Chapter 7 – GLENNA #6
Cash lifts himself, bracketing me with his body. I can brace my weight on his chest as I reach for the next rung.
At least if I fall, I’ll knock him down, and he’ll pad my landing.
By the time I poke my head through the square cut in the middle of the platform, my good arm is shaking. Cash helps hoist me up the last few steps. I’m panting.
It’s a tight fit, but I squeeze through the opening and plop down to catch my breath, resting my back against the trunk. We’re super high in the air, fifteen feet above the crest of an incline, almost at the top of a foothill. It’s a crow’s nest.
Looking down toward the Walls’ house, we’re above the canopy, so the valley is laid out below us, the Walls’ pool reflecting the pink sunset, the glinting roofs of their place and the barn, the trailers at the bottom of their property.
Cash lifts himself through the opening like a gymnast and then lowers himself next to me, shoulder to shoulder. He’s not out of breath.
His legs are stretched. I have mine crossed.
I fiddle with the hem of my tunic. I’m nervous.
I don’t have a fear of heights, but I have butterflies, and I feel really close to the edge, even though it’s a couple feet away.
It’s getting darker. The woods below us are getting louder—crickets, owls, critters dashing through fallen leaves. A chilly breeze whips my hair loose. I shiver.
Cash puts an arm around my shoulder.
“That’s such a cliché move,” I say, but I don’t shrug it off. It’s warm.
“It’s a classic.”
“Classic. Cliché. Tomato. To-mah-to.”
“Do you like my treehouse?” he asks, changing the subject.
“It’s okay.”
“My cabin’s gonna have solar panels. A stone fireplace. Hardwood floors throughout. Radiant floor heating in the bathroom so you don’t freeze your toes takin’ a piss in the middle of the night.”
“It sounds nice.”
“The view’s why I bought it. Wait’ll you see. It’ll blow you away.”
He rests his head back against the trunk. He seems content. Unwound.
My brain is whirling. What is happening here? Cash Wall and I are hanging out in his childhood treehouse, and I think he’s trying to impress me with the cabin he’s building.
And he smells nice.
And my insides are going crazy.
I’m sober, and I want to kiss him.
Or I want him to kiss me.
“Is Granger okay down there by himself?” I ask instead.
“Oh, yeah. He’s a good boy. He’s not gonna tear off after a raccoon or anything.” There’s a pause, then Cash hollers down, “Don’t go chasing any critters, Granger, hear me, boy?”
Granger barks once. It’s noncommittal.
“Good boy.” Cash resettles himself, scooting me closer. “Am I hurting your arm?”
“No.”
“How’s it looking?”
“Pink.”
“Pink?”
“Yeah. There’s not gonna be too much of a scar.”
“Can I see?”
“No.” I cradle the arm close to my chest.
“Okay, later, then.” He’s unfazed. So confident.
How did he get that way? How does anyone?
The sun is sinking behind us. One second, the sky above town is purplish-gray, and the next, it’s strewn with stars, quiet fireworks. I wish I had my camera.
“How come you are the way you are?” I ask without thinking. It was in my head, and now it’s out. I tense.
I expect a joke.
Instead, he kisses my temple. A quick brush.
“Honestly? Probably equal parts that’s how God made me and the fact I’m Dina’s twin brother.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, Dina’s on the spectrum, right? And she’s the only girl out of us kids. So she got all the attention—which is ironic since mostly she just wanted to be left alone. Anyway, nobody much cared what I was doing.”
“And that makes you super cocky?”
“Hold up, buttercup. I’m not done with the story.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know it was a story.” He kisses me again, this time lingering a second, nosing my hairline, breathing in. My abs clench.
“Well, it is. I’ll let you know when it’s over. There’s a happy ever after, and I kiss the girl.”
Something swoops in my belly.
“Can’t finish if you don’t start,” I say when he doesn’t begin. He chuckles low, and a shiver zips down my spine.
“There’s one more piece of backstory you got to know. John and Kell, they got all the lessons from Dad about being a man and doing the right thing—all that crap. Dina and I come along, and Mom freaks. Her life is all about fixing Dina, right? And Dad’s life is trying to calm Mom’s ass down.”
“Didn’t work, did it?” I remember Mrs. Wall skulking around the bedroom whenever I visited. That’s why Dina and I played outside so much. It was kind of stifling, even though she brought snacks a lot.
“Nope. I don’t really blame ‘em. Dina didn’t talk at all for a long time. They were worried.”
“So what are you doing while all this is going on?”
“Well, that’s the story. I’m ten. We’re up the mountain, near the west peak, and I’m in my tree stand, bored.
Dad was in a stand on the next ridge over.
He probably just wanted some peace and quiet.
And there’s a rustling. Definitely not a deer.
I look down, and there’s a kid carrying a big-ass log, just strolling through. ”
“Brice Carroll.” I always wondered how they became friends. Brice’s family lives up on the mountain. He is an amazing sculptor, even back in high school. He wasn’t on the football team. He ate lunch in the art room with me and the other art kids.
Their friendship never made sense to me. Cash was king of the rednecks. It was known, though—say shit about Brice Carroll, and Cash will end you.
“Yeah. Brice. Like I said, I was bored, so I climbed down. Scared the shit out of him. We got to talking. He showed me some buck rubs I’d missed. My dad had to come looking for us. He was pissed.”
“I bet.” I can’t wrap my head around him leaving a ten-year-old in a tree stand with a gun.
“Anyway, I catch up with Brice at school, and he invites me over. And I just keep comin’ back. Thank goodness the Carrolls don’t mind me too much.”
He smiles, and the happiness is real. “You gotta understand. Brice’s dad is like fourth-generation taxidermist. There is nothing he doesn’t know about wildlife.
He had the patience for me, you know? And Brice already had this awesome workshop.
He had a table saw, reciprocating saw, coping saw, you name it. ”
“It’s a miracle you have all your fingers.”
He laughs, but I’m serious.
“Probably,” he says. “But it wasn’t just the setup—which is every kid’s dream, don’t get me wrong.
It’s that I wasn’t underfoot there, right?
The Carrolls just put me to work. I learned bow hunting from Mr. Joe.
I learned how to process a deer the right way, bone-in.
” He pauses a minute. “Nobody was missing me at home, but the Carrolls were always stoked when I dropped by.”
I’ve never had that, except with Dad. It’s the best feeling, though, walking through a door and someone’s genuinely happy to see you. It’s everything. I wish I had that more. I wish I knew how to get it.
“They taught me almost everything I know, and the big lesson was if you can do for yourself, you don’t have to give a shit about what anyone else thinks or says.”
“So you’re so arrogant ‘cause you can skin a deer?”
“I told you, it’s mostly just how God made me.” He shrugs. “You gotta take me as I am.”
I shrug in imitation. “No, I don’t.”
He grins. It’s almost full dark, but his teeth flash white. “No, you definitely do.”
He reaches over, cups my jaw, and slowly lowers his lips to mine. Right before they meet, he says, “This is where I kiss the girl. Holler now if you’re gonna.”
I don’t.
I dart out my tongue to lick my lips, and he groans deep in the back of his throat. And he kisses me. Soft but firm. Once, and that’s it.
He moves his hand to cup my neck. He’s still close. His breath is warm on my cold cheek.
He kisses me again. Longer this time. Lingering.
My insides swirl.
The planks are hard under my butt, the temperature is dropping, and Cash is close, his cologne teasing my nose, his calloused fingers lightly skimming my bare neck.
My breasts ache. My nipples peak.
He takes my upper lip in his and tugs, teeth scraping gently. I whimper. He shifts, dragging me to his chest, holding me there with an arm like an iron bar at my waist.
“Oh, God, Glenna,” he moans, taking my lower lip. I kiss him back.
He slips his tongue into my mouth, and I meet him, twining, licking. He holds me to him hard. Like he’ll never let go.
“You taste so good,” he says.
“Like Cornish game hen?” I pant between kisses, and he laughs against my mouth.
“Better.”
His hand slides under the hem of my top. His fingers are cold, and my skin is hot. He traces my spine, and I arch, not ‘cause it tickles, but because I want more. I want to be even closer.
He reaches between us, grazing his fingers up my belly. I giggle. He smiles, but he doesn’t stop kissing me.
“Quit squirming,” he says.
“I can’t help it.” He cups my breast, and I suck in a breath. His thumb strums my hardened nipple, and my lungs seize.
I’m not giggling now. We’re both panting. A wave of hunger crashes through me.
“Cash.”
“Oh, God. Say my name again, baby.”
He wants me. This. As much as I do. More.
It feels like magic. Impossible.
I reach up to run my fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck, and he reaches around to grab my hand and urge me on. I gasp as he drags down my bra cup with his other hand and squeezes, rough and starving, like I am.
How is this happening?
Are we going to have sex?
My thinking brain blares an alarm, but my body is doing what it feels, and it feels so good. Cash’s touch makes me feel amazing.
“Come on,” he pants between kisses, nipping at my lower lip. “Say my name again.”
“Cash!”
I startle backward, slamming my head into the tree trunk. It wasn’t me. It was a deep male voice, hollering below us from a few yards away.
Granger barks. He’s several yards in the other direction. Some guard dog. He snuck off while we were making out. There’s a thwack of branches as he races back to us, yipping.
“Motherfucker,” Cash mutters under his breath.