It was all a lie.

Wasn’t it?

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE - Cash

I take the familiar turns that lead to the prison. I’m at my wits’ end. The only thing I can do, short of showing up at Olivia’s and doing some serious groveling, is to go talk to Dad. It became apparent to me a couple days ago that I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. I’m hoping he’ll have some good advice, some good suggestions. I need all the help I can get. And there’s only one person, other than Olivia, on the entire planet who knows what’s going on.

I committed the visiting hours schedule to memory years ago. I’ve come to visit Dad both as Cash and as Nash. I never tried to hide my family’s past from the upper crust of Atlanta society. I just tried to be involved in it in a completely different way as Nash.

As Nash, I was always approaching it from a legal standpoint, like it was my duty to try and help my father by learning and doing what I could. Legally.

As Cash, I never really did anything. I took the only thing he left me—Dual—something that was bought with questionable money from questionable people, and I turned it into a successful, respectable establishment. Something a kid without a high school diploma could run. Something people would expect a person like me to be involved with. I played Cash to the bone.

But somewhere along the way, I became something else. Something different. Some kind of hybrid. I’m not satisfied being the loser Cash anymore. At least not only the loser Cash. I like being respectable and respected. I like being looked at like I’m worth something and like my opinion matters. I like other people knowing I’m smart without me having to try and convince them. And then fail. I like being the winner that my brother was.

Only I’m not my brother. I’m a winner all on my own. Yes, his death gave me another chance at life, but I accomplished all these things on my own.

And I’m the only person who will ever know. Except my father.

And Olivia.

The guards buzz me through the gate and I check in, filling in the blanks and signing my name, identifying the name and number of the prisoner I’m here to see. After I finish, they lead me to the familiar room with one long table cut in half by a wall of glass. It’s divided periodically by partitions that create tiny cubicles. They’re designed to give the illusion of privacy. But in here, there’s no privacy. I have no doubt that everything I say into the nondescript black telephone is taped and stored somewhere. Luckily, my father is innocent. And anything else we talk about, we can do vaguely enough so that no one else would suspect what we’re discussing.

Like today, when the guards usher him in and he greets me.

He smiles. “So who’s visiting me today? Cash or Nash? I can’t tell by the clothes.”

I look down at my hastily assembled outfit. I guess, for me at least, it is pretty middle-of-the-road. Black jeans and a striped rugby shirt. It’s something that either Cash or Nash might wear. That or neither of them would wear it. I’m not sure which. I can’t even remember buying the shirt.

“Does it matter?” I ask dryly.

He smiles again. His eyes search my face, like they do every time I come to visit. Like he’s looking for signs of change and age. Or distress. When his smile fades, I know that today he’s found some.

He sits up a little straighter, his eyes becoming sharp. Aware. Vigilant. “What’s wrong? What’s happened?”

“I met a girl.”

A frown flickers across his face—the face that most people say looks so much like an older version of my own—but then it smoothes and his lips curve into a very pleased grin. “Well, it’s about time. I’ll be damned.” He sits back and slaps his hand on the table. He’s genuinely happy for me. Well, at least until I tell him the rest. That might change his tune.

“I told her, Dad,” I say, deadpan.

He looks a little confused for a second before he realizes what all is encompassed in that blanket statement. “How long have you known this girl?”

I start shaking my head. I know where he’s going. Always suspicious. “Dad, it doesn’t matter. I needed to tell her. I care about her. And I trust her. Besides, I thought maybe she could help.”

“Bringing her into all this, that doesn’t sound like you care for her at all.”

“I had it worked out to keep her safe. I wouldn’t put her in danger.”

“You put her in danger. You’re my son. You’re in this whether you like it or not. And I’m sorry for that. Sorrier than you’ll ever know, but what’s done is done. For the rest of my life, you’ll have to be careful of who you let in. Maybe one day…when I’m gone…”

“I’m not waiting around, Dad. I’m not gonna let you die in here and I’m not gonna put my life on hold because of some mistakes that were made years ago. We’ve been punished enough. It’s time for us to get on with life. I think I’ve found a way to—”

“Get yourself killed. That’s what you’ve done. Stop messing in stuff you’ve got no business messing in, Cash. I gave you those…items as insurance. Nothing more.”

“Well, I’m sorry, Dad, but I’m tired of letting other people ruin my life. I can’t live this way. You’re all I’ve got left. I can’t just stand by and do nothing.”

“Son, we’ve talked about this. I appreciate what you’re trying to do, but it’s just not the smartest—”

“Dad, can’t you just trust me? For once, can’t you just trust that I’m capable of taking care of things, of making good decisions? Of executing a well thought-out plan?”

His expression softens. “It’s not that I don’t trust you. It’s that you’re all I’ve got left, too. And I’ve brought so much misery to your life. I want you to go and live a happy, normal life. A life like you would’ve had if I’d died in that fire, too.”

“Dad, I could never be happy letting you languish in here.”

He grins. “Languish?”

I smile. “Law school improved my vocabulary.”

He starts to say something then changes his mind.

“What?” I ask.

“I was just gonna say that I was proud of you before you went to law school. Ever since you were young, you were always happy just being you. You were gonna do what you wanted to do, the rest of the world be damned. I was always proud of that tough streak. I’ve always admired that kind of confidence and self-assurance.”

I feel emotion squeeze around my throat like a fist. I guess you never get too old to crave your father’s approval. Or at least I haven’t yet.

“Cash, please don’t let that tough streak make your decisions for you. There’s a time to give up, to let things go. If you care about this girl, go find her and make her happy. Keep her safe. Give her a life away from all this. Start fresh. If you love her even half as much as I loved your mother, you’ll have a good life. And that’s all I want for you.”

“Whoa. I didn’t say I loved her.”

Dad smiles at me. “You didn’t have to.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN - Olivia

Friday morning I make myself get a shower. I find it more than a little disgusting and pathetic that I haven’t taken one all week.

But today, I’m done being pathetic. I’ve wallowed long enough. I’ve got to do something. So I’m going home for the weekend. I’ll call Tad on the way and see if I can pick up at least one shift. After that, I’ll figure out what to do for the rest of…well, ever when I get back.

Just the thought of having to come back and deal with Cash and then Marissa and school and…life is so overwhelming. I push it out of my head in favor of a weekend spent in the familiar. In the comforting. In the safe.

Safe. I never thought I’d have such a literal application for that word in my life.

I pack a bag of essentials and head out, locking up behind myself. With Marissa gone and Cash/Nash being out of the picture, I feel completely disconnected to the city. To my life. To my home. It doesn’t feel like home right now. It feels like a prison of lies and heartache. The only place that feels like home is the one I’m traveling toward.

I call Dad and Ginger on the way. Ginger is kind enough to offer me one of her shifts, which I gladly accept. It’ll be tonight’s shift, which is probably a good thing. I can stay busy right off the bat. Tomorrow, I’ll go out and look for more lambs, even though there’s no real reason. But it’ll be good to get outside, to do something that doesn’t require me to think. Or hurt. Or want.

“Hey, punk,” Dad says by way of greeting when I walk in. I have the sudden and inexplicable urge to go throw my arms around his neck and cry on his shoulder like I did when I was a kid. Rather than doing that, however, and scaring the crap out of him, I set my bag down and go kiss him on the cheek and ask how he’s been.

I spend the day watching a CSI rerun marathon on television and chatting about this and that. It doesn’t completely get Cash off my brain, but it helps. I knew it would.

I shower and dress for my shift, happily slipping into the emotional comfort of the black shorts and tee as much as I slip into the physical comfort of them. I get Dad settled before I go and then I drive myself to Tad’s.

Everyone is awesome. Of course. Glad to have me back. I feel tears threaten more than once when regulars ask me to come back, assuring me that they’ll never be as good to me at my new job as they are at Tad’s. In a way, I believe them. But in a way, I also know that’s not true. Cash is at my new job.

Cash.

Ginger shows up, not to work, but to provide much-needed support from the other side of the bar. She sips her drink and waits patiently for things to slow down before she asks any questions.

“So, let me guess. ‘Bad boy’ turned out to be ‘worst boy’?”

I laugh. Yes, it’s a little bitter. “Um, I guess you could say that.”

“I was afraid of that.”

I stop stocking beer bottles into the cooler and stare at her, mouth agape. “You were? Well you could’ve said something, you know.”

“I took one look at him and knew he was trouble. He’s not just hot. He’s smart. That’s not a good combination for your heart, Liv. At least the others have been pretty useless and stupid. But this one? Yeah, I knew if he got his hooks into you there’d be trouble.”

I’d like to slap her. Hard. “Thanks for the head’s up, Ginger,” I say, trying to sound teasing, but knowing my anger is showing.

“Would you have listened to me if I’d tried? No. You never do. You knew you should’ve stayed away from him. But you didn’t. Do you really think I could’ve said anything that would’ve changed your mind?”

I don’t want to admit it, but she’s probably right. Cash had me breathless from day one. So did Nash. Because they were the same guy, only in different clothes and with different jobs. I think, deep down, my body knew. I responded to each of them the same way, sexually. They both set me on fire. And that’s not too likely to happen with two such supposedly different personalities. Why didn’t I see it? How could I be so blind?

I’m emptying the last of the bottles from the box, arranging them neatly in the cooler, when I see someone slide onto the stool beside Ginger. I look up and stop, my arm halfway into the cooler.

It’s Cash.

He doesn’t smile. He doesn’t say anything. He just looks at me. I wonder if that’s his heart I see in this eyes. Or if it’s just my imagination. Either way, I don’t trust it. I don’t trust him.

I say nothing. I finish what I’m doing, take the box into the back then come back out and pour him a Jack neat. I slide him the glass, he slides me a twenty and I pay for the drink and stick the change in the tip jar. I throw a smug look at him, daring him to make a comment. But he’s smart. He doesn’t say a word, just nods and tosses back his whiskey.

I don’t need to ask what he’s doing here. I only listened to one of his dozen or so messages, and it was him asking to talk to me. I saved the rest. I figured I’d listen to them eventually. Just not yet.

A guy that is widely known to adore Ginger sits on her other side and starts chatting her up, leaving me to tend to the few other customers at the bar. And Cash.

I keep myself busy with odd jobs, but it doesn’t really help. Every nerve, every cell, every sense of my entire being is focused sharply on Cash.

Cash.

By the time the night is over, I’m on edge. He still hasn’t said a word. Neither have I. But the tension is palpable. And it’s killing me.

When Tad gives last call, Cash looks at me long and hard then slides off his stool and walks out. I feel aggravated and bereft and sad and frustrated and hurt. But mostly I feel like chasing him. Like asking him to stay.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

I won’t.

As we are required to do, the bartenders stay as Tad counts the till. But my mind is wandering. To Cash. Always to Cash.

Taking my phone out of my pocket, I check for messages. There are no new ones, which both puzzles and disappoints me, so I randomly select one of the saved messages from him and listen to it. When his voice comes on, there is a quick, sharp stab of pain in my chest.

“Look, Olivia, I care about you. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it? I might not have always done the right thing, but try to see it from my perspective. Do you know how hard it was for me to tell you all this? Knowing that you might leave and never come back? I was just hoping that you wouldn’t do that. Leave. But you did. And I know I should let you go. But I can’t. I just can’t.”