********

To be as exhausted as I am, I’m having a terrible time getting to sleep.  All I can think of are the things I didn’t say.  The things I didn’t do or enjoy because of fear, because I don’t trust myself. It was never about Cash and not trusting him because he’s a bad boy.  Yes, he is a bad boy. In some ways.  But that’s not the problem.  Being a bad boy doesn’t make him a bad person or a bad companion.  But I couldn’t see that past my own bias. I didn’t trust my judgment.  After having made so many wrong decisions and let my feelings blind me, I finally found someone worth loving and I froze.

And it couldn’t have happened at a worse time.

Now I’m stuck with all the unsaid things, all the regret for having been afraid. For not having acted.  Or spoken.  Or jumped.

If, by some miracle of God, I get another chance before all this is said and done, I won’t be such a coward next time.

CHAPTER TWENTY

Cash

I’m too jacked up on adrenaline to sleep.  The closer dawn gets, the more anxious I get about how all this will go down.

I look at the clock.  With no windows, I can’t see the sun coming up, but I know it is. And it makes me think of Olivia, hopefully sleeping peacefully at her mother’s house.  Alone.

The thought of Gavin possibly curled up next to her makes me ill as hell.  With a growl, I throw my arm over my eyes and try to clear my mind.

But it doesn’t work.  I can’t stop thinking about her.

Maybe if I call and let it ring just once…

She isn’t exactly a light sleeper.  One ring shouldn’t wake her if she’s sleeping. But if she’s awake…

I hit the key for the number of her disposable cell and the phone automatically dials hers.

It rings once and I pause.  Just before I hit the button to hang up, Olivia’s hushed voice comes on the line.

“Hi,” she says simply.  I smile.  I can almost see the shy look on her face as she says it.  And in that one word, I can hear the she’s pleased I called.  Now, I want to drive to her mother’s house, sneak in the window and have slow, quiet sex with her against the wall.

“You’re awake.”

“Yeah.  Can’t sleep.  You either?”

“Nah.  My head won’t shut up.”

“I know the feeling.”

There’s a long silence, during which I’m sure she’s wondering what it is that I want.  Before I can speak, though, she does.

“I’m glad you called actually.  There’s something I want to tell you. It’s something I should’ve said earlier, but I didn’t.  I should’ve. And now I regret that I didn’t.  When we were face to face.  But I’m an idiot, so...”

I smile into the dark.  I’d be willing to bet a thousand bucks that she’s fidgeting with her hair.  She does that when she gets nervous.  And it’s very obvious now, by the speed of her rushed words, that she’s nervous.

“What did you want to say?”  I’m pretty sure I already know.  I know how she feels about me. When she’s not fighting it and not getting lost in the piles and piles of past shit that clog up her thoughts sometimes.  And I would hope that, after everything that’s happened, she knows how I feel.  But she’s a damn woman.  I think they like having things spelled out for them.  Unlike men, they need the words, the definitiveness of them.  Men don’t.  But I wouldn’t mind hearing her say them anyway.

I hear her deep breath and I imagine her squeezing her eyes shut like she’s jumping off a bridge or something.  Taking the leap.  And, to Olivia, it probably feels like pretty much the same thing.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she blurts.

“Please don’t say anything!” she hurries to say before I can speak.  “I don’t want you to feel obligated to say anything in return. I just didn’t want to let you go into this without knowing how I feel, that I’m really trying to leave the past in the past and not let it get inside my head and screw things up between us.”

“I don’t feel obligated to say anything.”

“Oh,” she says, deadpan.  “Well, good.  Because I wouldn’t want you to do that.”

“I won’t.  If I tell you ‘I love you’ it’s because I mean it, not because it’s an expected response.”

“Okay,” she says quietly then, “Oh crap! Mom’s up. I’ve gotta go.  Please be careful today!”

“I will.”

“See you soon?”

“As soon as I know you’re safe.”

“Please let that be soon.”

I laugh. “I’ll do my best to make them bend to my will.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.  You’re pretty good at that.”

“How do you know?”

“You’ve worked your charm on me more than once.”

“Baby, I haven’t even begun to charm you yet.  Just wait until you get back.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” she murmurs, the smile evident in her tone.

“Damn straight. You’ll hold whatever I tell you to, right?”

“Whatever you say, Colonel,” she teases, referring to our banter when she thought I was Nash.

“Now that’s what I like to hear.”

“Maybe I’ll even salute you when you come for me.”

“I’ll have the salute all taken care of. I’m sure there will be parts of me at perfect attention when I come for you.”

“You’re so bad.”

“But only in the good way.”

“Right,” she says softly. “Only in the good way.”

“Try to get some rest.  I’ll call when I get back.”

“Okay. Talk to you then.”

There’s a pause.  Neither of us wants to say the words. So we don’t.  She simply hangs up.  And I follow suit.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Olivia

If ever there was a small hope I’d get some sleep, it’s gone now.

Holy crap balls!  I just told Cash I love him!

Well, sorta.  Was what I said a cop-out?  Was that the chicken shit’s version?  Probably.  But at least he got the point before he goes off to make war with some mobsters.  And that’s what I wanted most—for him to know.  My execution just sucked ass.

But that’s not even the most emotional firework-ish part.  That would be what he said to me afterward.

“If I tell you ‘I love you’ it’s because I mean it, not because it’s an expected response.”

Did he tell me he loves me? Or did he tell me that if he loved me, he’d mean it?  Or was he just giving me some background on his I love you M.O.?

What the hell?

The more I think about it, the more I go over each word, the more confusing it becomes.

On autopilot, I dress quickly and run a brush through my hair before I hit the door and head down stairs.  The house is quiet, so I’m careful not to make much noise.  Mom is an early riser. A very early riser.  She likes her morning time to be peaceful and my being here at all is one strike against me. I don’t need to do anything more to poke the bear.