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The desperate horror when the berserk fog lifted and he realized what he’d done.
“Want to know why I beat up that guy? I was drinking with some buddies in a bar. Probably had a couple too many. Not that I was so drunk I didn’t know what I was doing. Just too drunk to be smart. He bumped into me, said some shit about it being my fault. Made me mad, and my so-called buddies said I should teach him a lesson, just like yours. Said I shouldn’t let him disrespect me like that. Still, I might have let it slide, but he threw the first punch. He was about my size and raring to go. After that”—he shrugged and the ghost of old bruises and cracked ribs made him wince—“well, it’s pretty much a blur. I guess I caught him a good one and he fell back, hit his head on the corner of the bar. That’s what almost killed him.”
If it had been Cash’s first offense, he might have gotten off with a lighter sentence. But he’d been known to the cops since he was about Cyril’s age. Shoplifting, vandalism, a brawl or two between rival gangs. Maybe if someone had got him into Camp Chance...maybe if just one of the cops he’d met hadn’t been an officious asshole...maybe then his life would have been different.
Maybes were a bitch.
It was so quiet he could hear the voices of a couple passing by on the sidewalk. Cyril stared at the bottles of motorcycle oil, still and silent.
“I’m not blaming anyone but myself for what I did.” Cash felt brittle with regret, a regret he would never lose. “But I might not have done it if my buddies hadn’t egged me on. No one needs friends like that, Cyril. No one.”
He spun on his heel and sought refuge in the storeroom once more.
PENTA PULLED UP JUST down the street from Cash’s shop, turned off the ignition, and slouched in her seat. She needed a few moments to rebuild her cheerful façade and had deliberately parked out of sight.
She’d spent the afternoon dropping off resumes. Her online applications had borne no fruit so she’d decided to try in person. Unfortunately—yet perhaps inevitably—she had the same results, with the added insult of being rejected to her face. One acned manager at a clothing store had actually laughed.
Even more depressing than today’s humiliations was the growing realization that she didn’t want any of the jobs she was qualified for. She needed something to fill the coming void when her children were grown and gone, but stocking shelves or answering phones held no attraction. Was she naïve to hope she might find a position that would allow her to rediscover the young woman who’d enjoyed solving chemistry problems and exploring the fascinating world of physics?
She dragged herself out of her van and down the sidewalk. Cyril was the only person in view when she entered the shop. He stood next to a stack of shelving, staring at the hall that led to the rear, a puzzled look on his face, a cardboard box at his feet.
“Hey, sweetie. Ready to go?”
“Yeah. Just got to put this away.” He picked up the carton but stayed where he was.
“Is Cash in the back? I’ll let him know we’re leaving.” A few moments with him would brighten her day. Not that she would bore him with her troubles. She had to deal with that on her own. She took two steps toward the hall, but Cyril stopped her.
“He might be a little upset.”
Alarm raised the hairs on her neck. “What happened? Was Linda here again?”
He shook his head. “No.” Then he added in a rush, “Did you know he was in jail because he beat up a guy?”
“Oh.” She’d decided to tell her kids about Cash’s past only if it became necessary. While their relationship was no longer just for show, she wasn’t kidding herself that it was permanent. “Actually, yes, I did. Not the details, but the general gist.”
“I don’t get it.” Cyril seemed sincerely confused. “He’s a tough guy, but he’s not mean. I’ve never seen him mad.”
The angriest Penta had ever seen Cash was the night he’d brought Cyril home. Though she’d been wary of him then, she’d never felt in danger. But she’d seen the aftermath of his fury at Elle’s birthday party and had no doubt he’d be formidable in a temper. “I imagine he works hard to keep his cool since he knows how awful the consequences can be.”
“Yeah.” He flipped the box over and over in his hands thoughtfully. “Is it okay if I walk home today? Sorry you came all this way.”
She didn’t know what startled her more—the fact he wanted to walk home, which would be a good forty-five minutes at the least, or that he’d apologized. In one of those rare scintillatingly clear moments that life sometimes offers, her view of Cyril...switched. Whether it was the way he was carrying himself or simply the expression on his face, she couldn’t say. Suddenly he was no longer a boy but a young man.
“Is everything okay?” She rubbed his shoulder gently.
He didn’t shrug off her concern as he usually did, instead offering her a serious, diffident smile. “Yeah. I just have some thinking to do. I’ll bring this back, get my pack, and let Cash know you’re here.”
He vanished, reappeared a minute later, gave her a kiss on the cheek—which floored her yet again—and was gone.
Chapter Twenty
Penta hesitated, undecided whether she should wait for Cash or search him out. A moment later, he strode into the room.
Her welcoming smile faltered at the cool blankness in his tombstone-grey eyes. Gone was her intense lover, her passionate protector. In his place was the grim, stoic loner she’d first met.
He walked past with barely a glance. Locking the front door, he took a wide detour around her, heading for the corner where he did his real work. The motorcycle he was restoring had been pushed to the side and a modern monster with hard-sided carriers, supple leather seats, and well-tended chrome sat, proud and arrogant, in the middle of the stained concrete.
“Cyril said he was walking home. You should go too.” The words dropped with icy precision from his lips.
