Chapter 10
“Goodnight, Georgie,” I call.
“You know, hiring you is the smartest thing that crusty old son of a bitch has ever done,” George the Navy man says. “You’re a hell of a lot easier on the eyes than him and that old battle ax Gloria who’s been here about a hundred years.”
“Hey,” Cash calls from behind the bar. “I’m plenty easy on the eyes, you salty old drunk. And I’m going to tell Gloria you said that.”
“No need to tell Gloria nothin’. She’s a hell of a lot meaner than you,” George calls back.
“That’s what I thought,” Cash says and grins.
I laugh. “Get home safe, Georgie.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, gorgeous,” he says and tips me a wink.
Once he leaves, I pull the door closed and lock it up, turn off the neon “Open” sign, and close all the shutters. That done, I lean my back against the door and let out a long, satisfied but exhausted breath.
“And we are done for the night,” I say.
Lacuna Coil begins to play, bringing a smile to my face. “Hey, I have that on my playlist.”
“That’s because this is your playlist,” Cash says. “I connected your phone to the Bluetooth. You have some pretty good music.”
“Yes, I do.”
“You know, it’s been busier since you started working here. I probably should have hired you a long time ago. The guys like to see a pretty face. Some of the gals do too, I’d imagine.”
“Gloria—”
“Is not a pretty face,” Cash cuts me off. “But she does know how to handle a bunch of rowdy veterans.”
I laugh. “Gloria is lovely.”
“She is. But the guys are afraid of her—and for good reason.”
“You saying they aren’t afraid of me?”
“Not a bit.”
“That’s because they don’t know you’ve been training me how to fight.”
“That’s true too.”
I laugh and clear a few tables, setting the glasses and plates into the plastic tub on my hip. The guys who frequent the place are harmless. They’re nice guys, but they’re definitely perverts who seem to get hornier the more they drink, but they’re harmless. For the most part, I think they just like flirting with a younger girl. And I have to say, they tip pretty well. I’ve been making a pile of cash, so they can flirt with me all they want.
“How’d you do tonight?” Cash asks.
“Not sure yet. But I think it was a good night,” I reply as I pat the pocket on my apron.
“That’s good. You work hard and deserve it. If any of them ever try to stiff you, you just let me know and I’ll set them straight.”
“They’re good people. I don’t think they’d stiff me.”
“Probably not. But just in case they do, let me know. Or if they get too handsy with you. Or if they just say something you don’t like.”
“What are you going to do? Are you going to come riding to my rescue every time somebody looks at me funny?” I ask with a laugh.
“Well… yeah.”
“That’s sweet,” I say. “But part of the reason you’re teaching me to fight is so I can fight my own battles. Right?”
“I’d prefer you didn’t have to fight at all,” he replies. “But it never hurts to have some backup just in case you do.”
We share a laugh, and I continue making my way around the bar, picking up glasses and wiping down tables as Lacuna Coil gives way to the Birthday Massacre. I sing along and dance with the music as I work. When I glance back, I see Cash looking at one of the photos in the collage that hangs on the wall behind it.
Most of the pictures are of service guys in various places around the world during their tours. The photo Cash is looking at, though, is of him and Zane standing just outside the front door of the DMZ. He’s wearing a frown, and his face is clouded over with emotion as he gazes at it. It breaks my heart to see.
I walk over to the bar and set my tub down on it. Cash turns and looks at me, that lost expression on his face quickly melting away as he offers me a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He grabs a rag and wipes the bar down between us, doing his best to appear casual and unaffected. His eyes tell me a far different story than the expression on his face.
“What’s up?” he asks.
Reaching across the bar, I put my hand on top of his, stopping him from pretending to clean it. Taking his hand in mine, I raise it and kiss his knuckles softly.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“What? I’m fine.”
“I know you’re not.”
“You think you know me that well, do you?”
“There’s a lot I want and need to learn still, but I already know you well enough to know when something is bothering you and you’re being too stubborn to open up about it. Even big, tough, macho guys like you need to talk about your feelings sometimes.”
“I’ve gotten this far in life without it.”
“Yeah? And how’s that working out for you right about now?”
He shrugs. “I’m not the touchy-feely, talk-about-your-feelings type. I never have been.”
“Maybe you should be. Maybe, if you let all that stuff you keep bottled up inside out, you wouldn’t be so angsty and angry all the time.”
“I’m not angsty. Or angry.”
I roll my eyes and laugh softly. “Yeah. You really are. You do a good job of hiding it most of the time, but I can see through it. I see what’s really going on inside of you.”
“You do, huh?”
“I do.”
“And what is going on inside of me, oh, wise one?”
“Right now, it’s Zane,” I tell him. “You’re all caught up in your feelings about that whole situation, and you just haven’t figured out what to do about it yet.”
A wry expression twists his face. “If you know what’s going on inside of me already, then why do I need to bother talking about it?”
“Because it’s healthy to get it out. In your own words.”
“Talking about your feelings is overrated.”
I look at him with an eyebrow raised and a cheeky curl on my lips. “Color me surprised.”
“Surprised?” he asks.
“I didn’t think you were afraid of anything.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Talking about your feelings, sharing and letting yourself be vulnerable… it terrifies you.”
He scoffs, his nervous laugh betraying him. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Don’t I?” I reply. “Look at you. Just thinking about talking about your feelings has you crawling out of your skin.”
He pours himself a short glass of beer and swallows it down then refills the glass with a little more this time. He’s antsy and fidgety. Basically, he’s proving me right, and given the fact that he can’t seem to meet my eyes, he seems to know it. He drains his glass again and sets it in my tub, finally meeting my gaze with a soft smile.
“It’s just not how I was raised,” he says. “We didn’t talk about feelings when I was growing up. It was seen as a sign of weakness. We learned to simply stuff it down and bear it. That was kind of reinforced in the Army.”
“I hate that for you because it’s so unhealthy.”
He shrugs. “Let’s not forget the fact that I also come from a generation where that was the norm. We weren’t as enlightened about emotions and mental health as your generation.”
It’s the first time either of us has ever acknowledged the elephant in every room we’re ever in—the age difference between us. He’s almost twenty years older than me, but honestly, we get along so well and have so much in common, it’s not something we’ve ever really stopped to consider before. But I suppose he’s right in that our generations do tend to view mental health and emotional awareness differently. It’s not something I think is a deal breaker for us. Not by any stretch. At least, I hope it isn’t.
“Well, it’s a good thing you have me to teach you how to practice a little self-care,” I offer.
“I guess it is,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he smiles. “The truth is, I don’t talk about things because I’ve never trusted anybody enough to listen. Nor have I ever wanted to burden anyone with my crap.”
“Yeah, well, you’ve got me now. And talking to you is hardly a burden.”
“Yeah, I suppose I do have you,” he replies, looking at me with an expression of genuine affection. “And I wake up every morning wondering how this happened, but I’m entirely grateful for it.”
“So am I. More than you know,” I tell him. “But this thing that’s gripping you, this heaviness in your brain and your heart, it’s never going to go away until you confront the issue. It’s not a lot different from when you were in the Army.”
“How so?”
“In the Army, when there was an enemy, you attacked them head-on, right?”
Cash laughs. “It was a bit more complicated than that, but I take your point.”
“Good. Because I think you need to attack this situation the way you’d attack an enemy—directly and head-on. If you do that, one of two things will happen.”
“Which are?”
“You and Zane will either be able to get past this and continue building your relationship together or you won’t,” I tell him. “Either way, the situation will be resolved, and you won’t keep torturing yourself by existing in limbo like you are right now. You won’t be surrounded by uncertainty and asking all the what-ifs. Certainty and finality, even if the answer isn’t one we like, will always provide us with the clarity and closure we need to progress in life.”
Cash looks away, a thoughtful expression on his face. He’s quiet for a couple of minutes and really seems to be considering my words. And when he turns back to me, there’s a firm set to his jaw and a glimmer of resolve in his eyes. He’s come to a decision within himself.
“So, you’re going to talk to Zane?”
He nods. “I’m going to talk to Zane. For better or worse, I’m going to talk to him,” he tells me. “Like you said, it’s probably better to know one way or the other than to keep existing in this fucking state of limbo.”
“Good for you. I’m proud of you,” I say. “And no matter what happens, we’re going to get through this, Cash. Together.”
“Together,” he says with a gentle smile. Cash falls silent again, but after a moment, he takes my hand and gives it a squeeze. “So, I take it when you go back to school, you’re going for a degree in psychology?”
I laugh softly. “I’ve always thought I’d make a good counselor.”
“I can see that. I think you’d make an excellent counselor.”
“Thanks.”
Part of what made it so easy to leave Georgia without a firm plan was because I had no real idea what I wanted to do with my life. But for the first time, I think I know the direction I want to take. I think I finally know what I want to be when I grow up.
And it makes me ecstatic.