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Big Easy




  Big Easy

  New South Romance

  M.K. Chester

  Published by LBD Media Co, 2021.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  BIG EASY

  First edition. May 1, 2021.

  Copyright © 2021 M.K. Chester.

  ISBN: 978-1393449188

  Written by M.K. Chester.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  About the Author

  Also by M.K. Chester

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  Chapter One

  Victoria Winfield stared up at a faded mural of a buxom, naked woman perched precariously above the billiard tables in Rueben’s Acadian Saloon. Cigarette smoke snaked across her bared breasts and blurred her seductive smile, as if she inhaled the poison to sustain herself.

  Tory blinked free of the image as billiard balls crashed behind her. A raucous cheer followed the sharp noise, and she glanced over her shoulder with a smile to see who Warren Everett was going to beat tonight.

  “Hey, angel.” The pot-bellied truck driver winked at her before leaning over the table to judge his next shot. His arm jolted forward with expert speed and the perfect amount of force. “You working or playing tonight?”

  “Watching,” she answered. And drinking. She worked odd weekends at Reuben’s near New Orleans for extra cash and a change of pace from her new corporate dog-trot. Warren was one of the regulars, a harmless father-figure who ducked in and out between runs for Exxon.

  He straightened himself and raised is beer. “Well, somebody’s sure watchin’ you, sweetheart.”

  Tory’s gaze swung across the crowded little room, and she didn’t see anyone out of the ordinary. Turning back to the bar with a shrug, she ordered another beer and fixed her eyes on the Tulane basketball game on the overhead television.

  Before long, she felt the weight of someone’s gaze on the back of her neck. Her skin prickled. She didn’t bother to turn around when a man slid onto the barstool beside her.

  She didn’t want any company tonight, or most nights.

  Ready to shoot him down, a familiar voice slipped under the bar chatter, smooth and low, like expensive liquor. “Hey, Tory. It’s been a little while.”

  Her grip tightened around the neck of her Rolling Rock as her heart turned over in her chest. She’d know Seth Rivers’ voice anywhere. Abandoned by her usual candor, she froze, not daring to turn her eyes toward him. “What are you doing here?”

  The silence lasted so long she feared he’d either left or hadn’t really been there to begin with. She shifted her gaze to study the strong hands resting on the slick pine bar and felt a pang of longing deep inside.

  The sensual response rode a wave of nausea as she remembered the night he’d disappeared, and she repeated her question with more force. “What the hell are you doing here?”

  “Your sister said you might be here.” He paused to order his private label whiskey of choice. Some things never changed. “Can we talk?”

  Taking a deep breath, Tory faced her past, her incredible disappearing fiancé. She tried not to see how handsome he still was, how deep blue his eyes, the dashing way his stick straight hair fell across his eyebrows, the new goatee he sported.

  Her body responded before she could stop, the memory of their instant chemistry still deadly strong years after he’d walked away from their relationship.

  She swallowed. “We are talking.”

  “Somewhere quiet.” He raised his eyebrows as if he’d asked a question, which he hadn’t.

  Impressive. He managed to seem pained while she tried not to notice two new scars on his face, forming a slanted X above his right cheekbone. “You made yourself perfectly clear when you walked out the door.”

  Seth reached forward and eased her beer bottle from her grip as she raised the drink toward her lips. “I forgot to take something with me three years ago.”

  The warmth of his hand enveloped hers and maybe the beer clouded her judgement. Or the sexy glint in his eye struck the right chord. She hadn’t spent alone time with any man since he’d vanished nearly four years ago. Her resolve slipped.

  A lot.

  Anger sparked behind the alcohol. Anger at her response to him. “I think you took everything you meant to take.”

  Her virginity. Her heart. Her self-respect. Her reputation. You know, all the important things.

  “You don’t know the whole story, Tory.” He shook his head and released her hand. Staring into the depths of his drink, he wrangled the nerve to sound a little sad. “You deserve to know everything. I came back to tell you.”

  “I know everything I need to know about you.” She knew he’d left her with a ton of debt, a cat she didn’t ask for, a crappy domestic car, and a pathetic reputation she found difficult to overcome. These very real tokens didn’t bend to his pheromones. “Go away.”

  “Please, Tory. Five minutes.”

  His hand landed on her knee and her visceral response pushed her to slide off her barstool. From the corner of the room, she noted Warren keeping an eye on her. She nodded to indicate she was all right.

  “No way in hell.” She struggled to keep her volume low because his touch did all sorts of crazy things to her, both inside and out. “You can’t waltz in here and act like I owe you something. I don’t owe you the time of day.”

  She might as well have smacked him across the face. She’d never spoken to him so forcefully in their time together. “I know you don’t owe me anything, Tory. I didn’t mean to come across like you do. I owe you a long-overdue explanation, not the other way around.”

  Tory eased back onto her stool and reclaimed her lukewarm beer. Damn him for looking so good, being so conciliatory. Always charming, this man fooled everyone, and she’d gone to bat for him more often than she cared to remember only to be tossed aside and abandoned one rainy night.

  “I’ll go,” he whispered, then pulled a hotel pen from his pocket and scribbled something on the back of a napkin, which he then slid toward her. “My number, in case you change your mind. I don’t deserve a chance to explain. I’d be grateful if I could.”

  Seth left his digits on the bar and faded away in the same mysterious manner he appeared. She stared at the napkin, at his familiar, upright, boxy print.

  What brought him back here after all this time?

  Certainly not you.

  Part of her ached to know his version of the truth, and she quickly memorized his number. This part of her wanted to forgive him and feel his arms around her again. She missed his kiss, the fire of their passion springing back to life in a heartbeat.

  The other part of her didn’t give a damn why he’d come back. Nothing could be so important he’d walk out on their life. The defeated part of her crumpled the napkin in her palm and stuffed the paper into her half-empty beer bottle, in case he stood by, watching her.

  Damn if he hadn’t harshed her nice little beer buzz, too. She laid a twenty-dollar bill on the bar to cover her tab and weaved through the growing crowd to the exit. She turned and gave Warren a peace sign before heading home for the night, her apartment right around the corner.

  The place she’d shared with Seth. At least she could afford to live on her own now, even if finances got tight at the end of every single month. Seth left her high and dry without two dimes to rub together and now he wanted to explain?

  After she had something to offer, of course, after she’d pulled herself together and created a new, bet
ter life. She had a close circle of friends, a decent job, and the knowledge she could do better. He didn’t deserve her time and she’d be damned if she gave him one more thought.

  #

  She was definitely still mad. Like, long-term, deep-seated, to-hell-and-back angry. Seth didn’t blame her. Tory tended to see the black and white of things, one of the many traits he loved about her.

  Along with her sharp sense of humor, and those long, beautiful legs, of course.

  Almost four years, her math was right. Far too long even if this was his first legit opportunity to reenter her life. He should have come back sooner, immediately, even if parts of his prior life hadn’t been cleaned up yet.

  Even if, bullshit. He wouldn’t risk her life.

  Instead, he’d talked himself out of coming back for one reason or another until finally, as she so deftly noted, he’d waited too long.

  She’d probably moved on, maybe had another man.

  A good woman like her didn’t sleep alone for long.

  He watched the front door of the saloon from the all-night diner across the street, sitting up straight when Tory emerged not even ten minutes after him. Her pace accelerated in the brisk January wind as she turned and hurried up the sidewalk.

  His heart dropped when he realized she headed on foot for the row of historic buildings lining the street only two blocks away. Did she still live in their place?

  His mind spun. How much should he read into her not moving from the small life they’d built together? He wanted to feel hopeful, while pragmatically realizing the place was probably locked into a lower rent and she couldn’t afford more.

  He exhaled, remembering their decision to live in the run-down little apartment so they could save for a house outside the city. They painted the walls, refinished used furniture and encouraged each other, dreaming of the day they wouldn’t have to worry about petty crime and fire codes.

  And all the while, he’d known the day would come when he’d have to pay the piper. He just didn’t think events would go down so quickly and with such finality.

  If she gave him the chance to explain, could she understand what he’d done? Why he’d gone down this path?

  He doubted she could, since he’d basically been lying to her about a big part of his life from the beginning. Day one. Because he had to, not because he wanted to. In doing the right thing, or the thing he’d been instructed to do, he’d ended up breaking her heart, doing all the wrong things for her and her future.

  The idea of any future with his unfinished business hanging over their heads was ridiculous, yet because of who she was, he took the chance they could survive anything. Even his mistakes and deception.

  He’d made his choices out of love for her and been wrong.

  She had to at least listen, even if she never understood, never forgave him. The urge to follow her up those familiar stairs, to the familiar space, spew all the words and hope for the best scared him to death, so much he couldn’t move as he watched her disappear up the street.

  He shook himself, paid for the scalding coffee he never took a sip of, and hustled out the door and up the street behind her, telling himself he only wanted to be sure she made her way home safely.

  He stalled outside the apartment building, and when the lights came on inside the apartment they once shared, he exhaled and had a moment of clarity.

  Every day since he left, she’d come and gone from this place with no one to make sure she made her way safely. He’d been her security as surely as she’d been his and he’d failed her.

  He turned and headed, also on foot, to his hotel, backtracking by Reuben’s. With each step, he argued with himself. Should he disappear, leave her alone, and let her get on with her life?

  Or plant his flag on a hill and fight for her?

  He locked himself in his hotel room and stretched out on the bed, remembering better times in hopes of convincing himself to stay. The strangest thing about the whole situation, and there were many strange things, is how he had such a difficult time recalling his life before Tory.

  Yet that life had gotten him a boatload of trouble.

  She might not need him. He definitely needed her.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket and he picked up the device. A single text, clearly from Tory. He sat up and unlocked his phone to read: I hate you.

  He pursed his lips and nodded, tossing the phone aside to digest her words. What could he possibly say? Nothing would appease her, probably not even the ugly truth. At least she’d taken his number, even if she only meant to harass him for eternity, which he allowed.

  He picked up the phone and stared at the text.

  Then, he typed: You’re more beautiful than ever.

  Moments later, he received a read receipt, followed by: Don’t. and an angry-faced emoji.

  Now he smiled. Their attraction had been immediate and intense, wrapped up in each other’s emotions first and foremost, fueling their intense physical relationship. Memories of their heated arguments, and the torrid way they made up, kept him warm many lonely nights.

  Tonight, in the Acadian, he’d been seated before she ever walked in and he responded to her physically as he always had, loudly, and with great fanfare. Her star never dimmed for him.

  They clicked in so many ways from the start. He’d never be able to stay away and hopefully, she’d come to realize the same. Convincing her would take time, and with his future now fully his own for the first time, he made his decision. He wouldn’t leave her again.

  He typed: Please?

  All his hope in one word as he held his breath and hit ‘send’.

  He could tell she was typing, so he waited, staring at those three dots. Finally, her reply came through: I hope you’ve been staring at your screen, knowing I’m typing and hoping for me to break so you can tell me all the bullshit you’ve been holding in for four years. Not. Gonna. Happen.

  Seth couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud. Not because he didn’t think she was serious. Because he deserved whatever she wanted to dish out. At least she communicated with him.

  Forgive me.

  Nothing. Not even the dots or a read receipt. He had her number now, so something positive came from the exchange. Now was not the time to call her, no matter how badly he wanted to.

  And he wanted to more than anything else in the world.

  What would she have done if he’d let her in on his secret from the very beginning? If she’d known all along what he’d inadvertently fallen into, what was coming down the pike for him, for them? Support him or leave him to the wolves?

  He hadn’t given her enough credit. People liked to say love conquers all, and most of them never have any reason to put the platitude to the test. In the end, he’d taken the risk and responsibility on himself, sparing her.

  Hurting her.

  How did he tell her he’d never stopped thinking about her, never wanted any harm to come to her, hadn’t understood half the consequences of his youthful, egotistical blunders?

  His guilt kept him awake tonight, as with most nights. To combat his spiraling emotions, he turned on the lights and planned his next few days. He needed to find more permanent accommodations, since he’d been assigned to finish his penance at the New Orleans field office of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

  He hopped on the free hotel wi-fi, downloaded a couple rental apps and gave his phone the needed permissions to search around his current location. What he saw sat him up straight and gave him another sliver of hope.

  A studio in the same building as Tory, only two floors between them in the historic building. He remembered the landlord and mentally crossed his fingers. Umberto had been a good friend to them both and called Tory his ‘unicorn’ because she was so special.

  If he were still managing the property, he might find any one of a number of reasons to reject Seth’s application because he certainly knew Tory’s side of their love story. He’d have to make the juice worth the squeeze for his old friend. br />
  In one agonizing moment, he overcame his own long list of objections and zipped a breezy email to the rental agent.

  The chase would go one way or the other.

  He was all in, even if he had no shot in hell.

  Chapter Two

  Tory rushed around the corner after her shift at the media agency office and skidded to a halt on the sidewalk, her breath a white puff of indignation. Someone’s boxed belongings took up the entire walkway.

  What the hell?

  Had Umberto finally leased the awful third-floor studio?

  Well, studio might be a generous word. More like a storage space with a fridge. She shook her head and skirted around two bundled-up men lifting a sofa out of the back of a moving truck. Taped-up boxes littered the path to the double doors.

  She shivered as a gust of wind slid under the collar of her coat. Hell of a time to move, on the tail end of winter’s first real cold front. New Orleans didn’t get this frigid often and the studio apartment would not be warm and cozy no matter how Umberto phrased things in his ad.

  Taking the cracked cement steps two at a time, she paused to pull her mail from the box set up inside the front doors before ducking into the warmth of the hallway.

  “Hope your stack’s not all bills,” a familiar voice drifted into her thoughts as she flipped through the envelopes. Her heart stopped and she raised her gaze to the beautiful, awful man leaning against the doorframe like he had zero cares in this cruel world.

  “Seth?” She hated the way his name rolled off her tongue, all breathy as if he’d already flipped her switch. “What are you doing here?”

  “Taking the drafty third floor apartment,” he responded, his smile smug. He waited for her to say something, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and his grin faded. “I really am, moving in. Are you all right? You’re a little pale.”

  Was she all right? After the texting conversation, she vowed to not contact him again and she’d worked really hard to keep her promise. She didn’t need him, and when he didn’t try to contact her again, she relaxed.