the phone as I walk into my apartment.

  “Hi, Sweetpea,” Momma returns. “How are my two favorite people in New York City doing?”

  “Great,” I return, positioning the phone between my ear and shoulder as I take my son out of his stroller. “How’s the family?”

  “Good,” Mom sighs. “The typical happenings in Georgia as always, you know.”

  I laugh. “That’s why I left,” I comment.

  “You and I know that that wasn’t the only reason,” Mom corrects sarcastically.

  “Well, one of them,” I say, pushing the stroller to the side. “Is Papa still driving you crazy?”

  “Yes,” she admits with a giggle. “I worry when the bank pushes for his retirement. He’ll fight it, so will they, and when they win, he’ll drive me even more bonkers.”

  “I heard that,” my father says in the background.

  “I said it loud enough for you to hear it,” Momma teases.

  I head into the kitchen to start making dinner.

  “Is that Ivy?” Papa checks.

  “Sure is,” Momma confirms.

  “Tell her I said hey and…” Papa’s voice gets cut off completely, but I know that I didn’t lose the signal, so that can only mean that Momma covered the receiver with her hand.

  “Momma?” I call, knowing that she and dad can go back and forth with their playful banter for hours, forgetting that I’m on the phone. “Momma?” I repeat, grabbing a few items from the refrigerator. “Momma?” I pause and check my phone, noticing that we didn’t get disconnected. “Momma,” I say a little louder this time.

  “Yes, Sweetpea,” Momma answers. “I’m here. Your father and I….”

  “I know,” I giggle. “It’s your thing.”

  “What is?” Momma checks.

  “Nevermind,” I say, brushing it off.

  My parents love each other—there’s no doubt about that. They bicker, in a playful way, like a couple who’s been married for over eighty years.

  Momma and Papa are a quarter of the married couples in Blackburn who still actually and genuinely love each other. The majority of people who are married in small towns, especially our small town, tolerate each other. They’ll smile and be kind to each other’s faces, but will incessantly complain to everyone else about their spouse. Actually, that’s how practically everyone is in my hometown. If they have an issue with someone, they talk to everyone but that person. So much drama wouldn’t exist if they just learned to speak to each other better.

  To outsiders, Blackburn is a beautiful place to visit and get away from their daily lives. To the locals, it’s as if you’re stuck in time. No one believes in divorce, most people are intensely religious, and the town loves to gossip about anyone who lives in it and those who visit. The older folks don’t like the technology the younger generations are using and the younger generations don’t like how the older, white folks insist on using all of their racial slurs when almost half of the town is no longer Caucasian.

  My family and I are one of the families who are constantly talked about behind our backs. We’re one-fourth Cherokee and in the summer the town’s folk remind us, and anyone else who isn’t pure breed white, that we aren’t like them by how they treat us.

  “How’s business?” Momma inquires.

  “Good,” I return, turning to
make sure my son hasn’t gotten into something he shouldn’t. “Busy, but good as always. We’ve got more clients using the app software which makes it easier for the team to get stuff approved more quickly.”

  “Good,” Momma hums. “Good.”

  “What’s up?” I ask, tossing some spaghetti into a pot.

  “What do you mean?” Momma returns with her voice going up slightly.

  “Momma,” I huff. “I know something’s up…what is it?”

  “Umm…” Momma says, pausing as if she’s searching for the right words.

  My throat tightens. “Momma?” I inquire nervously. “Is…is Papa okay?”

  “Oh, he’s fine,” she confirms quickly.

  “Grady?” I inspect.

  “Your brother’s fine too,” she returns.

  “What about Nana or Pops?” I search.

  “They’re okay too,” Momma says with a nervous voice.

  “Momma, you’re kind of starting to freak me out,” I inform, grabbing some sauce from the refrigerator.

  There’s a little bit of a pause before she asks, “Are you sitting down?”

  “Dada,” my son says in the background.

  I look up and find him pointing at a picture of his father.

  “Hi, Dada,” he adds with a wave as if the picture will wave back. He leans forward and tries to kiss it.

  “Should I be?” I inquire nervously, stirring the pot.

  “Umm…yes,” Momma affirms.

  I turn down the temperature for the noodles and pull out my kitchen chair. “Okay,” I say, hoping she’ll start explaining.

  “I’m not quite sure how to tell you this,” Momma begins.

  “Just tell me,” I request anxiously. “I’m sure that’ll be best for both of us.”

  “Okay…well….Julianna…she’s….she’s sick,” Momma shares.

  “Sick?” I question.

  Momma never mentions people outside of our family being ill, so her news has me concerned.

  “Yes, Sweetpea,” Mom confirms. “She’s….very sick.”

  I remain silent, unsure of what to say or what to make out of what she’s telling me.

  “It was sudden from what we know,” Momma continues. “She’s in the hospital.”

  “Did she have a fall or something?” I question.

  “No,” Momma replies. “She’s…it was sudden.”

  “You said that already,” I remind. “You need to give me more than that.”

  “Henry…I’m not sure how he’s handling it,” Momma adds. “He won’t really talk to anyone, but from what his mother said, Julianna might not last long.”

  “What do you mean, Momma?” I inquire, feeling a myriad of emotions flurrying through my body at the mention of Henry’s name.

  “Julianna didn’t know she was sick…not until she went in to get tested for something,” Momma explains.

  “Tested for what?” I ask.

  “Initially, from what Henry’s mother said, she was trying to figure out why she couldn’t conceive,” Momma shares with a shaky tone.

  My heart drops to the floor at the thought of Henry, my Henry, and her trying to have children. I guess he wasn’t my Henry after all if they were trying. I guess he really did make his choice, but I did too.

  “Henry’s Momma said that Julianna seemed fine until the doctors told her she had ovarian cancer,” Momma explains. “They went in to operate, but found out that it was further along than the test result had indicated.”

  “Which means?” I pry.

  “Which means….” Momma says, pausing as she tries to collect herself. “Julianna is dying.”

  My head shakes, wishing I have never heard her last three words. Despite the fact that Julianna and I haven’t been friends, not since my Henry became her Henry, I don’t wish that fate on anyone. My heart goes out to her and her parents, knowing that Julianna is their only child, and to Henry who’s having to handle all of this. I know that he is strong, but I’m not sure how strong.

  A single tear falls down my right cheek. I tell myself that that tear is for Julianna, but my heart knows that I’m lying. Another tear slips past, and as they continue to fall, I know that they’re selfish tears, falling for the man I’ve never stopped loving, wondering if this could be our chance to finally be together rather than for him and his soon-to-be loss.

  “I…I got to go, Momma,” I say weakly.

  “You okay, Sweetpea?” Momma asks.

  “Mm-hm,” I lie. I hang up the phone, not bothering to say goodbye because I don’t want my mother to hear me cry. She’ll know the truth behind my tears and would only encourage me that much more to come home.

  Is it wrong to cry for the one you love when you’re hoping for another chance instead of weeping for him and the wife whom he’s about to lose? I can’t blame Julianna for taking Henry away from me. He made his choice and I made mine.

  Can we go back to the way things used to be? With everything that has happened, I doubt it, but I still have hope that we just might able to fix it this time.

  2 Henry

  One would think that a man who just lost his wife would be grief stricken and unable to think clearly or do anything regarding the planning of her funeral. We had our ups and downs, more downs than ups, but I never wished this to happen to her. She was a good person, just trying to be a good wife to a husband who was miserable.

  One wouldn’t expect him to feel as if he can actually breathe for once and feel like he’s finally free from all of the bullshit and unhappiness that he caused upon her and himself. It wasn’t her fault that I never really loved her—not like she loved me. It wasn’t her fault that I was unhappy. I prayed she’d get better so we could move forward with the lives we each wanted.

  One would think that he’s selfish for immediately thinking about the woman he loves, the woman he let get away instead of the woman he had married and now has to bury in one week. They’d call him heartless, unkind, and so many other ungodly words. I know because I would have been that guy judging someone else without bothering to know the whole story.

  Is it wrong that my tears are more of joy rather than pain? When we got along, we were good friends. I’ll miss the good times with Julianna. Though my eyes tell the world I’m grieving, my heart is longing for another like it always has. It’s longing for a second chance—if there still is the possibility of one.

  “Henry?” my mother calls from somewhere out in the yard.

  I don’t bother to answer as I continue to cover up some of my carvings that I don’t want to be seen by anyone, especially my or Julianna’s parents. No one ever really bothers to come into the barn other than me, but I’m not willing to risk people seeing them.

  “Henry?” she calls again with her voice getting louder.

  “In here,” I say after getting two more covered.

  “What are you doing?” Mom asks, standing in the barn doorway with her hands on her hips.

  “Just taking care of some stuff,” I say.

  “That stuff can be dealt with after the funeral,” she chides lovingly. “Mr. and Mrs. Summerlin have been looking for you.”

  “For what?” I inquire, putting away some of my tools.

  “For what?” my mother repeats. “For what? Honestly, Henry?”

  “I told you and them, I’ve already made all of the arrangements,” I remind.

  “You what?” Mom asks, stunned as if she doesn’t remember me confirming that I said it earlier.

  “I’ve taken care of everything,” I repeat.

  “You’ve called the morgue? And, the Wadsworths? And, the….”

  “Yes,” I interrupt.

  “When?” she pries.

  “I took care of all of it the two days after she died,” I inform. “And everything else since then.”

  “Henry Lee Rein,” mother says, making the sign of the cross.

  “What?” I return. “That’s what happened. There’s no easy or nice way of saying what happened.”

&nb
sp; “You could be nicer with your word choice,” Mom chides.

  “Sorry you don’t like it,” I say sarcastically. “But, I’ll say it however I’d like.”

  “Just because you’re grieving doesn’t mean you get to be a….”

  “Drop it,” I direct. “I’m not in the mood. Everything has been taken care of. If you and the Summerlins don’t believe me, then you can check the folder I left on the kitchen table. Everything has been handled and paid for. Now please, let me be to do what I need to do.”

  “I understand that some people become angry when they’re in the grieving process, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me of all people, Henry,” Mom asserts.

  I let out a heavy sigh. “I’m sorry, ma.”

  She moves closer, just a few inches away from me and takes my face in her hands. “I know that you and Julianna didn’t have the best of relationships,” Mom states. “And, I know that this changes a lot of things for you…but, be mindful of everyone else who is grieving…especially those who are missing her more than you are right now.”

  “Is it that obvious?” I inquire shamefully.

  “Just to me and your father,” Mom returns. “I know you two reconciled and that you don’t like that she passed. But, I also know that this opens a lot of…opportunities for you. Just, keep your head while you’re here.”