“I can finish your stuff, girlie. Don’t you worry—” I cut Jimmy off with a stare, hating that everyone’s fussing over me. I’m thankful when everyone backs off.
Everyone but Cash. “Seriously, I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
I’m not. “Well I am. And if you don’t get on that track, you’re not gonna look fine cause Beckett’s going to kick your ass.”
“Becks won’t do shit.”
He takes a step toward me and I take one back. I can’t let him touch me right now. If he does, I’ll break down. “Then I’ll kick your ass. Seriously go.”
“Hmmm. Threat or promise?”
“Promise. I’m feeling very slap happy.”
That does it. His lips spread wide across his face. “You sure know a way to a man’s heart. I’m going. But if you aren’t feeling—”
“Go!”
“Fine! Going. But a promise is a promise. My ass is all yours tonight. For spanking that is. Don’t get any perverted ideas. I’m a virgin down there—”
“Cash!”
“Going! Bye!”
The ride home is quiet. I’m lost in my thoughts. Cash wants to pry. The strain in his eyes gives him away. He escorts me into his place, locking the door, while I head to the couch.
“Luna, you sure you’re okay? We can talk about it, whatever—”
“No. I don’t want to talk about it.” I can’t.
There’s frustration behind that concerned mask he wears. I wait for the questions to come, but they don’t, and I’m thankful.
“All right. How about I run you a bath? I’ll order some pizza and we can settle in with some mindless reality TV. What do ya say?” I nod, fighting back emotion. How did I get so lucky? Once the bath is drawn, he undresses me and helps me as I climb in. To my surprise, he discards his own clothes and joins me. He maneuvers me so my back is pressed against him, the large tub comfortably fitting us both. I lay my head on his chest and enjoy the warmth of the water soaking into my skin.
“How was training today?”
“Good. Productive.” His fingers trail down my thigh, creating a wake of bubbles in its wake. He starts to gently caress the cut from the car accident. “How’d this happen?”
“I was in a car accident,” I reply. It’s the truth.
“Looks pretty new.” I stiffen at his touch, unable to hide the way his comment affects me.
“It is.” I want to tell him. I want to confess the horrid details of that night. Explain what happened. Make him understand I’m not a bad person. Red flashes in front of me. The blood and screams. I squeeze my eyes shut, fighting the tears. I blink until the haze disappears, then twist in Cash’s grip and press my lips to his.
“Hey, there…” He allows me to kiss him, knowing it’s my way of avoiding the subject. He takes me slow, our tongues meeting and dancing around one another. I straddle him, holding his head close, needing all the bad images to disappear. I feel him harden between my thighs, and I don’t bother with protection before lining him up to where I need him most and sliding down on his impressive cock. A growl mingles with a moan. I lift up and go back down, needing him to fill me to the depths of my soul.
“Luna,” he whispers my name.
I kiss him harder. “Please,” I plead in return. I know I can’t ask much more of him. My silence will be the death of us. But I need him to hold me, fuck me, make me feel wanted. Tomorrow is never guaranteed.
Cash dresses me in what he says is his favorite Lynyrd Skynyrd t-shirt—minus panties. We devour a gigantic pizza and race to see who can eat more. He wins, since he’s three times my size. I’m quickly learning Cash loves a good bet and hates to lose. We settle on the couch, and he lets me pick the movie. Picking the unconventional route, I choose The Princess Bride.
“Have you seen this one?” I ask, becoming shy. Why would I think a guy who’s clearly a bit too obsessed with racing movies be interested in watching a girly—
“Ummm, hello? Westley’s my hero. ‘We are men of action. Lies do not become us!’” he quotes. “Or how about—”
His phone rings, cutting him off. He looks at the screen. “Shit, hold that thought. Hey, Lilly…when? Hold on…” He leans forward, changing the movie and putting on the TV to a news briefing.
“There’s no telling the state Cash Huntington will be in. To race on the same track where his brother viciously died just one year ago? Who comes back and wins that?” the newscaster pulls her mic away from an unknown man in a racing suit and turns to the camera.
“Three days out from the Grand Prix at Monterey and the question stands: is Cash Huntington ready to take the track, or will the anniversary of his brother’s explosive death cost him the win? Jim, back to—”
Cash shuts the TV off, throwing the remote. He gets up. “Yeah, I fucking saw it.” He turns to me. “I gotta handle some shit. I’ll be back. Start the movie without me.” He turns on his heel and storms down the hallway to his office, slamming the door.
I remain completely still, the only sound, Cash’s raised voice behind his closed door. Guilt starts to settle in that I’m eavesdropping on a conversation not meant for me, so I lean down to grab the remote, turning it back on. I start the movie, but the only sound I hear now are the tainted ones from the news reporter. The same track where his brother viciously died. His brother died last year, at the same race Cash is preparing for. My heart breaks. How is he supposed to get on that track and not remember? Not lose focus? I ache to go to him, but then there’s a loud boom against the wall, as if he threw something, followed by more yelling. From previous calls, I’ve become familiar with who Lilly is and what she does for him. I can only assume she’s giving him not so good news.
I sit back, deciding to wait it out. I can barely tell what’s happening on the screen until I realize the credits are playing.
I take a peek at the clock. Two hours have passed since he went in there. I become restless but continue to stay put. I watch a few episodes of Friends and a late-night show. The sound of infomercials rouses me awake, and I realize I must have fallen asleep. I sit up, rubbing my sore shoulder from the odd angle I fell asleep in. The clock now reads one in the morning. Should I go to him? Is he okay? As hard as it is to want to comfort him, I decide to head off to bed. I walk by his office door and consider knocking, but he’s still in a deep argument with someone, so I decide against it and go to bed.
I wake with a start, the sharp rays of sunlight blinding me. Shoot, I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I roll over to Cash, but he’s not in bed. His side is still made up. Did he not come to bed? I sit up and scan the room for any sign he’s been in here. There’s a tightness in my chest as I get up and search for him, my bare feet on the tile as I walk down the hall. I walk past his office and the door is still closed. He couldn’t still be… I stop and listen and don’t hear anything, but when I turn the knob and steal a peak inside, my knees almost buckle under the visual of what’s before me. Cash is slumped over in his chair, his hands dug deeply into his hair. A bottle of bourbon rests on his desk, a majority of it missing. Small mumbles come from his turned down lips.
“Cash?” I call his name, but he doesn’t respond. He continues to mumble words I can’t understand. “Have you been in here all night?” Cautiously, I walk toward him. His head shakes back and forth, and he doesn’t acknowledge my presence. When I lay my hand on his shoulder, he finally begins to register I’m in the room. His head lifts, and the pain in his bloodshot eyes a tidal wave of anguish washing through me. “Oh Cash.” I hold in my own tears, crawling into his lap. He allows me in and nuzzles his head into my chest. “Talk to me.”
He exhales heavily against my skin, the smell of alcohol thick on his breath. His hands coddle my backside and pull me closer, squeezing tight as his lips press against my breastbone.
“I shouldn’t have signed up for this race. Every goddamn time they bring him up, I crumble. I break. I should have known this would never end well.”
“Don’t say
that. You’re strong and brilliant.”
“I’m a fuck up. I’m selfish. I have the biggest race of my career, a race my brother should hold the title to, and I’m doing the exact thing he was against. Putting my selfishness before my responsibilities. I let them get under my skin. And now look at me. Why did I even think I could do this? What am I trying to prove?” Wetness soaks through my shirt.
“That you can rise above the odds. That you want to finish what he wasn’t able to. That you’re doing this for him.”
He pulls away, his harrowing sadness, crushing me. “What if you’re wrong? What if I end up just like him? What if I fail him?”
“You won’t.” I bring my lips to his. “You know that track. You’ve studied. You’ve practiced. Don’t listen to the press. You’re an amazing person, Cash. I’m not sure you realize just how wonderful you are.” I press a kiss to his nose. “We can’t change the past. I might know that better than most. But what I’ve learned the past two weeks is we can definitely change our future. Spend your focus and energy on things you can control. Those ghosts will forever haunt you if you keep allowing them to.”
He leans forward, pressing his lips to mine. “Like yours do, sweet girl?”
I close my eyes, resting my forehead against his. “Like mine,” I confess. His hands skate up and hold my cheeks, lifting my face so he can see me.
“Thank you.”
“No reason to thank me. In some crazy way, I think you and I…we’re healing each other. Saving each other from ghosts, and pasts, and an emptiness I never want to feel again.” His smile is faint and sad, but it makes an appearance. I lift my own hands, cupping his cheeks, using my thumb to brush away a fallen tear.
“I’m a fuckin mess, huh?”
“A beautiful mess.”
He laughs. “I doubt that. More like a pussy. How many times have I cried like a baby in front of you? Doesn’t really help my man card.”
I pull him close, needing him to know what flows through me. The need for him…the love maybe? Is this love? Is this uncontrollable wildfire we create together, one that threatens to burn the entire world down around us it’s so strong, called love? Two beautifully broken people, finding solace and a place to call home within one another. “I think you make up for it in other ways. And if I have to admit I enjoy the biting to help your man card, I will.”
He wraps his arms around me, crushing our bodies together. “Thank you.” We sit here for some time, the sound of his phone buzzing on his desk interrupting our silent moment. He doesn’t let up on his tight hold, and I wonder if he’s going to answer it. “Fuckin’ Becks. He’s going to kill me.”
“I’m sure he’ll understand.”
“We have to be on the road in eight hours for Monterey and I haven’t slept a wink and I’m piss drunk.”
Shit. He is going to kill him. I pull back. “Okay, listen, we can make this work. I’ll deal with Beckett. You need to sleep this off.”
“He’s gonna know. He’s going to pull me from the race.”
“No, he’s not. He’s going to know you’re having a moment, but we’ll be there. Just tell me what you need. Let me handle it.”
He stares at me for some time, scrutinizing. I open my mouth to argue my case when he nods. “Okay.”
“Good.”
He helps me climb off him, and I reach out to assist him to stand. He wasn’t lying when he said he was piss drunk. He falls into me, and we almost go tumbling to the ground. It takes a bit to get him to his bed, but he’s out as soon as he falls face first into his mattress. Knowing what I have to do, I get right to work. I need to make a call to Beckett.
Once I’ve made sure Cash is sound asleep, I head back into his office for his phone. When it lights up, I see numerous missed calls and text messages from Beckett, along with others. I swipe it, but it denies me access, requiring a passcode. “Shit.” I walk back to his room and try putting his face on the recognition, but it doesn’t work. Waking him up isn’t an option. He’s out cold, snoring. “Shit!”
My eyes land on my backpack. My phone is hidden in the pocket, untouched since it was handed to me yesterday. There’s another way. I try the face recognition again, then random passwords, and end up disabling his phone. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” I toss his phone on the bed, my eyes moving back down to my bag. “Dammit,” I grunt, going for my phone. The moment my hand wraps around it, my nerves go berserk. What if there’s a notification of a race? Am I still looking for one? I steal a glance at Cash. My heart pumps faster. I take in his parted lips, closed eyes, and the usually creased lines that have become smooth in his sleep. “No race. If it’s there, delete it,” I agree with myself, take a deep breath, and wake my phone. Zero notifications pop up, but a text from a random number does.
1-909-555-3544: It’s Becks. Got your number from Jackson. You with Cash? He NEEDS to call me.
So much for them keeping my information private. I open the phone and start to reply, then erase it and think about how I’m going to go about this.
Me: I’m with him. He’s fine.
The less he knows, the better.
1-909-555-3544: Don’t believe you. Did he have a slip?
Me: No. He just needs today. He’ll be at Monterey. We’re driving up later tonight.
I’m praying he bites and doesn’t fight me. I know he doesn’t trust me or think I’m good for Cash, but I’m exactly what Cash needs right now.
1-909-555-3544: I need to know he’s okay.
Do I lie and say yes, or admit he’s broken and parts of him may never heal from the loss of his brother? I have to ask the same question about where his head was signing up for this race. Was there something that important to prove in order to be able to heal? But I can’t change his decision, I can only comfort him if he falls and then help him get back up. And right now, Cash doesn’t need a lecture. He needs someone on his side.
Me: He will be.
Beckett proceeds to text me details, while I confirm I know where he needs to be, times, and hotel information. He sends screenshots of his PR schedule and tells me he’ll handle everything else, I just need to get Cash to Monterey on time.
I spend the morning running around Cash’s place packing for him, doing laundry, and cleaning up. By the time noon hits, I’m feeling good about my accomplishments and head back to his room to check on him. He hasn’t stirred a bit. I take a shower and gather my own things. Per Beckett’s orders, we need to be on the road by three. With a five-hour drive, that puts us in Monterey in time for a benefit dinner he has to attend. I now have three hours until I have to get him up, showered, and us on the road. I find myself climbing into bed and snuggling against his back, closing my eyes for a quick nap.
Cash
I feel like ass. I’m sure I look like it too. I should get up and shower so she doesn’t wake up to her boyfriend looking like a pile of shit. Boyfriend? Would it be that farfetched to consider us a couple? She’s in my place, in my bed, in my mind, heart—shit, she’s so deep, I feel her in my fucking soul.
She should have run out on me after the bullshit I pulled. I can’t imagine what she’s thinking. On the outside, sure, I seem like I have it all, but on the inside, I’m scattered into a million fucked-up pieces. When she’s around, though, I feel capable of healing, of opening up in hopes to get better—to be a man who one day makes her proud. It may take a thousand more breakdowns and more glue than she can shell out, but there’s this promise about her that tells me she’ll be there and ready for the challenge.
I brush away the loose strand of hair laying across her face. When I first woke, I noticed all the bags lined up at the door. She did exactly what she said she was going to do and took care of things. I want to pull her into me and hold her close so she knows this is where she belongs. With me. Always. I’ll take care of her the same way she’s taken care of me. I don’t believe two people need to know one another for a long time to know when it’s right. My parents fell in love through a drive-thru. D
ad took her burger order and refused to give her her food until she gave him her number. Her simple voice through an ordering box sold him, and thirty-years of marriage proved when you find the one, you never let them go.
The second I fell into Luna, I knew. I felt it. A pull too strong to fight. She was this fierce hurricane, drawing me into her storm of love, happiness, perfection. Now, I’ll weather any storm to be with her. Keep her. Make her realize she’s my one.
She begins to stir, and I stare at her eyes, craving her honey gaze. “Hey,” I say, watching her come to life. Her eyes flutter open, focusing on me.
“Hey. How you feeling? What time—shit, what time is it?” She pops up, leaning over to spy my alarm clock. “Shit! We gotta get up! We had to be on the road at three.” She tries to throw herself out of bed, but I grab her, tucking her into me. “Cash, seriously, Beckett is going to have my head. We’re already two hours late.”
I kiss her nose. “He’ll get over it.”
“No he won’t. He made me promise I’d get you there. You have a benefit—”
“And that’s why I pay Lilly the big bucks. She’ll handle it.”
She stares me down, wanting to argue, but a long sigh shows me she’s giving up and relaxes in my hold. “Your funeral,” she says, and I squeeze her closer, kissing the top of her head as she snuggles into me. I love the way she fits perfectly in my arms.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I say, needing to explain things.
“You don’t owe me an—”
“I do. If I expect you to open up to me, I need to do the same. And I want to. You’re the only person I feel comfortable doing that with, and so, I’m taking the gift you’re offering.” She doesn’t say anything, so I go on. “I know you have questions. For starters, yes, Luke died at Monterey. In three days, the day the race takes place, will be the one year anniversary of his death. Why would I do that to myself and sign up for this race? Only someone with something to prove would do that. I have something to prove. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t blame myself for what happened. I took his future from him. His dreams. He trained hard for Monterey, and he had no doubt he was going to win it. And I took that from him.
Junkie: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 15