Chapter 12
Cash
Who is this?
Staring down at my phone, I send the text with a grin, knowing full well who it is. I finish filling the two glasses with ice, then check for her reply:
Very funny.
My phone rings.
I’m both surprised and impressed by the bold move of her calling me, and answer, “Hello?”
“I don’t think Ryatt is your real last name.”
“It’s not.”
“What?” The shock in her voice resounds through the connection. “It’s not? Do people know this? Is it public knowledge?”
“It’s not a secret, but it’s not something I advertise either.”
There’s a pause, but then she asks, “What’s your last name?”
“You don’t do any research, do you?”
“I do plenty for characters or restaurant reviews. Research on people I know is something I avoid if I can. I’d rather know the real them.”
“Sounds like you’re catching on to the manipulation of the media.”
“If I didn’t prior, I do after the other night. Today is the first time I feel like I can breathe a little.” The sound of her breathing rushes forward as if she’s sat down. “There was only one encounter. I consider that a win.”
“What happened?”
“A photographer jumped out of the bushes when I was walking on the sidewalk earlier. Scared the crap out of me.”
“Their behavior is out of hand. He would have been on the ground had he done it to me.”
“Well . . .” Soft laughter echoes across the line. I like her voice, but I love hearing her laughter. “I did throw my iced coffee at him, but that was pure reflex.”
I fill the glasses with chilled tea and pull a cup from the cabinet. “Tell me you didn’t help clean him up.”
“My manners got the best of me.”
A disappointed sigh releases from my chest. “They’ll never learn if you’re kind to them.”
There’s only a brief silence before she says, “I don’t want to turn into some harder version of myself. I get why it happens, but I’d rather be kind than miserable.”
“See, it’s not a stretch for me, so I guess that’s one of the many ways we differ, babe.”
A huff hits my ears, and she says, “I’m starting to think you’re not as bad as the rumors make you out to be.”
“Guess you’ll never know.”
That gets her laughing. “I don’t know. Maybe this is blossoming into a beautiful friendship.”
The suggestion of being friends with her isn’t as bad as I thought when we first met. I say, “Warren.”
“Warren?”
“That’s my real last name.”
I don’t know why I imagine her with a big grin on her face—victorious or sincere—but I guess I’ll never know. “That’s a good name.”
“Thanks.”
“Do I get the story behind Ryatt?”
“One day. Over drinks, maybe.”
“That sounds more like a date, Mr. Ryatt. Are you asking me out?”
There are times in your life when you are surefire set on an idea because it feels right. This feels right.
Then reality sets in.
I rub the back of my neck, glancing up at my mom and son out on the terrace finger painting together. “I spoke out of—”
“I’m just kidding,” she says, not sounding like she was joking at all.
Fuck.
“The team. Your brothers—”
“So many reasons would make dating a bad idea.” It’s not hard to catch the strain of disappointment in her tone.
I feel the same, but my son’s legacy is important to me. “I’m sorry,” I add as if that will change the downward turn this conversation has taken.
“No. No need to be. I should go, though.”
I fill the cup with apple juice and sigh. “Yeah, me too.” Sucks it had to end this way. “Take care, okay?”
“You, too. Bye.” She hangs up so fast that I don’t get to say goodbye on my end.
Women are so fucking complicated. I leave my phone on the counter and take the drinks outside. “Who’s thirsty?”
“Me,” Cullen says, raising his painted hand.
His blue eyes match mine, his hair straddling between Terpidy’s brown and my darker blond.
It just started changing this year. It was all me until he was four.
Not an ounce of this kid could be denied as mine.
I would never, but thinking back, Terpidy got what she wanted until I lost my contract.
Suddenly, pieces popped up online, suggesting that some model out of Brazil was the father. Since his eyes and hair were the opposite of mine, she struggled to sell that story to the press once they got photos of our son.
We didn’t have a downfall. We had a reckoning with reality.
We have nothing to do with each other except co-parenting. Now, he and my mom are the only family I have and need.
I set the cup down in front of him and place my mom’s glass on her side of the table before sitting beside my son. “Drink up, buddy.” I point at his paper. “I really like this bird.”
“It’s a bear.”
“Oh wow. Yeah, I can for sure see that. Ferocious. Are those the ears?”
He giggles. “That’s his teeth, Daddy.”
“Ah.” I face-palm and laugh with him. I’m not the best at this stuff since I didn’t have a father figure around to show me how to be a dad, but my mom always encouraged me, even if I was shit at something.
She made me believe that failure was success in practice.
I can only hope to parent as well as she did. . . still does.
“How about we wash our hands, Cullen?” my mom suggests.
He’s already getting up before she finishes asking the question. He walks inside, and she gets up to follow him but stops just inside the door. “If you ever want a night off, Cullen can stay at my apartment. I’m happy to host a sleepover.”
“If that is something he wants to do, we can arrange that, but you don’t need to take him for me.”
“I know you don’t get a lot of time off, and when you do, you have Cullen—”
“I want to spend time with him. I don’t get much as it is with being on the road all the time during the race season.”
“I know. You’re a great father, Cash. You’re also a good man and a great catch. I just want you to know that if you don’t want to be alone, you don’t have to be.”
“What brought this on?”
“Just haven’t seen you smile like that in a long time. I thought it might have something to do with that phone call you were on.”
Cullen yells, “Grandma,” from the bathroom.
She looks in that direction and back at me. “I better get that kid washed up before he makes a mess.”
Eyeing the paint that missed the paper and ended up on my outdoor table, I say, “Bigger mess?”
She laughs. “Yes, bigger mess than he already has.”
When she disappears inside, I’m left alone with my thoughts and the same smile I wore while talking to Marina before things turned at the end.
I go back inside and grab my phone. Returning to the terrace, I look out over the city as the day starts fading.
The weather couldn’t be better, but I noticed my mood improved considerably when I spoke to her.
She put herself out there and called. The least I can do is text.
You know . . . if we ever find ourselves in the same place again, we could have dinner together? And so there’s no confusion, this is me asking you out on a date.
Not leaving me to suffer, she texts:
If we found ourselves in the same place at the same time, it only makes sense to eat together. Who are we to say no if the opportunity presents itself?
“There’s that smile again,” my mom says, returning to sit at the table.
Cullen races outside and into my arms. With his arms wrapped around my neck, and mine around his torso, we hug. He says, “Bear hug. Roar.”
I dip my face into his shoulder and close my eyes. “I love you, buddy.”
“Love you, Daddy.” He pushes off me and runs to where his cars are set up on a rug closer to the door.
Catching my mom watching me, she gives me a smile in return. “Is she worth mentioning? Or something passing by.”
“I’m not sure.” I am sure of one thing, though—my mom is right. This smile feels different from what I’m used to. Cullen has me grinning in pride, love, and happiness just from being around him.
Marina . . . this smile feels different. It has hope entwined. And now I sound like a fucking poet. I should kick my own ass for even having that thought.
That doesn’t stop me from texting her back:
It’s a date.
Marina:
Same place. Same time. You’re on.
I managed to open communication back up by being honest. Should we be dating? Fuck no. Did I consider the repercussions before asking her out? Yes, I did. In detail? Nope. I led with my gut.
With my son playing with race cars and my mom soaking in the evening sun, I realize I’ve never played it safe. And my gut has never led me wrong.
Tuesday . . .
“Is this what we do now? Call each other each night like they did in When Harry Met Sally?” Marina asks the next night. East Coast late since she’s on the west coast of Canada eating a salad and watching The Bachelor finale with her friend.
“I never saw it.”
“You never saw it?” Her question is riddled with sheer astonishment that I’d have the audacity not to see every movie ever made just in case we decide to talk about it one night.
With Cullen already asleep, I lie in bed clicking through the channels before I decide to turn off the TV and listen to the sounds of the city and her instead. “It’s from the eighties, right?”
“Barely.” She huffs. “What am I going to do with you, Cash?”
“Shortcut to the plot so we’re on the same page.”
“They were old friends who call each other each night before bed to talk about their day.”
Even on the ninth floor, sirens can be heard. It makes it difficult to sleep when on the road due to the silence. “I suppose it’s one way to pass the time.”
“That’s all our conversations mean to you? Come on, Warren. Work with me here.” I like the way she’s taken up calling me by my last name. I won’t tell her that, but it’s not bad hearing it from her. She says it like it matters to her, like I do. Dumb, I know, but it feels personal with her.
“What do you want me to say? I like that you can’t stop calling me, like I’m now on speed dial as your late-night, run-through-the-day friend?”
“Yes.” She laughs right before the sound of a large crunch.
I crack up. “I’m good with that.” Getting up, I carry the phone into the kitchen. I’m not usually a snacker, but hearing her eating has made me hungry. “I just meant that I like our calls, Marina.”
“No babe or sweetheart tonight, huh?”