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The dots danced immediately. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.
Of course she wanted to speak face to face. Penta wasn’t the kind of person who broke up with someone over the phone.
Well, he wasn’t a coward, either. When she made the break, he’d accept it with grace, instead of falling on his knees and pleading for another chance. She deserved someone...cleaner. Someone untainted. Someone as bright and life-affirming as herself.
Anyone other than him.
PENTA STUMBLED UP THE stairs to Cash’s apartment. She’d gone to the cabin to retrieve their belongings, and the bag stuffed with his things banged against her knees.
That discomfort was nothing compared to the trepidation tripping in her heart.
He’d been so angry when they’d rescued Cyril and Elle. And he’d had a right to be. Her son had taken his daughter into danger, and though she now knew the reasons why, that didn’t make it all better.
She only hoped Cash would listen with an open mind. She couldn’t bear it if the man she loved—because damn it, she was beginning to believe that was the truth—wouldn’t forgive her son.
The door opened before she could knock. The alley was shadowed and dim and she squinted at the bright Sunday sunlight streaming through the wide window behind Cash.
It had become her custom to breeze in with a smile and a kiss. Today, she hesitated on the landing, uncertain of her welcome. “Hi. I brought your stuff back.” She held out the bag.
Without speaking, he took it, and then stepped back. She accepted the implied invitation, walking past, twisting her now empty hands together.
He stared at her with a blank expression, still holding the bag. His eyes were flat, uncompromising, with dark purple pockets underneath that made him look ill. His beard, usually neatly brushed, sprouted wiry unruly hairs, and the thick strands on his skull were messy and unkempt.
“Are you okay?” She reached toward him, concern flaring.
He retreated with abrupt steps, bumping to a stop against the kitchen counter. “Fine.” His gravel voice was more hoarse than usual, as if he hadn’t spoken for days.
She lowered her hand. Something more than fury must have caused such a rapid and drastic physical change. “Are you sure? You look terrible.”
A flare blazed in the depths of his grey eyes. Not anger. Pain? Longing? She wasn’t sure. “I said I’m fine.” As if suddenly aware of the bag in his hands, he placed it on the floor.
“It wasn’t meant as an insult, Cash. I-I care about you.” A horrific thought struck her. “It’s not Elle, is it? She’s not...injured? Cyril was texting with her this morning. He didn’t say anything.” If Elle had been assaulted, would she have admitted it to Cyril?
He shrugged, which hopefully meant Elle was okay, at least physically. Drawing himself up, he squared his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “You wanted to talk?”
“Yes.” She also wanted to comfort him, but his posture warned her to keep away. She regrouped and focused on why she’d come. “I talked with Cyril. He told me why they were at the party. Why he was drunk.”
Cash grunted.
She licked her dry lips and continued. “TJ threatened him. Said if he didn’t bring Elle to the party that night, he’d get his gang together and trash your shop. Worse this time.”
Cash’s fingers twitched, but he didn’t say anything. She plowed on.
“Cyril knows your burglar alarm isn’t linked with any security services, which he learned when you asked him to lock up once. He should have called and told us what TJ intended, but thought he could handle it without anyone finding out.” He’d also admitted this wasn’t the first time he and TJ had met since they’d broken into Cash’s shop. She was still reeling at that deception. It was going to take a long time before she could trust him again. “When they got there, TJ started pestering Elle. Cyril warned him off, but he kept at her. They both wanted to leave, but Cyril was afraid of what TJ and his friends would do to you if they did. Then TJ made him a deal. He’d leave Elle alone if Cyril could beat him in a drinking competition. About five shots in, when he realized he wasn’t going to win, he told Elle to lock herself in the bathroom and call you.”
Cash smoothed his beard in his familiar gesture. “Idiot.”
“Yes. But he thought he was doing the right thing.”
“The right thing would have been to let me handle it.”
“Like you handled that man you punched?” She pressed a hand to her mouth to stop any further words escaping. She hadn’t been able to get the vision of Cash’s fist slamming into the fat man’s face out of her head. She’d felt the same rage, the same need to punish, but she’d controlled her response. Cash hadn’t.
He sucked in a breath like her fist had landed in his stomach. “That man was Tyrone, TJ’s father. And he’s the real reason Cyril and Elle were at the party.”
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“He wanted revenge on me. Cyril and Elle were just a means to an end. It was me he really wanted to hurt.”
