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“Tyrone had forgotten all about me until he saw me there.”
“And he could have looked you up online and walked into your shop any day.” Linda quirked one corner of her mouth up. “Do you think he’ll try something else?”
“I don’t know. I hope it was more of a prank than a true wish to injure anyone.”
“Well, Elle and Cyril will be smarter next time. And let’s hope that he’s lost his taste for payback.” She grinned, baring her teeth in savage satisfaction. “Elle says you made his nose bleed.”
“I’m sorry she saw that.” He kissed the top of her head in apology.
“I’m not.” Elle’s tone echoed her mother’s grim glee. “Once Cyril told me everything, I wished you’d punched him harder.”
Shocked into laughter by her bloodthirstiness, he wrapped her tighter in his arms.
And for the first time in more than a week, he drew a full, deep, cleansing breath.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Staggered by the complete reversal Elle and Linda’s visit had wrought, Cash diffidently suggested they stay for dinner. When they agreed, his appetite returned with a roar, and no scrap remained of either of the two large pizzas he ordered by the time the two women left later that evening.
Conversation had been tentative at first. The detente between him and Linda was fragile, but for the first time he sensed she was willing to try and get along. She even accepted his goodbye kiss on the cheek with a slight twinkle and no cynical comment.
With a full belly and the memory of Elle’s shining eyes to lull him to sleep, he zoned out for twelve hours. When he woke up late Sunday morning, his first thought was of Penta.
Was there the possibility, no matter how slight, that he might be able to fix things with her too? If Elle and Linda could forgive him, could she?
Or had he already been granted more absolution than he deserved?
He decided to start off small, with a text to Cyril. He fussed with the wording for far too long before finally growling and sending the simplest message he could.
I’m sorry about what happened with Tyrone. Call me?
The dancing dots flickered. It was okay if the boy didn’t want to talk. He’d take a text. At least it would be a start.
The dots flickered and vanished, flickered and vanished. He was startled when the phone rang. Cyril’s name appeared on the screen.
He answered, palms sweaty, chest aching, breath short. Thank god he’d started with the boy. If he’d contacted Penta, he might have had a real heart attack. “Hey.”
“You made my mom cry.” The youthful voice held a mature sharpness.
Fuck. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for a lot of things, aren’t you?”
“You have no idea.”
“I never thought you’d hurt her. I thought you liked her.”
Cash suddenly recalled his promise to Felix the night Penta had gone home with him for the first time. I promise not to hurt your mother. At the time, he’d thought Felix was worried in the physical sense. It had never dawned on him he might have the power to hurt her emotionally.
“I do. I like her a lot.” Cash rubbed the bridge of his nose where a headache was brewing. Here went nothing. “Actually...I think I love her.”
Silence.
More silence.
Then—
“Does she know?”
