Page 84 of Unruly

Cash bringing up kids so casually hurts. It shows me he wants that one day, and I can’t give it to him. It also scares the shit outta me, wondering how he’s going to react when I tell him that. So I’ve been deflecting—reading the texts, giving the occasional short answer.

Speaking of the devil, my phone vibrates, and I know it’s him.

Cash:

I’m thinking about that date I owe you. Can you be free tonight? I know Aria and Matt are back.

Instead of saying no, I just turn the screen off, ignore it, and make my way over to the grocery store. I didn’t realize how badly I was out of groceries until this morning when I ended up drinking black coffee instead of my normal hazelnut cream-filled coffee.

A toddler wails near the produce, red-faced and dramatic over a denied candy bar, and I watch as the mother tries to soothe the child. When that doesn’t work, she resorts to bartering. My stomach aches.

Just give the damn kid the candy bar, I think. My heart breaks into pieces watching the mother calm the toddler down and the smile on the child’s face when the cashier gives them a sticker.

I ignore the sting in my eyes, feet rooted in place. I pull out my phone to act like I’m texting instead of crying over a toddler.

More texts from Cash have rolled in.

Cash:

I know you want to see me, Darlin’

Cash:

I can sweeten the deal.

Cash:

Forgot about me already?

I don’t want to answer him, because saying yes I want to see him means I have to face the fact that we murdered my husband, and I’m not ready for that. Because if I go over there, there’s not a doubt in my mind that Cash Thornwood will steal my heart.

And I would break him.

How can I sit across from him, lie in bed with him, knowing that it will end? I swallow hard against the lump in my throat. No. I can’t keep doing this to myself. I can’t keep scripting someone else’s rejection before they’ve even had the chance to choose. I’ve spent too many nights after the divorce doing exactly that—imagining futures where I’m always the footnote, the woman who came with too much baggage and not enough pieces to make a family.

I shove the phone into my pocket and try to force my feet to move. Turning, I almost slam into someone else.

“Oh my gosh.”

“I’m sorry.”

The apologies tumble out in unison. Then she laughs, that warm, familiar sound cutting through the store’s hum.

“Halle—”

Tierney, Cash’s mom, is there with her shopping cart half full. Her red hair, just like Cash’s, is pulled into a ponytail.

Her words undo the dam I’ve built, and a tear slips down my cheek. Tierney takes one look at my face and wraps me in a hug. “Hey, baby, it’s okay. What’s going on?”

I hug her back, gathering myself up before releasing her and wiping the tears away. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Thornwood. How are you?”

“Well, I hate to sound rude, but it looks like I’m better than you are,” she says with a smirk.

I chuckle. “You could say that. Just … trying to take it all one day at a time lately. This is my first day off since Aria and Matt got home.”

“Is that why Cash has been moping around the ranch like a sad puppy?” she asks before giving me a pointed look.

I know that look—the mom look. The one that sees right through the armor.