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.
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.
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.”