by C. C. Hunter
“I was wrong. It isn’t who our parents are that matters, it’s who we are. But I was so sure.” He leans in and kisses me.
“At least our dating won’t be a problem with the Fullers,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says.
I kiss him. “Thank you for doing this. I know my name now. But if you’d gotten caught, I’d have felt like shit.”
His gaze meets mine. He looks as if he’s about to say something. I’m afraid he still wants to convince me this is a lie, so I kiss him again just so I don’t have to hear it, but the kiss becomes warm, and I welcome the feel of his lips on mine.
He pulls back. “I found out that the Fullers’ lake house is going to be empty on Sunday. We could go spend the whole day there. If it’s warm enough, we could swim in the lake, cook hamburgers on the grill, just hang out.”
I smile. “That’d be great.”
“Yeah, it would,” Cash says. Then, “Oh, I think I have some good news for you.”
“What?”
“Darlene changed her status on her Facebook page. She’s single now.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah, and she also posted that her boyfriend dumped her because her brother’s a screwup. I think Darlene’s brother stole your dad’s credit card.”
I grin. “Is it bad of me to think that’s good news?”
“No.”
When he pulls back, I say, “I love you.”
“Not just think you love me?” he asks.
“Not just think,” I say.
Right then, headlights pull in behind us. I hear a car door.
“What the hell?” Cash turns around.
Footsteps sound outside the car.
A man walks up to the Jeep. No, not just a man. A cop.
He taps on Cash’s window.
“Fuck,” Cash mutters under his breath, but rolls down the window.
“What you kids doing?”
“Just talking,” I answer.
He leans in and lifts his face as if trying to test the air. Probably thinking we got weed or something. He looks at Cash.
I see Cash tense up, but I can tell he’s trying not to act nervous. “We’re just talking, Officer. Not doing anything wrong.”
“Well, the park’s closed. You should probably take this gal home.”
Cash starts the engine, and we follow a black Corolla out of the parking lot.
“You okay?” I ask, seeing his profile and noting his frown.
“Yeah. I don’t like cops.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a foster kid. They blame things on us.”
I shrug. “You really believe that?”
“I know it. The Fullers’ neighbor had a car stolen. I’d been there a few months. They told the cops about me. The police came and talked to the Fullers and me. Accused me of stealing it. The cop was a real asshole. A week later, they found out the neighbor’s daughter had taken it for a joyride, wrecked and left it at her boyfriend’s house.”
“I’m sorry.” I reach for his hand.
“Me, too.” I hear the emotion in his voice.
* * *
Damn it! Rodney was lucky he’d spotted the cop. He’d followed the Jeep here and saw it as a perfect opportunity. He was half out of his car when the damn cop pulled into the lot. Staring in the rearview window, he saw the Jeep pull in behind him to leave the parking lot. But the cop was behind them.
He turned at the first chance to get away. He didn’t think the car would already be reported stolen, but he couldn’t chance it.
Tomorrow was another day. Hell, maybe he should do the nanny first anyway. Like Jack said, the girl might not even remember him.
* * *
Thursday morning, Rodney went to the Joyful town library to see if he could hunt down the nanny. He started by searching for a kidnapping in Amigo, Texas. It came up. Even had a picture of the park where he’d snagged the kid.
It also had a picture of the girl. Cute girl. And she’d grown up to be a damn pretty woman, too. Well, almost woman.
He started reading. Carmen Vaca Gonzales, hired as a nanny for Susan and Anthony Fuller …
Fuller? He kind of remembered that being the kid’s last name. But why did it feel so familiar now?
Fuller? Fuller?
He reread the name. Anthony Fuller.
Shit! That was who co-owned the Jeep.
What the hell did this mean? It could mean only one thing. They knew. They knew who the girl was. That’s what it had to mean, didn’t it?
He read on. The next paragraph included a description of him that the nanny had given. It even included his tattoo. He slammed his hand down on the table.
He wasn’t going to jail.
He wasn’t!
Maybe he should do what Jack said and leave. But did he really want to be on the run for the rest of his life?
* * *
On Saturday after Cash got home from work, he planned on telling the Fullers the truth. About his being the one to take down the age-progression photo, about his being the one getting the photocopies, but when he walked into the house, they were cuddled up on the sofa, watching a movie.
They looked happy, and uncertainty hit. If he told them now, would that just cause more problems?
“We’ve got reservations at eight at Perry’s Steakhouse,” Mrs. Fuller said. “You coming?”
“No. I … need to catch up on some homework.”
He sat down in a chair, still debating—tell them, not tell them. If he didn’t tell them, was it because he didn’t want to be blamed for causing all the hurt? Or was it because … damn it, he still didn’t believe it?
Or maybe it’s because of the text he got from the nanny today. She was supposed to be home tomorrow. Part of him still wanted to talk to her, but Chloe would flip. It’s as if she wanted to pretend the whole thing never happened.
Mrs. Fuller got up. “Well, I’m going to shower.” She walked over and ruffled his hair. “We’re proud of you, Cash.” Then she left.
Mr. Fuller sat up on the sofa. When he heard the door close, he looked at Cash. “She’s better.”
Cash just nodded.
* * *
Sunday morning, I’m standing at my bedroom window. A little anxious and a lot excited about spending the entire day with Cash. His Jeep pulls up, and I grab my backpack and head out.
“I’ll see you later, Mom,” I say. I go to the kitchen to grab the bag of groceries that I bought for our cookout. Of course, he insisted he’d buy them, but since he’d paid for the last few times we ate out, I called rank.
Mom doesn’t answer. I walk back into the living room, where she’s on the sofa with her laptop.
“Bye,” I say.
She never looks up from the computer. Her hair is like an inch long now. She’s not wearing the wig at all. She’s even gained more weight. She looks healthier. Even happy.
As soon as I put the whole daughter-of-a-rapist thing behind me, then maybe my life will almost be in the normal range. Well, other than worrying that my mom’s cancer might return.
“Mom?” I say. “Mom!”
She finally looks up. “What?”
“I’m leaving.”
Right then, I remember Dad trying to explain the reasons he cheated. What was it he said? Your mom had her writing. Oh, it doesn’t excuse anything, but maybe I can see how he might have been a tad lonely. “Mom?” I say. “Mom!”
“To go where?” Mom asks.
I frown. “To the lake house with Cash. I asked you about it Thursday night?”
“Oh yeah,” she says. “Are his parents going to be there?”
Because I’m worried she’ll disapprove, I lie. “Yeah.” I feel a little guilty. Especially since … well, I’m thinking today’s the day things get taken to the next level. Part of me is so sure it’s right. I was ready two weeks ago, when I yanked my nightgown off, but another part is … well, nervous.
It may not be my first time, but it’s my first time with
Cash. And that seems big. It seems bigger than it was with Alex. Or bigger in a different way. Last time it was … a rite of passage. I’d cared about Alex, but I wasn’t … in love with Alex. This time, it’s because … I want to be with Cash.
“Have fun, and don’t be late. You have school tomorrow.”
I nod. As I step onto the porch, Cash is getting out of his car.
“Do I need to come in?” he asks.
“No. She’s writing.”
He takes the groceries from me. “I brought an ice chest to keep the meat and cheese cold. Did you bring your swimsuit?”
“Yeah.” I motion to my backpack.
“Good. It’s supposed to get up to eighty-eight so the water should be perfect.” He sets the groceries down and looks in the bags to pull out the meat and other items that need to be kept cool. When he sees the bag of caramels, he looks at me. “Thank you.”
We get into his Jeep.
“Have I told you how glad I am that you moved here?” he says.
“I think so,” I say. “But you could tell me again.”
He passed a finger over my lips. “I’ve never been this happy.”
“Me, either.” A warm feeling fills my chest.
It takes us almost two hours to get there, but the drive passes quickly. We turn on the radio, but talk over the music and discuss school. He hasn’t sent the video to Paul yet, but he plans to do it tomorrow. I’m a little worried Paul will still go off on him. If he does, will Cash have the willpower not to get into it with him?
We talk about Lindsey and how she and David have invited us out next weekend to go shoot pool again. Cash tells me about his auto tech class and how they are finally getting to work on cars. We talk about everything but me not being Emily. I know we both still think about it. But since we met Wednesday night, we haven’t mentioned it.
Cash finally pulls up to a gate and punches in some numbers, and the big wooden arm rises and we drive in.
* * *
“Screw it!” Rodney watched the gray Jeep drive off. He slammed his hand on the steering wheel. Another damned gated community.
He really hated rich people!
He should have taken the shot back on the road, but every damn time he almost did it, another car would show up.
He drove past the gate slowly. Watching which way the Jeep turned after entering the subdivision. At least it wasn’t with a live guard.
He drove around another three minutes, then turned around. He’d spent the last two days at the nanny’s house. She hadn’t been home.
He needed to do this. Finish it. Since Wednesday, all he could think about was getting his ass caught. Spending the rest of his life in prison.
He pulled over to the side of the road beside the gated entrance and turned the air conditioner up. The damn thing was on the fritz. He sat there, sweating, waiting for another car to pull in. It didn’t look like a big subdivision. He’d find the Jeep. Find them. Finish the job.
Then, hopefully, Carmen Gonzales would be home and he could take care of her. Afterwards, he’d get the hell out of Texas. Go somewhere nice. Somewhere it wasn’t so damn hot.
Finally, a car drove in. Rodney pulled in behind him and made it through before the gate closed. Now all he had to do was find the damn Jeep and kill two kids.
* * *
When we arrive at the lake house, I’m shocked. I envisioned a small rustic place. It’s not rustic. It’s not small. It’s three times as big as the house Mom and I live in.
Cash parks in a garage, and we get out and walk in through the kitchen. “It’s huge.”
“Yeah, it’s more of an investment than anything else. They lease it out most of the time. We come here a week or two every summer and weekends when it’s not booked.”
He sets the cooler on the kitchen floor and empties it into the fridge. “Do you want to swim now?”
“Yeah, let me change.” I look around.
“There’s a bathroom right behind you,” he says.
I step into the bathroom and slip on my suit. I bought a new one right before I moved here, so it’s been worn only a few times. I stand in front of the mirror. The swimsuit is not super small. In fact, the bottoms are boy shorts, but there’s still a lot of skin showing. Other than that one night I yanked off my nightgown, Cash hasn’t seen this much of me before.
It suddenly occurs to me that I haven’t even seen Cash without his shirt, which for some reason strikes me as odd. Alex took his shirt off every chance he got. And he didn’t even have half the body that Cash has.
I look at the bathroom door and wonder if maybe I should just slip on a shirt over my swimsuit before walking out, but it seems kind of stupid. I still grab the towel I brought and tie it around my waist.
Backpack on my shoulder, I walk out.
He’s not in the kitchen, and I assume he went to put his own bathing suit on.
He walks in with his swimsuit and a T-shirt. Now I really wish I’d worn the shirt.
He stares at me and smiles. He comes over and kisses me. “I have towels outside. We can use those so you don’t have to carry home a wet towel. And I have some sunscreen, too.” He grins. “And I’ll be happy to help you with your back.”
“Only if I can do yours.” I grin, but still feel butterflies.
“Yeah.”
I set my backpack on a counter and toss my towel on top of it.
Cash does a double take. His eyes are all over me. “Wow,” he says. “You are so beautiful.”
He makes me feel beautiful—not vulnerable, like some guys do when they see you in a bathing suit.
We walk out the back door, which leads to a covered patio with a table and chairs, a grill and a couple of big hammocks. He snags two towels and some sunscreen from a cabinet.
“This is nice,” I say.
His arm slips around my waist. The feel of his touch moving over my bare skin sends sweet shivers to my toes. We walk to the end of the deck that leads out into the water, where he drops the towels and the sunblock.
Cash pulls his shirt over his head.
I try not to stare, but I can’t help it. My eyes eat up all the bare skin. He has a line of dark hair that starts around his navel and trails down into the trunks. I lift my eyes, and when I do, I see a scar. Located almost in the center of his chest, it’s about four inches long, straight, except in the middle of that linear scar, it’s round, about the size of a quarter.
His shirt lands on top of the towels. “What happened?” I ask before realizing it might sound rude.
31
Cash knew she’d ask. In fact, he’d gone over the lie he told the three other girls who had seen him without his shirt. The lie that included a skateboard and a broken beer bottle. But he didn’t want to lie to Chloe.
“It’s not a pretty story,” he said. He picked up the sunscreen. “Come here, I’ll put some of this on your back.”
She moved in. Her eyes met his, and he could already see the empathy there, as if she somehow knew it was hard to talk about. “I want to know,” she said.
He nodded. “I was shot.”
“Your dad?” Her eyes went moist.
He closed his eyes one second. “He didn’t pull the trigger, but he might as well have.” He forced himself to say it. “I told you he wasn’t a good guy.” He had to still himself to say it. “He pulled cons. Stole cars. Robbed convenience stores. He preyed on the most vulnerable. The elderly. I faked having cancer, and people gave us money. I hurt parents like the Fullers. Dad saw an age-progression photo that kind of looked like me, and—”
He heard her intake of air. “That’s why…?”
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, praying this wouldn’t change her mind about him. About them. But if it did, he couldn’t blame her. “The last job he pulled was a convenience store. A cop just happened to pull up. I was in the car. I was the getaway man.”
“You said you were eleven when he died.”
“I was. He taught me to drive when I was eigh
t. He taught me everything. How to pull a con, to cheat people, to steal.”
She shook her head. “How did you get shot?”
“A cop walked in when Dad was robbing the store. He pulled a gun on Dad and Dad shot him.” Cash inhaled, remembering sitting in the car and seeing it through the glass doors. “He normally never fired. He always said if a job was executed right, you didn’t need a weapon.”
Swallowing his emotions, he continued. “He jumped in the car and screamed at me to drive. We didn’t get down the street when a patrol car was on us. I pulled over. I didn’t want to die. Dad was screaming at me. I threw the keys out the window.” Cash could still hear him, hear the anger in his voice. “Dad yelled out to the officers and told them he’d kill me if they didn’t back off. Then he told me to go get the keys. They fired. Bullets went everywhere. They said they didn’t expect me to be a kid.”
Cash looked away from her. “I was shot. Dad took a bullet, too. He got the keys. I called out to him—I was laying there, bleeding, scared to death. He didn’t even look at me. He drove away.” Cash’s eyes burned. “He made it only a hundred feet or so. He ran into a parked car, but it was the bullet that killed him. I know I lied about that, I just…”
Tears ran down Chloe’s face.
Shame scratched at Cash’s conscience. “I told you I was trouble. I’ve done terrible things. And I don’t blame you if you want to walk away. I don’t deserve someone like you.”
She blinked, and a few tears webbed her lashes. “Stop saying that! You were eleven! It wasn’t your fault.” She clenched her fist. “I wish he weren’t dead, because I want to kill him myself.”
Cash shook his head. “You don’t get it. I knew what we were doing was wrong, Chloe.”
“He beat you, too, didn’t he?” More tears ran down her face. “He broke your arm, right?”
“Yeah. But I should have—”
“I hate him, Cash! I hate him as much as I love you.” She moved closer, and she touched his scar. “I can’t believe I’m whining about my life when you went through that. I’m sorry.” She hugged him then, and they stayed like that on the deck, just holding each other for a long time.