Chapter 9
nine
Cash
I paced the kitchen, my trail runners squeaking against the floor as I shook a shaker bottle full of pre-workout. “Nine months to a year. I think I might die if I have to wait that long.”
“Fourteen years,” Dad said, standing over the stove, cooking bacon with a pair of tongs. He’d crossed his finish line a long time ago. “You’ve got this, son.”
“I know. I know.” I whirled and went back the way I’d come, shaking the bottle with more vigor. “Maybe this is good. We’ll have time to get to know each other again as friends. Then we’ll have a short engagement. We could get married at beach week, like Uncle Ash.”
Dad cringed. “Not sure if that was bad luck or not. Aunt Tally disappeared that night, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” My head bobbed. “Then we’ll have it here. Like you and Mom. Down by the lake.”
“I hate to put a damper on things, sweetie.” Mom stood by the island, her back to Dad, cooking scrambled eggs over the griddle. “But I’ve yet to hear you tell me one thing that makes me believe she wants a relationship at all.” Her shoulders fell, like she hated being the bearer of bad news. “She friend-zoned you.”
“Because she’s still married,” I said.
Mom’s eyebrow crooked like she wasn’t so sure.
“Babe,” Dad said on a chuckle. “Have you seen the way she looks at him?”
“Like she’s terrified?” Mom huffed. “It’s not the look you hope a woman gives your son.”
Dad waved the tongs like a conducting baton. “Yes, but also, full of fire. She likes our boy. A lot.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“And who wouldn’t like him?” he added. “I mean, look at that face.”
Mom snorted. “You mean, your face? Because he looks just like you.”
Dad nodded proudly. “Man, I did good.”
“ You did good?” Mom scoffed. “I grew him. In my womb. For nine freaking months. Without you. Thankyouverymuch. Then I had my stomach sawed open because he inherited your big old head. Woke up in the middle of the night to nurse him, changed his poopy diapers, and kept him alive through toddlerhood, primary, elementary, and middle school. Again, sans Ford Dupree.”
Dad shrugged and it was a good thing Mom couldn’t see. “And whose fault is that? You knew my number.”
Mom glared at me like she wanted to rip something in half.
I held my hands up arrested style. “We share the same face. Not the same mouth.”
She turned and popped Dad in the butt with her spatula. It bounced back like a boomerang, whacking her in the stomach. Dad didn’t even flinch. Just kept scooting the bacon around like he hadn’t felt it at all. Which must’ve annoyed her because she did it again. It bounced off even faster, no reaction.
“Stop flexing!” Mom huffed.
“Don’t hate on my buns of steel,” Dad said deadpan. He tossed a piece of bacon into his mouth from the cooling plate.
Mom shook her head, giving up. “Sweet mercy, I married a peacock,” she grumbled as she loaded buttered toast up with scrambled eggs. “Who would’ve thought I’d fall for someone more conceited than myself?”
I flashed them a grin. “I’m grateful for the face. And the singing voice. And the guitar skills. Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, son. It’s the least I could do, since you missed out on my epic-ness for the first thirteen years.”
“Are you serious right now?” Mom said, eyes dangerous. “How about thanks for the morals, Mom. And?—”
“One night stand,” Dad coughed. “Met in a bar,” he coughed again.
Yes, those were my humble beginnings.
Mom shrieked, whirled around, and gave Dad an atomic wedgie that he couldn’t ignore.
“Woman!”
While he worked it loose, I doubled over. My abs ached from laughing so hard.
Mom pointed her spatula at me like a weapon. “Just remember where you got that nose.”
I stood up and blew out my breath. “Never fear, Momzie. Many a girl has envied this nose.” I wonder what Charlie thinks of my nose. Shook that thought loose and bowed down to Mom. “I will always be in your debt.”
“Smart boy.” Mom grinned.
I picked up the next bottle and started shaking as I paced again. “This will be good. We can be friends and once the divorce is final, we’ll hit that relationship full throttle.”
Mom stole the plate of bacon from Dad so she could start layering the breakfast sandwiches. “I think you'd better face the fact that she comes with some hefty emotional baggage.”
“Just like the rest of us,” Dad said. “Peyt, you can’t protect your kids from everything hard in life. He wants to love her and she needs love.”
“Who loves him, Ford?”
Dad turned, hugged Mom from behind—wedgie under the bridge—and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “She will. Just give her some time.”
Mom relaxed against him. “You don’t know that. What happens if she doesn’t? We watch his heart break? Again?”
I winced at her words. It had been hard for Mom to see me struggle after Hawaii. But…“She’s my miracle.”
“Cash, you don’t know that,” Mom said.
“He might,” Dad said, helping Mom wrap the sandwiches. “It can’t be a coincidence that she came home when she did.”
Mom folded a corner of the foil. “Should we be worried that all is quiet on the Millie front?”
I reached back and pulled my foot up, stretching my right quad. “Quiet? She’s spewing all her hate directly at me. Woke up to another two hundred and thirty-seven new messages. Down from yesterday’s four hundred and seventy-one. All of them about how she had to return the ring to Opal and Ivy, they didn’t sign her, and if she never becomes an influencer, it’s all my fault.”
“Nothing about losing you?” Mom asked.
“Nope.”
“Cash,” Mom said, voice flat. “Block her.”
“Nah,” Dad said. “You don’t wanna do that. It’ll just make her even angrier.”
“Not sure that’s possible,” I said.
Dad’s expression turned severe. “Oh, it is. And you better mentally prepare. Because you and Charlie are trending on social media, according to Ronny Don. ‘America’s new sweethearts.’”
Our conversation died when we heard Charlie’s bedroom door shut.
I hadn’t realized how nervous I was, wondering if she was up there or if she’d disappeared in the night. When she stumbled into the room, I relaxed. In a pair of rumpled, pale blue and white striped pajamas, hair a tangled, matted mess, sleep lines creasing her face, she made my stomach swoop like no other woman I’d ever met.
My eyes skittered to Dad when I felt him watching me, watching her. A smile ghosted over his lips but I could see his concern.
Charlie let out an adorable yawn. “Good morning?” Her nose twitched. “What smells so good?” She did a double take, rubbing at one eye. “Why are you all dressed like you’re about to run a marathon?”
“Good morning!” Mom said cheerfully. “It’s the start of Dupree Family Spartan Race season.”
I grabbed one of the shaker bottles. “Got your pre-workout ready to go.”
Charlie squinted, like her brain had just blue-screened. Then she burst out laughing. “Ha. Ha. Good one.” When we didn’t laugh, one dark brow crept up. “I don’t do running.”
“Sure you do,” Dad said. “I’ve seen you outrun Cash plenty of times.”
I smirked. “As long as I made you mad enough.” She glowered and it only made my smirk bloom to a full-blown grin.
She pointed at my mouth. “Put that thing away. It’s way too early for…” Her finger made a tight circle. “That.”
I grinned even wider, which made her blush.
Dad gave Mom a look. Told you , he mouthed.
Charlie pretended like her cheeks weren’t so red they could stop traffic, walked past me, and plopped into a stool at the island. “You guys have fun. I’m going to sit this one out.” She snagged a leftover piece of bacon.
Mom gestured as she said, “Up, up, up. It’s not optional.” Then, out of nowhere, she produced a grocery bag and began pulling items out one by one. “I got you shorts, a couple of tanks. Two sports bras,” she whispered like Dad and I couldn’t hear. “Compression socks and running shoes. So, no excuses, missy.”
Charlie stared at her like she was waiting for the punchline. “What do you mean, it’s not optional?”
Dad grabbed a water bottle off the counter. “She means every Dupree over the age of ten is doing the race.”
She pursed her lips and folded her arms. “Oh, really. Even Theo?” She scoffed. “He wouldn’t be caught dead doing anything athletic.” Her lips twisted. “It’s my favorite thing about him.”
“He got second place in his age group last fall,” I said. “Right behind me.”
Her mouth parted. “Theo?”
“Yes,” Mom said dryly. “This is what happens when you don’t talk to your family for a year, honey. People change and evolve.” Oof. There went those cheeks again. Mom shooed Charlie with her hands. “Go change. We’ll meet you in the car in five.”
“Seriously, Aunt Peyton.” Charlie released a terrified laugh. “Nobody wants to see me running that race. I’ll embarrass all of you.”
“I mean, I want to see it.” I laughed.
She groaned. “I told you to put that away.”
I dragged my bottom lip between my teeth and smiled wider.
She covered her eyes so she couldn’t see me.
“What part of ‘it’s not optional’ do you not understand?” Dad asked playfully. “Chip chop.” He clapped.
“Fine,” she said smugly. “If you tell me Granny and Gramps are doing the race, I’ll do it.”
Dad pressed his hands into the granite countertop, and leaned forward, eyes piercing. “Granny and Gramps are doing the race.”
She blanched. “Are you serious? That can’t be safe. They’re… old . I hope you have a defibrillator on site.”
“I’m going to tell Gramps you said that.” Dad chuckled. “They’re not that old.” Both of his brows raised in a paternal, don’t-sass-me-again warning. “Move it.”
“Wait. Where are we training?” she asked. I perked up at her use of the word we . She was going to do it. Dad had been confident we could sway her. But Charlie was one of the strongest-willed people I knew. At least she used to be.
Dad pulled his arm across his chest, stretching. “We built a course at Dupree Ranch.”
Mom gave her a look that said just another thing you’d know about if you hadn’t been MIA .
Charlie eyed us all. “How long of a race are we talking? The Sprint, Super, or Beast?” She’d stood at the finish line many times, cheering us on.
“Sprint,” I said. “Unless you want to do the Super. It’s on Sunday.”
“Sprint,” she said quickly. “We’ll stick with that.” She pointed at each of us. “Just know, you brought this on yourselves.”
Mom and Dad headed for the car, but I waited for Charlie at the bottom of the stairs. When she came out of her room and saw me there, she said nothing, only gave me a sad smile. No doubt, I was suffering from separation anxiety. I restrained myself from sleeping on her floor last night. But I’d tossed and turned until three a.m., worrying she might not be here when I woke up.
As she came down the stairs, it was impossible not to notice how thin her legs were. Mom bought her the tiniest running shorts known to man. Good thing Dad and I put creatine and protein powder in her drink to help her pack on some pounds.
She stopped on the second step from the bottom, leveling out our heights. “Cash.” She placed a hand against my cheek. “I’m not leaving, okay?”
“Maybe. But I’m still waiting at the bottom of the stairs.”
Dad honked from the garage.
Charlie groaned, rubbing her face. “This is going to be humiliating.”
I shrugged. “Probably.”
She smacked me in the shoulder. “Wow. Thanks for the support.”
“Hey, I’m just managing expectations.”