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He shook his head, mouth pressed tight. “If someday I do, you can say I told you so. I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not going to change my mind. I like my job, and they’re already talking about giving me more responsibility.”
“You are so close. What’s one more year?” She had to make him understand. He couldn’t make the same mistake she had.
“I’m not going back, Mom. Stop asking me.” The door closed quietly behind him, followed by the hum of the garage opener.
CASH KEPT THE SHOP closed on Saturday. His irregular hours never bothered his customers, as long as he posted the changes on his website and made sure the message on his business line was current. Besides, it was a long weekend and most clients would expect him to be shuttered.
He wondered about the cabin. Someone would have to get the groceries and clothes and bathroom items they’d abandoned in their haste. He should probably discuss that with Penta, but didn’t have the nerve to call her. Not yet.
Thinking these random thoughts didn’t keep the memories of last night at bay. He was consumed by them.
Too restless to stay in his apartment, he went downstairs, though working on the Bonnie in his current haphazard state of mind was out of the question. Besides, any joy he’d taken in restoring the Tiger Cub had been sapped. He ended up sitting listlessly on his work stool, staring into space, and rubbing the knuckles of his right hand, which still ached from their contact with Tyrone’s face.
He didn’t regret the punches he’d thrown. Not one bit. But he deeply regretted Elle had seen them.
She had clung to him with wiry strength as he’d driven her slowly and carefully home. Every once in a while she shuddered and warm wet tears slid down his bare back.
He’d called Linda before they left Tyrone’s, giving her the gist of what had happened. She was standing at the front door when they arrived. Open housecoat flapping like wings, she flew down the step and hugged Elle before she had a chance to dismount. Their daughter’s sobbing intensified, and Linda stared frantically at Cash.
“She’s says she’s not hurt.” He widened his stance and planted his feet so the women’s combined weight wouldn’t topple the bike.
Linda’s gaze flickered between them. “Why did she call you? Why not me?”
He had wondered the same thing. “You’ll have to ask her.”
“Come on, sweetheart.” Linda urged her off the bike. “What were you thinking, sneaking out of the house?”
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You must be so mad at me.” Elle’s wail of despair echoed down the dawn-still street.
A dog barked and a light went on in the closest house. He didn’t want this homecoming to be fodder for gossip. “Go inside with your mom, honey.” He pressed a hand on Elle’s shoulder.
Linda had ushered her to the door without further questions, pausing only to toss a warning to Cash over her shoulder as they went. “We’re going to talk about this later. Don’t think we aren’t.”
Which was probably why he was so edgy. He was not looking forward to that discussion. He’d have to confess exactly why Elle had been in such danger, and it would only reinforce what Linda had believed all these years. No way would she let him near Elle again, not after this.
It didn’t matter that he deserved the sentence, just as he’d deserved to go to jail. Knowing you earned your punishment didn’t make it any easier to take.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
He didn’t hear from either Penta or Linda all day Saturday. He assumed they were so furious they couldn’t bear talking to him. And who could blame them?
He certainly didn’t.
By Sunday afternoon, his apartment was the cleanest it had ever been and the stockroom alphabetized. He’d even been to a nearby gym, paid a drop-in fee, and done weight work until his muscles screamed from the unaccustomed exercise.
Popping a couple Advil might alleviate the pain, but he didn’t, hoping the discomfort in his body might distract him—at least temporarily—from his mental misery.
His phone buzzed with a text as he stared dully into his fridge, wondering what might tempt his non-existent appetite. He closed the appliance door carefully and regarded the cell lying on the counter with apprehension. As much as he longed to hear from any of the women in his life, he wasn’t looking forward to it.
The screen went black before he could read who had messaged him. Cautiously, as if the device were a bomb, he tapped it awake.
Penta. Do you have time to talk?
The rage and fury he’d felt toward Cyril, and to a lesser extent Penta, had long since faded. He recognized now he had been trying to spread the blame when it rested on his shoulders alone. If he hadn’t gone back to his old haunts, if he hadn’t refused Tyrone’s so-called offer of gang business, if he hadn’t been the man he was, everything would be as it had been Friday.
He’d still have Penta. He’d still have Elle. He’d still have a family.
With doomed resignation, he typed Yes.
