Page 84 of Cash

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

“I should’ve asked how you were feeling.” Nebraska cut straight to it as soon as we were in the hall.

I mentally debated what part of my day had been the worst. Waking up in Cash’s bed, the way he’d stared at me from the doorway of his bedroom, Cara seeing the marks around my neck, my life laid out before strangers, Zane hitting me with his version of care and concern—and as an aside, his version left a lot to be desired. Or if it was Cash’s latest flip-flop or if it was Nebraska leading me into a kitchenette for girl talk.

I didn’t have the first clue what girl talk entailed, I’d only agreed to get out of the conference room and away from Cash, but now I was seriously regretting my decision if she was going to discuss feelings.

“Nebraska—”

“I also should’ve told you when Cash got the call from Cara to come get her after the confusion wore off, I was…worried.” She said the last part with her hand up to stop my protest. “Actually, I was scared. For you, then after I met Cara, for her. And before you say it, I know you can take care of yourself. But that doesn’t mean a friend doesn’t worry or get scared when a friend gets taken from her own damned house.” That time she ended on a hiss.

A friend doesn’t worry.

“Nebraska—”

“And I should’ve gotten up when you came in and hugged you, but I knew you’d hate that. So I didn’t. But also, if I’m being honest, I was a little put out that I’ve known you a really long time, Stella, and you never told me.”

She was correct; I would’ve hated her hugging me in front of Zane and his team. At least that was what I told myself—that I hated being touched, hated any sort of affection, anything that made me feel or look weak.

But it was all a lie.

Just like the rest of my life.

“Told you what?”

Nebraska’s hand landed on the back of a chair. She wasn’t hiding behind her professional facade—the blank stare she used when she sat at a table with criminals to negotiate turf wars and trade routes. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen Nebraska…pissed, well and truly irritated and not masking a single emotion as her annoyance filled the small room.

“Seriously,” she whispered.

Since I was a woman, I understood what that whisper meant. I just didn’t understand the anger behind it.

“Why—”

She switched from whispering to shouting. “Are you fucking serious?”

I jerked in surprise and winced. The quick movement reminding me of the tapestry of slashes that crisscrossed my back.

The thin thread that held my temper back had been fraying all day. I sucked in a breath and locked on the last bit of patience I had to grind out, “I don’t think you getting pissed and yelling is good for the baby.”

Nebraska’s eyes narrowed. “I was going to tell you about the baby, too, by the way. But I thought finding your dickface brother took precedence.”

“Damion is not now, nor will he ever be, a priority,” I spat a partial lie.

Killing him was a priority, but he wasn’t.

He was a meaningless piece of shit.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, much calmer this time.

“Tell you what? That I’m a McKnight? That I informed on my father when he started funding terrorist groups? That after the CIA had him taken out, Michael saw the wisdom in having a socialite with all the right connections in his pocket. That he faked my death. That I⁠—”

“No, Stella.” Nebraska leaned deep, her torso touching the back of the chair. Her pretty face screwed up into a scowl and suddenly I was happy there was a table separating us. I would never, not ever, get into a knock-down drag-out catfight with a pregnant woman, especially one I respected and cared about. But Nebraska looked like she would have no issue throwing a right hook. “Who gives a shit about the past? We all have secrets. It’s who we are—it’s what makes us.” She waved her hand in front of her as if to sweep away that thought to get to the point of her anger. “I’m talking about Cara.”

Cara?

My heart thudded against my rib cage in a painful staccato beat—sharp stabs, spikey, no real rhythm, just abrupt thumps. I had yet to breathe through the ache, hadn’t gotten a handle on the whole girl talk gig I wish I hadn’t agreed to, especially if she was going to bring Cara into the conversation. After yesterday and this morning I was too raw. My emotions were splayed open worse than the flesh my brother had torn open. I was having trouble—no, scratch that, I was finding it impossible—to pull up the emotional armor I needed to deal with…everything.

Discussing Cara would be the straw that was one too many.