Down to You (24 page)

If that’s not a kick in the ass, I don’t know
what is.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR- Cash

I guess they’re right when they say, “Never
say never.” I said I would never beg. That’s laughable. It’s only
Wednesday and I’ve already lost count of how many times I’ve called
Olivia. I should be embarrassed.

But I’m not.

I’m desperate. More and more every day. I’m
desperate not to lose her. But I don’t know what to do next. I hate
to go to her house and force her to talk to me. But I will. At this
point, I can’t think of anything I wouldn’t do for her. To see her.
To talk to her. To touch her and taste her again.

Oh damn, this ain’t good!

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE- Olivia

Wednesday becomes Thursday. My phone is
lighting up with more frequency. I keep it close so I can see if
it’s Dad calling. It never is. Every time I call to check on him,
he assures me he’s doing well and promises he’ll call if he needs
anything. But he never does.

Maybe I should just go home for a while.
Take a break from school. From life. From heartache. From Cash.

I only have a few more days until Marissa
comes home anyway. And then what will happen? Will “Nash” still be
a part of her life? Will he still visit? And hold her and kiss her?
Does he tell her he loves her? Did he ever plan a future with her?
Will he?

Those thoughts always send me into a tail
spin. On the one hand, I knew “Nash” was probably sleeping with
her. I mean, they were dating. Of course they were having sex. But
I thought Cash was unattached. I thought he was into me. All about
me. At least for the time being. As much as a guy like that ever is
“into” one specific girl. But it was all a lie.

It was all a lie.

Wasn’t it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE- Cash

I take the familiar turns that lead to the
prison. I’m at my wits’ end. The only thing I can do, short of
showing up at Olivia’s and doing some serious groveling, is to go
talk to Dad. It became apparent to me a couple days ago that I
don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m hoping he’ll have some good
advice, some good suggestions. I need all the help I can get. And
there’s only one person, other than Olivia, on the entire planet
who knows what’s going on.

I committed the visiting hours schedule to
memory years ago. I’ve come to visit Dad both as Cash and as Nash.
I never tried to hide my family’s past from the upper crust of
Atlanta society. I just tried to be involved in it in a completely
different way as Nash.

As Nash, I was always approaching it from a
legal standpoint, like it was my duty to try and help my father by
learning and doing what I could. Legally.

As Cash, I never really did anything. I took
the only thing he left me—Dual—something that was bought with
questionable money from questionable people, and I turned it into a
successful, respectable establishment. Something a kid without a
high school diploma could run. Something people would expect a
person like me to be involved with. I played Cash to the bone.

But somewhere along the way, I became
something else. Something different. Some kind of hybrid. I’m not
satisfied being the loser Cash anymore. At least not
only
the loser Cash. I
like
being respect
able
and
respect
ed.
I like being looked at like I’m worth something
and like my opinion matters. I like other people knowing I’m smart
without me having to try and convince them. And then fail. I like
being the winner that my brother was.

Only I’m not my brother. I’m a winner all on
my own. Yes, his death gave me another chance at life, but I
accomplished all these things on my own.

And I’m the only person who will ever know.
Except my father.

And Olivia.

The guards buzz me through the gate and I
check in, filling in the blanks and signing my name, identifying
the name and number of the prisoner I’m here to see. After I
finish, they lead me to the familiar room with one long table cut
in half by a wall of glass. It’s divided periodically by partitions
that create tiny cubicles. They’re designed to give the illusion of
privacy. But in here, there’s no privacy. I have no doubt that
everything I say into the nondescript black telephone is taped and
stored somewhere. Luckily, my father is innocent. And anything else
we talk about, we can do vaguely enough so that no one else would
suspect what we’re discussing.

Like today, when the guards usher him in and
he greets me.

He smiles. “So who’s visiting me today? Cash
or Nash? I can’t tell by the clothes.”

I look down at my hastily assembled outfit. I
guess, for me at least, it is pretty middle-of-the-road. Black
jeans and a striped rugby shirt. It’s something that either Cash or
Nash might wear. That or neither of them would wear it. I’m not
sure which. I can’t even remember buying the shirt.

“Does it matter?” I ask dryly.

He smiles again. His eyes search my face,
like they do every time I come to visit. Like he’s looking for
signs of change and age. Or distress. When his smile fades, I know
that today he’s found some.

He sits up a little straighter, his eyes
becoming sharp. Aware. Vigilant. “What’s wrong? What’s
happened?”

“I met a girl.”

A frown flickers across his face—the face
that most people say looks so much like an older version of my
own—but then it smoothes and his lips curve into a very pleased
grin. “Well, it’s about time. I’ll be damned.” He sits back and
slaps his hand on the table. He’s genuinely happy for me. Well, at
least until I tell him the rest. That might change his tune.

“I told her, Dad,” I say, deadpan.

He looks a little confused for a second
before he realizes what all is encompassed in that blanket
statement. “How long have you known this girl?”

I start shaking my head. I know where he’s
going. Always suspicious. “Dad, it doesn’t matter. I needed to tell
her. I care about her. And I trust her. Besides, I thought maybe
she could help.”

“Bringing her into all this, that doesn’t
sound like you care for her at all.”

“I had it worked out to keep her safe. I
wouldn’t put her in danger.”

“
You
put her in danger. You’re my son.
You’re in this whether you like it or not. And I’m sorry for that.
Sorrier than you’ll ever know, but what’s done is done. For the
rest of
my
life, you’ll have to be careful of who you let
in. Maybe one day…when I’m gone…”

“I’m not waiting around, Dad. I’m not gonna
let you die in here and I’m not gonna put my life on hold because
of some mistakes that were made years ago. We’ve been punished
enough. It’s time for us to get on with life. I think I’ve found a
way to—”

“Get yourself killed. That’s what you’ve
done. Stop messing in stuff you’ve got no business messing in,
Cash. I gave you those…items as insurance. Nothing more.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m tired of
letting other people ruin my life. I can’t live this way. You’re
all I’ve got left. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“Son, we’ve talked about this. I appreciate
what you’re trying to do, but it’s just not the smartest—”

“Dad, can’t you just trust me? For once,
can’t you just trust that I’m capable of taking care of things, of
making good decisions? Of executing a well thought-out plan?”

His expression softens. “It’s not that I
don’t trust you. It’s that you’re all I’ve got left, too. And I’ve
brought so much misery to your life. I want you to go and live a
happy, normal life. A life like you would’ve had if I’d died in
that fire, too.”

“Dad, I could never be happy letting you
languish in here.”

He grins. “Languish?”

I smile. “Law school improved my
vocabulary.”

He starts to say something then changes his
mind.

“What?” I ask.

“I was just gonna say that I was proud of you
before
you went to law school. Ever since you were young,
you were always happy just being you. You were gonna do what you
wanted to do, the rest of the world be damned. I was always proud
of that tough streak. I’ve always admired that kind of confidence
and self-assurance.”

I feel emotion squeeze around my throat like
a fist. I guess you never get too old to crave your father’s
approval. Or at least I haven’t yet.

“Cash, please don’t let that tough streak
make your decisions for you. There’s a time to give up, to let
things go. If you care about this girl, go find her and make her
happy. Keep her safe. Give her a life away from all this. Start
fresh. If you love her even half as much as I loved your mother,
you’ll have a good life. And that’s all I want for you.”

“Whoa. I didn’t say I loved her.”

Dad smiles at me. “You didn’t have to.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN- Olivia

Friday morning I make myself get a shower. I
find it more than a little disgusting and pathetic that I haven’t
taken one all week.

But today, I’m done being pathetic. I’ve
wallowed long enough. I’ve got to do something. So I’m going home
for the weekend. I’ll call Tad on the way and see if I can pick up
at least one shift. After that, I’ll figure out what to do for the
rest of…well,
ever
when I get back.

Just the thought of having to come back and
deal with Cash and then Marissa and school and…life is so
overwhelming. I push it out of my head in favor of a weekend spent
in the familiar. In the comforting. In the safe.

Safe. I never thought I’d have such a
literal application for that word in my life.

I pack a bag of essentials and head out,
locking up behind myself. With Marissa gone and Cash/Nash being out
of the picture, I feel completely disconnected to the city. To my
life. To my home. It doesn’t feel like home right now. It feels
like a prison of lies and heartache. The only place that feels like
home is the one I’m traveling toward.

I call Dad and Ginger on the way. Ginger is
kind enough to offer me one of her shifts, which I gladly accept.
It’ll be tonight’s shift, which is probably a good thing. I can
stay busy right off the bat. Tomorrow, I’ll go out and look for
more lambs, even though there’s no real reason. But it’ll be good
to get outside, to do something that doesn’t require me to think.
Or hurt. Or want.

“Hey, punk,” Dad says by way of greeting when
I walk in. I have the sudden and inexplicable urge to go throw my
arms around his neck and cry on his shoulder like I did when I was
a kid. Rather than doing that, however, and scaring the crap out of
him, I set my bag down and go kiss him on the cheek and ask how
he’s been.

I spend the day watching a CSI rerun marathon
on television and chatting about this and that. It doesn’t
completely get Cash off my brain, but it helps. I knew it
would.

I shower and dress for my shift, happily
slipping into the emotional comfort of the black shorts and tee as
much as I slip into the physical comfort of them. I get Dad settled
before I go and then I drive myself to Tad’s.

Everyone is awesome. Of course. Glad to have
me back. I feel tears threaten more than once when regulars ask me
to come back, assuring me that they’ll never be as good to me at my
new job as they are at Tad’s. In a way, I believe them. But in a
way, I also know that’s not true. Cash is at my new job.

Cash.

Ginger shows up, not to work, but to provide
much-needed support from the other side of the bar. She sips her
drink and waits patiently for things to slow down before she asks
any questions.

“So, let me guess. ‘Bad boy’ turned out to be
‘worst boy’?”

I laugh. Yes, it’s a little bitter. “Um, I
guess you could say that.”

“I was afraid of that.”

I stop stocking beer bottles into the cooler
and stare at her, mouth agape. “You were? Well you could’ve said
something, you know.”

“I took one look at him and knew he was
trouble. He’s not just hot. He’s smart. That’s not a good
combination for your heart, Liv. At least the others have been
pretty useless and stupid. But this one? Yeah, I knew if he got his
hooks into you there’d be trouble.”

I’d like to slap her. Hard. “Thanks for the
head’s up, Ginger,” I say, trying to sound teasing, but knowing my
anger is showing.

“Would you have listened to me if I’d tried?
No. You never do. You knew you should’ve stayed away from him. But
you didn’t. Do you really think I could’ve said anything that
would’ve changed your mind?”

I don’t want to admit it, but she’s probably
right. Cash had me breathless from day one. So did Nash. Because
they were the same guy, only in different clothes and with
different jobs. I think, deep down, my body knew. I responded to
each of them the same way, sexually. They both set me on fire. And
that’s not too likely to happen with two such supposedly different
personalities. Why didn’t I see it? How could I be so blind?

I’m emptying the last of the bottles from the
box, arranging them neatly in the cooler, when I see someone slide
onto the stool beside Ginger. I look up and stop, my arm halfway
into the cooler.

It’s Cash.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say anything. He
just looks at me. I wonder if that’s his heart I see in this eyes.
Or if it’s just my imagination. Either way, I don’t trust it. I
don’t trust
him.

I say nothing. I finish what I’m doing, take
the box into the back then come back out and pour him a Jack neat.
I slide him the glass, he slides me a twenty and I pay for the
drink and stick the change in the tip jar. I throw a smug look at
him, daring him to make a comment. But he’s smart. He doesn’t say a
word, just nods and tosses back his whiskey.

I don’t need to ask what he’s doing here. I
only listened to one of his dozen or so messages, and it was him
asking to talk to me. I saved the rest. I figured I’d listen to
them eventually. Just not yet.