Doing It Right_Harloe Rae Read online

  Copyright © 2022 by Harloe Rae, LLC

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and the publisher listed above, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or purely coincidental.

  Editor: Infinite Well

  Cover designer: Book Cover Kingdom

  Photographer: Rafa G. Catalá

  Model: Victor

  Interior design: Champagne Book Design

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  TITLE PAGE

  COPYRIGHT

  DEDICATION

  PLAYLIST

  EPIGRAPH

  ABOUT THIS BOOK

  PROLOGUE

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  EPILOGUE

  WHAT TO READ NEXT

  NOVELS BY HARLOE RAE

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  For my sisters—Heidi and Kirstin.

  And to those who love without limits and take chances, even after the heart is broken.

  “Mercy” by Brett Young

  “Missing Piece” by Vance Joy

  “Happier” by Olivia Rodrigo

  “With or Without You” by U2

  “Walking in the Wind” by One Direction

  “Ghost” by Justin Bieber

  “The Good Ones” by Gabby Barrett

  “’Til You Can’t” by Cody Johnson

  “All These Years” by Camila Cabello

  “Happier Than Ever” by Billie Eilish

  “Dancing with Your Ghost” by Sasha Alex Sloan

  “Perfectly Wrong” by Shawn Mendes

  “Out of Love” by Alessia Cara

  “Us” by James Bay

  “Mess is Mine” by Vance Joy

  “Afterglow” by Taylor Swift

  “Love You Goodbye” by One Direction

  Listen on Spotify here!

  “Give me sunshine, but don’t steal the clouds. For the brightest spots are truly appreciated after several days stuck under muted hues.”—Presley Drake

  “This doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

  Except it was.

  What did we know about happily ever after at the age of eighteen?

  Mason Braxter was a football legend—destined for glory far bigger than the confines of our small town.

  Meanwhile, I had dreams of my own—a simpler life that included staying put and growing roots.

  And all those plans of mine were going splendidly.

  Until one drunken mishap a month before college graduation left me staring at two pink lines.

  Then I was sharing custody with the most unlikely baby daddy.

  We’ve figured out a system. Kind of.

  I’m rocking this single mom gig. Mostly.

  If only I could get a boost in the romance department.

  As if summoned by my dry spell, Mason Braxter makes a sudden reappearance in Meadow Creek.

  Six years have gone by, yet I can still remember every stupidly sculpted muscle on his body.

  How easy it would be to fall back into old habits.

  But I’m not that foolish girl anymore.

  That doesn’t deter my all-star ex from trying to prove we can do it right this time.

  For all his efforts, I might let him scratch my itch once. Maybe twice.

  Definitely not thrice.

  THEN (SIX YEARS AGO)

  A blistering flood clogs my vision and I swipe at the resulting tears. Even through the blur, I catch Mason’s handsome face. He’s almost too perfect under the breaking dawn. His stark features are still chiseled in shadowy beauty.

  This man has been mine since we were thirteen. He’s all I’ve ever known. My first for everything that truly matters to a girl. The love of my life. And now, my soon-to-be-ex.

  The sun is just beginning to rise on this dreadful day that’s ripping us apart. Glowing streaks crack across the horizon, putting an end to the darkness. That approaching light promises warmth and comfort, but all I feel is the shattering of my own heart.

  Another swollen beat passes, the internal countdown slowly nearing zero. A raw ache threatens to steal my breath. These last moments are the most painful. It’s been easy to deny the upcoming separation—this detrimental force that will irrevocably split us into two separate pieces.

  I sniff at the burn in my nose. “Why is this so hard?”

  Mason’s lopsided grin wobbles ever so slightly. “Because we love each other.”

  My grip on his shirt tightens, a throb pulsing through my fingers from the effort. “I don’t want to let go.”

  “Me either, Pep.” His lips dust my forehead with the words.

  “But it’s for the best.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince with that statement.

  He hugs me impossibly closer until I can hear the thundering riot in his chest. “You could come with me.”

  Across the country. Away from my family and the town we grew up in. Ditching the plans I’ve made for myself.

  The offer still tempts me, even after I’ve already decided against it on countless occasions. I can’t leave everything behind to follow Mason’s dreams while discarding my own. We’ve discussed the possibilities for months, ever since he accepted the full-ride scholarship in California. It’s the best deal, offering a solid shot for him to play professionally after graduation. That’s his ultimate dream—I’d never hold him back. But I also won’t blindly follow him.

  I recently acknowledged that there has always been an expiration date on our relationship. He’s destined to find legendary glory under the stadium lights. There’s no guarantee I’ll find a permanent place for myself in his next chapter. A visual of me fumbling in unfamiliar territory assaults my mind and I shudder. Mason hasn’t vowed to remain with me always, not that I want him to.

  We’re too young.

  Too different.

  Too stubborn with our own goals.

  That selfish drive is what makes us who we are, and I refuse to let either one of us surrender. I don’t want there to be a reason we eventually resent each other.

  We could try long-distance, but he doesn’t need the tether of a girlfriend rooted halfway across the country. I’d hate to question his fidelity for even a second. It’s better this way, even if we’re suffering right now. The pain will fade, though. I love him enough to put an end to us.

  “A life without you is going to suck, but I can’t
leave.” My tears stain his shirt with agony as I refuse him.

  “I know,” Mason murmurs against my temple. “You’re meant to stay here.”

  Determined resolve pumps into my slumped form as I push away from his embrace. “And you’re meant to be a star.”

  He tucks some loose hair behind my ear. “Will you still watch my games?”

  The idea of that sends a stabbing pang into my stomach. But there’s only so much I can deny him. “Of course.”

  “Then you’ll catch my signal.” He curves his hands into a makeshift heart, then flares the symbol outward in an arch. It’s meant to represent an explosion, as if his chest can’t contain his love for me. That’s been our shared celebration since middle school.

  Another slice cuts me deep. “You don’t need to do that anymore.”

  Mason scoffs. “It’s tradition after a completed pass.”

  I roll my puffy eyes. “From high school. I won’t be cheering with my squad on the sidelines anymore.”

  Hell, I won’t even be in the stands.

  He adjusts the hat that’s seated backward on his head. “That doesn’t matter. You’ll always be my good luck charm.”

  A knot squeezes my throat and I wheeze. “No, Mason. That’s too—”

  “Yes,” he insists. In a practiced move, he dips down for a chaste kiss. His lips are salty and wet and mine for only a bit longer. “It’s important to me.”

  I find myself nodding, our noses bumping with the jerky motion. “Okay.”

  “I’ll miss you, Peppy Girl. You’ll always be my first love.” His voice hitches with the admission.

  Fiery moisture pools in my vision. “Ditto, Ten. I’ll never forget you.”

  He swipes at a stray droplet trickling down my cheek. “Too bad things couldn’t be different for us.”

  “I wouldn’t change anything.”

  “Me either, besides this part.” Mason threads our fingers together. The soothing gesture is already losing its effectiveness. “I’ll try to visit whenever I can.”

  But he won’t. That’s just an empty promise to soften the blow of him leaving. He doesn’t have a reason to make the trip, since his parents moved to the west coast earlier this summer.

  “I won’t hold you to it,” I murmur.

  His chuckle is brittle. “You wouldn’t.”

  With defeat pressing on my sternum, I reach to cup his scruffy cheek. “I’m glad you were mine, Mason Braxter. Even just temporarily.”

  He cringes. “Damn, that’s sad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t picture us as over.”

  I shrug. “Then don’t. Imagine we’re floating in two opposite directions and drifting apart naturally.”

  A groove dents the space between his brows. “That’s even worse.”

  “There are only so many positive spins I can make,” I retort.

  “You don’t have to put on a brave face for my sake.” He’s memorized my coping methods.

  There’s no point in disputing the truth. All I can manage is a weak lift of one shoulder. “I have to turn this pity party around or we’ll be miserable for years to come.”

  “I’ll be miserable regardless. You’re my daily dose of joy, Pep.”

  “Don’t,” I plead in a strangled whimper. “This is hard enough already.”

  “You want me to pretend that I’m okay with this? That leaving you isn’t destroying me?” His scowl thrashes at my raw wounds.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, scalding tracks burning my skin as more sorrow leaks out. My nod is disjointed. “Yes.”

  “Fuck that.” Then he yanks me against him again. I collapse into his warmth without hesitation. Mason’s familiar body molds to mine as he cinches around me. I’ll no longer have access to the luxury of his comfort in about five minutes. Soaking him in feels vital, one last time. I bury my nose in the crook of his neck and breathe deep. Woodsy pine, reckless decisions, and starry nights console me.

  After several stolen beats pass, I pull away from him again. His sole focus is latched on me. Mine mirrors his just the same. Our broken hearts bleed, the rivulets streaming down our cheeks. The inevitable looms at the edge of my vision. No more delay.

  “All right.” That limp surrender begins the separation process for what feels like the umpteenth time.

  “Not yet.” Mason’s palm flexes on my hip.

  I wiggle against his hold. “This is bigger than us. You can’t have it all, Ten.”

  He peers at me with solemn regret reflecting in his gaze. “That won’t stop me from trying.”

  I attempt a smile, but the edges fail to lift. “Tomorrow will be brighter.”

  “Not sure about that.”

  “You won’t know until you try.” I lift my chin at his truck in the driveway.

  He glances over his shoulder to where I’m staring. “Is that my cue?”

  My gaze trails to the horizon, which is now painted with vibrant hues revealing the morning hour. Anguish perfumes the air with a pungent waft. That stale, hollow scent signals what I’ve been dreading. Our time is up. This is it.

  I blink against the flaring heat behind my eyes. “You’ll be late otherwise.”

  Mason recognizes the resignation on my features. His posture goes rigid as he glares at the rising sun. “Fuck, Pep. I don’t wanna leave you.”

  “But you have to. This is when we say goodbye,” I choke.

  With a thumb under my chin, Mason forces me to meet his penetrating gaze. A glassy sheen covers his vibrant green eyes. “I don’t want us to say goodbye. That’s too final. This doesn’t have to be the end for us.”

  “If you insist,” I relent. There’s no point in arguing.

  His touch ghosts along my jaw. “You’ll be okay?”

  “Always, right?” That’s the response he expects, and I plan to follow through.

  “Our paths will cross again, Peppy Girl.”

  My exhale is thick while I paste on a grin. There are no more tears to shed. “I’ll never reject a reunion invite.”

  Mason flashes me his signature smile—framed by both dimples—that’s reserved just for me. “Then I’ll be seeing you.”

  NOW

  A pop song with a hypnotic beat begins blaring from the speakers. It’s one I instantly recognize from every other playlist and borders on being a broken record. That doesn’t mean I’m able to resist the snappy rhythm. I shimmy my hips while mouthing the provocative lyrics. My seated dancing earns me a laugh from the snarky redhead beside me.

  Vannah wiggles her brows. “Shake it, baby. You’re damn hot.”

  “Better be careful or I’ll jump your bones.” I nudge my bestie with a wink.

  She pouts. “Still treading sand in the Deprived Sea?”

  My dramatic sigh says it all. If I don’t laugh, only tears wait to be shed. This dry spell could use a good quenching, and not for lack of trying. “Unfortunately.”

  “I bet Mr. Right For Tonight is about to walk in and sweep you away.”

  “Maybe.” But my reply lacks conviction.

  Her gaze trails behind us to the bar entrance. “Speaking of, are we placing wagers on when the happy couple will arrive?”

  I flick my wrist to check the time. “Another hour, at least.”

  Vannah blows out a loud breath. “They’re such horn balls. Don’t they care that we’re waiting on them?”

  Amusement bursts from my lips in a sharp cackle. “Oh, you’re one to talk.”

  She doesn’t bother denying my soft jab. Instead, her ruby-stained lips curl into a knowing grin. There are no secrets between us. Savannah Simons is one of my closest friends. Along with Clea and Audria—who have yet to arrive—we form a tight-knit four-pack.

  We all met during freshman orientation in college and just clicked. They’re my dependable gal pal tribe that I can always rely on. I’d lose my luster—not to mention be horrifically lonely—without them.

  Clea doesn’t have a clue as to why we’re gathering at this swanky
joint. Her suspicions were stroked by our choice in bar. The downtown location is almost an hour from my home, but totally worth the drive. Knotty Knox reserved their entire patio for us without much fuss. The expansive area is currently covered with a tent structure as the fall season kicks in. Any hint of a chill is warded off. It’s toasty, private, and damn cozy.

  “At least we’re waiting in comfort.” I’ll make the trip again for the top-notch service alone.

  “The ambiance is rather polished. That doesn’t make me any more patient, though.” Vannah tosses her sleek hair over one shoulder with a grumble. Her restless irritability stems from genuine anticipation.

  Nolan should be proposing to Clea at any moment, if all is going according to plan. He might be down on one knee right this second. I can perfectly picture the waterworks streaming down her cheeks while unyielding devotion spills from his lips. A jolly thrill flutters in my belly, and I’m not even the one getting engaged.

  I stir my margarita with a smile, leaning forward to swallow a healthy gulp. “Just relax and enjoy your drink. We have the entire place to ourselves until the others get here.”

  Vannah takes a dainty sip of her vodka concoction. “Is there time for me to take Lannie in the bathroom for a quickie?”

  Tequila gets stuck in my throat when I giggle. A very unladylike croak follows close behind. “You just finished telling me about the nerve-numbing orgasm that’s still curling your toes. Has that already worn off? Landon might be losing his touch.”

  The man in question scowls at me from his stool next to Vannah. They just got married in June and are very much coasting in the honeymoon phase. He clears his throat pointedly. “That’s never going to happen.”

  A dreamy glint highlights her flawless features as she ogles him. “He’s right. The guy is extremely talented. That’s why I can’t get enough.”

  “Must be rough.” I cluck my tongue, jealousy no doubt tinting me in a green hue. It’s been too long since I’ve gotten properly laid. My dating life came to a screeching halt when those two lines appeared on the pregnancy test. My son will be three in January. Attempting to crunch the numbers isn’t doing me any favors. At this point, my hymen is probably forming a reconstruction plan.