Page 92 of Cash

“I’ve got a longshot. I’m going to throw a Hail Mary and hope.”

I finished my glass of wine and stomped to the kitchen to pour another. After realizing that we’d finished the bottle she brought with her, I opened the door to my wine fridge.

Empty.

I opened cabinet doors, looked in the refrigerator, and double checked the wine fridge.

In the last month, I’d somehow consumed every ounce of alcohol in my home.

“I’m sorry,” I said with a laugh. “It looks like I’ve been raided. Probably my neighbor.”

“Were you done with your story?” she asked.

“I guess so,” I said. “I’m too mad to talk about it anymore.”

She stood and turned to face me. “I’ve met my fair share of assholes in my life. I could tell you stories of cheating, physical abuse, and everything in between. Instead, I’m going to tell you about men who are better than that. Well, not men, but one man.”

I started to interrupt her, but she took a quick breath and continued.

“Cash is a good man. No differently than any of the rest of us, he’s made a few mistakes. According to you, he made one at the barbeque. According to Baker, he didn’t. I guess it depends on how you look at it and who you ask. He’s apologized to Reno, and Reno’s apologized to him. There’s not much to worry about.”

“That’s not really what this is all about,” I explained. “That threat of violence might one day expose itself to someone who could hurt him or kill him. Losing him is something I can’t chance. As long as he’s doing what he’s doing, that threat is all too real.”

“Believe me,” she said. “He’s nothing but a Teddy Bear unless someone does something to threaten those he loves.”

“I know. I’ve seen that side of him. That’s the man I fell in love with. The Teddy Bear.”

Her brows raised. “You’re not willing to give him another chance?”

“I’m not willing to risk losing him permanently. Because of him beating up the wrong person. You have no idea how much pain I’m in. I can’t go through this again.”

“Believe me, I know the pain you’re in. I’ve been in it myself,” she said. “He beat up two people who he felt were threatening you. Because he loves you. You don’t love him enough to forgive him for it?”

“Does he know you’re here?”

She shook her head. “He does not.”

“Why did you come?” I asked. “Why are you here?”

“Because I don’t want you to walk away from what is probably a once-in-a-lifetime chance at love. And, I need some company. When they’re out doing their biker thing, I get lonely. I could use a good friend, and I think you’re awesome.”

I sighed. “I’m sorry. I can’t. It’s just. I’m afraid I can’t handle another loss. I lost my parents and losing him would kill me. I care too much for him already. You might know about pain, but you have no idea how bad it hurts when something like that happens. The pain’s intolerable.”

“Wanna bet?” she asked.

I was confused. “Wanna bet, what?”

“My father cheated on my mother. My mother shot him. She died in prison.” She arched an eyebrow. “What else you got to talk about?”

I couldn’t believe my ears.

“You uhhm. Seriously? Your parents?”

“It’s true. She shot him, he died, and she went to prison. I went and lived with my aunt.” She gestured toward the living room. “How long you going to sleep on the couch? What? Does the bed smell like him? Can’t stand to sleep in it? Yeah, been there, done that, too.”

I stared back at her with an open mouth.

“You and I are a lot alike,” she said. “Wanna tell me stories about the kids at school that called you names because you’re biracial? Well, guess what? Me, too. My mother was Brazilian. They called me a ‘Spic, a nigger, a Puerto Rican, and some of them called me a Gook. Hell, you and I have a lot we can talk about.”

It wasn’t any one thing that she said. It was everything, combined. Cash, my money, my parents, her parents, losing Cash, loving Cash. It just became all too much. I pressed my back against the counter and lowered myself to the floor.

Within a few seconds, I was crying.

“I love him so much,” I blubbered.

She sat down at my side and put her arm around me. After crying on her shoulder for a while, the tears subsided.

“How about this?” she asked. “When they go out and do things we’re not allowed to know anything about, you can hold me, and I can hold you. Together, we’ll get through it. Just like military wives.”

I wiped my face on my forearm and then looked at her. “Are you afraid that one day Baker might not come home?”

“It gnaws at me every day,” she said. “Here are my choices: I can either be miserable, or I can be with him. There isn’t another option. He’s the one, and he’s the only. Maybe you should ask yourself the question.”

“What question?”

“What are you willing to do for love?”