Chapter 34
thirty-four
Charlie
A unt Peyton knelt in the dirt next to me and Maggie. “I’ve got her,” she said, pulling Maggie into her arms.
Someone hooked their hands under my armpits and pulled me to my feet. Cash.
“We need to go,” he whispered, tipping his head toward the trail.
I looked at the wreckage all around me—from Bowen, to Griffin, to Maggie, then at my family’s heartbroken faces. “But?—”
“We need to win this race.” He tugged, trying to get me to move. But how could I leave when this was happening?
Uncle Ford caught my eye and flicked his head, a stern order to go.
So I went, one foot in front of the other, saying nothing, my mind on the devastation behind me. Cash was silent too but he kept checking over his shoulder, like we were outrunning the devil himself.
There was no more laughter or light-heartedness. Every obstacle was done with stealth precision, getting it finished as fast as possible. He didn’t wait for me to try and climb the Bender on my own—a metal ladder with a series of wide rungs that bends you backwards, making it harder and harder to climb. He just tossed me up as high as he could and then took a running leap himself, scaling the rungs like a monkey.
It was the same for the Helix, rolling mud and dunk wall, the Hercules Hoist, and the A-frame cargo.
When we came up the hill to the final stretch before the fire jump that was the finish line, the non-racing members of our family, consisting of Mom, Cate, Liam, and all the littles too young to compete, stood behind the waist-high wall cheering us on.
“Yes! That’s my girl!” Mom yelled.
Liam stood next to her clapping, wearing a frown.
Cash chuckled. “Liam, annoyed that yet again, his contract kept him from having fun with the fam.”
I pushed her bottom lip out and gave him a sad smile. His frown only deepened.
“You guys won!” Mom cheered as we got closer.
I smiled for her. “Thanks, Mom!”
“Yay Cash!” Addie yelled, a kid’s race medal bouncing against her chest. “Will you take me to Dairy Queen on the way home, now that you’re rich?”
“Me too!” Bronco bellowed.
Cash reached over the wall and scruffed them both on the head. “You bet.”
“Yes!” They pumped their fists.
Liam, still grim-faced, offered us a fist bump. “I could’ve smoked all y’all.”
Normally, Cash would’ve made some sarcastic comment, but I could tell he still felt the heaviness of what we’d left back on the trail. “It would’ve been fun to race with you.” He cuffed Liam on the shoulder. “We’ll do all the races when you retire from football.”
“Yeah,” Liam grumbled.
“We gotta grab our medals and T-shirts and hose off real quick,” Cash said. “We’ll meet you by the exit in five.”
We jogged toward the fire jump. Just before we got there, he took my hand and nodded at the camera guy in front of us, waiting to capture the moment. “Let’s make it a good picture?” We sped up, flinging ourselves over the wall of fire, our joined hands thrown up in victory.
Finally, we walked. My feet and calves ached. I couldn’t wait to take off my shoes. But first, we stopped in front of the Spartan Race backdrop and, arms around each other, smiled for the camera. We grabbed our medals, finisher tees, and the free hydration drink they were handing out. Then we headed for the sea of hoses set up in the grass.
Mud still glued my hair to my scalp even after Cash helped rinse me off. It would take a real shower and half a bottle of shampoo to get these locks clean. I helped him, too, though it was ineffective and we mostly ended up laughing.
As planned, Liam waited for us by the exit—smiling now, chatting up a woman still wearing her finisher's medal. He handed her his phone and she started typing her number in.
“He’s going to run out of storage on his phone, always collecting numbers,” Cash muttered with a shake of his head.
“Like father, like son,” I said with a laugh. Apparently, Uncle Holden had been a ladies’ man before he met Aunt Christy.
As we approached, the woman gave back his phone. He tossed her a cool goodbye nod, and she walked away... only to glance over her shoulder and check him out like he was dessert.
“Good grief,” I said. “Ever get tired of being shamelessly objectified?”
Liam grinned. “Not even a little.”
Just then, Maggie hurried by alone, not even seeing us. Her medal hung around her neck, but she was wiping her nose with her race tee, tears canceling out any victory she’d earned. “Way to ruin everything,” she hissed at herself.
“Maggie, hey,” I said in a calming tone.
She glanced over, eyes pain-filled. “Well. That’s that,” she said, voice quavering. “It was nice knowing you guys. Have a nice life, I guess.” Her face twisted up, trying not to let any more tears fall.
“Oh, no. Hey, don’t say that.” I took a step toward her, arms open.
But she waved me off and fled the scene, crying even harder.
Cash breathed out a cuss word.
“What the—” Liam started, so confused.
But then Bowen charged past, using his shirt to blot his bleeding lip. His right eye was a mess—already swollen and angry. He checked the blood and hissed a string of swear words interspersed with ‘stupid girls,’ ‘freaking lunatic,’ ‘can’t help it if I’m hotter.’ Then he hauled off and kicked an empty water bottle someone had littered on the ground. It pinged through the air, almost taking out a grandma and grandpa exiting the race. But he didn’t even notice. Just thundered away in the opposite direction from Maggie.
“Great,” Cash said. “I get to drive him home. That’s gonna be a fun trip.”
Gramps hurried out, eyes searching and full of concern. We pointed to where Bowen was marching toward Cash’s car. He followed after him.
Griffin came pacing by next, fists clenched, dried blood under his nose. His eyes redder than his hair, the tear tracks on his cheeks said that he hadn’t bothered with the rolling mud or the dunk wall. Come to think of it, it looked like Bowen and Maggie had skipped it as well. Aunt Lemon and Uncle Silas were right behind Griff, probably to make sure he didn’t go after Bowen again.
“Is Sophie okay?” Cash called.
“Yeah,” Silas said gruffly as they rushed past. “She’s riding back with Maddie.”
“Love you guys!” I called.
They waved as they hurried away.
Liam blanched. “What happened?”
“Maggie and Bowen kissed,” I said plainly. “And Griffin witnessed the whole thing.”
“And then World War Dupree broke out,” Cash said.
“Holy…” Liam’s hands shoved into his hair.
This race had gone sideways in every possible direction—some awesome, some awful.
Cash put an arm around my shoulder. “Sorry,” he said to Liam. “I need to talk to Charlie for a minute.” His tone was tight and foreboding.
Liam turned and stalked back toward Aunt Tally and the kids.
Cash led me away, across the field. My stomach wrenched, my mind jumping straight to the worst-case scenario.We didn’t stop until we were in the shade of an oak tree. Then he rubbed his jaw, eyes glued to the ground. “I need to tell you something and you’re not going to like it. But I’m not taking it back so…”
I stared at him, mind spinning. He was breaking up with me. I’d finally pushed him over the edge. Panic fisted around my throat. I told myself to chill but I braced for it, preparing my heart for the worst. Ready with a list of reasons why he should give me another chance.
His eyes lifted to mine and his face hardened. “I paid off your debt.”
I blinked, not expecting that at all.
“Well, half of it because it’s all the money I had,” he said. “The rest?—”
“What? No!” He spent the entire advance for his album on my debt? The thought was sickening.
“Yes. And I don’t care if you like it,” he growled. “You’re not going to spend the next decade trying to pay back something that was Lorne’s fault.” Then he shrugged, completely unapologetic. “Now you can move on. No more walking around with that weight on your shoulders.”
“Cash, no!” I cried. “You were going to use that money to build a house. I can’t take it.”
“It’s done. And the rest will be paid off when Netflix gives us the money for this documentary we just shot.”
That’s what the cameras were for? Hurt and anger ripped through me, as irrational as it may have been. “So you paid off my debt when I asked you not to and just had me film a documentary the whole world is going to see, without my permission?” My voice had gone up an entire octave.
“Woman.” He shook my shoulders. “How about, thank you, Cash, for freeing me from the mountain of debt that’s been stressing me out of my mind for the last year.”
I jammed my pointer finger into his sternum. “Go unpay it.”
He squared his shoulders and crossed his arms as if facing down a fierce opponent. “No.”
“Yes,” I seethed, poking him again.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“ Yes .”
His brows flicked, hard and determined. “ No .” His lips pressed together. “You have a serious case of Do-It-Myself-Itis and it ends here. ”
“Cash Dupree,” I breathed. “You’ve been a thorn in my side since the day I met you?—”
“A hot thorn whose kisses make you moan,” he murmured with a smirk.
I shrieked again, adding a foot stomp. “Go unpay it!”
He had the nerve to boop me on the nose. “No.”
“That’s it! I can’t with you!” I must’ve momentarily lost my mind because I grabbed his left nipple—which was hard to grip with a rock-hard pec beneath it, by the way—and pinched.
He tried not to react but a muscle jumped under his cheekbone, giving me at least a little satisfaction. But then a corner of his mouth curved up, sharp and fast, before he got it under control. He was laughing at me!
So I reached over and gave the other nipple a hard twist.
Quicker than a hiccup, he cuffed my wrists and spun me around, caging my back against his chest. His hulk-sized biceps locked my arms down like steel bands. Mouth pressed to my ear, he whispered, low and gravelly, “I love you. I know you struggle to understand what that means, so I’m going to tell you.” I tried to pull away, but my body betrayed me—racing pulse, trembling breath, skin lit up like a live wire. “Loving you means I’m not going to let you slave away for the next decade—punishing yourself—when you could be moving on with your life. Loving you means that if you hurt, I hurt. If you struggle, I struggle. It means you have me for life and that life can finally begin.” His nose pressed into the space right behind my ear, sending a ripple of goosebumps down my right side. “So just say thank you and we’ll put this behind us.”
I melted into him momentarily and his grip loosened.
Which gave me just enough wiggle room to lift my elbow forward and… ram it into his stomach. He groaned and released me. I whirled to find him bent over.
Well, good.
“If I wanted your help, I would’ve asked for it,” my voice trembled.
“You’re too stubborn to ask for anything.” He straightened, half-wincing, as he rubbed his abs. “Just be grateful I’m more stubborn. Somebody needs to save you from yourself.”
My jaw jutted. “Wow.”
My family was coming out of the race, sweaty and mud-covered. Jane patted the top of her head and a puff of dust rose into the air. They hurried away to their van.
I looked back at Cash. “Have fun making out with yourself on tour. Because I won’t be coming along.” I gave him a finger wave and strode away to catch up with my family.
He followed like a shadow. “Be serious. You can’t go two months without kissing me. My ‘thunder-crack kisses breathed’ you ‘back to life,’ remember?”
I halted, eyes blazing. He did not just throw my lyrics in my face. Again. I took a deep breath and forced myself to stay calm, pasting on a mask of indifference. “See you in October.” I shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m still around. Now that I have no debt, I might travel the world some more.”
Fear flashed in his eyes momentarily. But Cash was better at this cat and mouse game than me, and he always had been. “Nah. You’re tired of traveling and you’d miss me too much. See you tomorrow on the bus, Chuck. I’ll be saving you a seat. Because we both know you’ll be there.” His smolder made my bones sizzle. “You need me. Just like I need you. You know, since ‘the first time’ I ‘touched you, the ache quieted down.’ I’m ‘your soulmate. And that truth never died out.’”
I forced another cleansing breath. “They’re just lyrics. I’ve got thousands more.” I tapped my temple. “Like, ‘he can’t pass a mirror without giving a nod. Thinks he’s America’s answer to a six-pack god.’” Oh, that was good. I’d write it down as soon as I got to the car.
He snorted. “What’s a six-pack god?”
In response, I gave him another little wave, turned, and skipped away.
“Ten thirty a.m. Be there or be square!” he called.
“I love a good square,” I sang.
My family was about to pull out. I tapped on the glass and Jane opened the sliding door.
“Got room for one more?” I asked.
Dad smiled over his shoulder. “Lucky for you, it’s an eight-seater.”
“Why aren’t you riding with Cash?” Jane asked as I crawled over her.
“Reasons,” I said in a chipper voice.
I snuggled in next to Cate’s car seat. She looked up at me and smiled. I let her curl her tiny fingers around my pinky.
As we rode out of that parking lot, finally out from under the spell Cash always wove around me, it hit me for the first time: I was free. That debt had been a monster with its claws in my chest, breathing down my neck every hour of every day. And now it was just…gone. Maybe not in the way I’d wanted, but gone nonetheless.
Because of Cash.
My head turned, trying to find him in the sea of cars. He was right. I couldn’t be away from him for two months. I didn’t want to be away from him for two days.
I was going to let him squirm a little though, maybe show up as the bus was rolling out of Ford’s driveway. But I’d be next to him on tour, every step of the way. You better believe, with a boyfriend so beautiful it drove people to petty crimes like braid-pulling, I was going to protect what was mine.
And maybe over the next two months, when we weren’t kissing, napping in each other’s arms, or writing more songs, I could figure out how to earn back some of that money. Because I loved Cash so ridiculously much—and I wanted to build that home overlooking the lake, sit on our back porch during thunderstorms, and listen to the rain hit the tin roof. Make a little love in every single room. Or a lot.
I giggled at the thought.
Cate cooed, and I pressed a kiss to her little hand.
I stared down at my sister, mesmerized, thinking of Cash and everything that marrying him might mean. Letting myself hope big—bigger than I’d hoped in a long time—that maybe, finally, I could have everything I ever wanted.