CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
CASH
It was the first open practice of the season… and the shit looked like a movie.
Not the low budget, straight to Tubi kind either.
The kind with media coverage, staged photo-ops, and too many people showing up trying to leverage a moment that didn’t belong to them.
What was supposed to be an open practice at the new field in the Far Northeast had turned into a full-blown press day, courtesy of his mother, who never missed an opportunity to hijack the spotlight.
The land had been in his family for years, just sitting there undeveloped and forgotten. So when Cash floated the idea of converting the abandoned four-and-a-half acres into a football field for the school’s soccer and Pop Warner teams, his father signed off without hesitation.
After that, the project took on a life of its own.
What started as an unkept plot of nothing in the middle of nowhere now housed a regulation football field for the high school, a smaller field for the Pop Warner kids, and a state-of-the-art rec center with basketball and volleyball courts.
Cash had even been able to add an onsite library, a small auditorium, and enough public bathrooms to handle crowds.
Now, standing on the newly developed grounds, Cash could finally see the vision the way he’d always imagined it.
This wasn’t just a field anymore. It was a campus.
And seeing it finished hit him harder than he’d expected.
Naturally, his mother turned the grand opening into a full PR flex for the school.
News vans lined the block. Radio crews pulled up.
Even a few micro-influencers streamed the event.
Everybody wanted a piece of him. But all Cash wanted to do was coach his boys.
He wasn’t with all that talking shit. Never had been.
He believed in doing the work and letting that speak for itself.
All the extra shit—the posing, the politics, the soundbites—felt performative as fuck.
So he avoided it. Instead, Cash let his younger brother Jamil step up.
Jamil was a certified yapper and loved the spotlight anyway, so when Cash tapped him to speak to the press, he damn near jumped at the opportunity.
Jamil slid in front of the cameras cool and confident, like he’d been born for it.
He broke down Cash’s vision so smoothly you would’ve thought he practiced the shit in the mirror.
Cash exhaled, a sigh of relief as he felt the pressure temporarily ease off his shoulders.
That relief lasted all of ten seconds, because right on cue, the wolves came out.
All the usual suspects lined up for their fifteen minutes, smiling wide and talking loud like they’d been in the trenches from day one.
Front and center was his snake-ass uncle—Najee’s father, Malik.
Ordinarily, Uncle Malik made a point of distancing himself from anything tied to Cash’s parents publicly.
But today? His ass was everywhere. Every time Cash looked up that nigga had a microphone in front of his face, talking.
Giving these long, polished monologues like he’d broken ground himself instead of showing up at the finish line.
Cash clenched his jaw and kept moving because Uncle Malik wasn’t the only one trying to capitalize on the moment.
Zambia and her family were in the mix too, posted up with local media, casually plugging their private business ventures like this was a networking brunch.
A few times, Zambia grabbed Cash for photo-ops, gripping his arm tight and smiling too hard for the cameras.
He hated every second of it, but he played his part.
Zambia even had the audacity to invite her sister Fatima.
Cash hadn’t seen Fatima since her engagement to Najee fell apart years ago, right before she was quietly exiled from the community.
Seeing her standing there, pretending like she hadn’t ripped his cousin’s heart straight out his chest, made something tighten low in Cash’s gut.
Najee wasn’t Cash’s favorite person by a long shot, especially now.
But family was family. And if Najee didn’t fuck with her, neither did he.
Cash had half a mind to have Fatima escorted off the property, but he decided to let her live today.
Especially since he and Zambia had come to a cease-fire. Barely.
It had been three weeks since that night at the club.
Three weeks since Zambia got too comfortable popping her shit and using Jackie’s name as a punchline.
Cash regretted not stepping in sooner. He should’ve checked the situation the moment he saw the shit going left.
But instead, he’d been in his head. About Jackie.
About that little-ass dress she wore that night.
And more than that—about Najee, and the way his cousin couldn’t keep his eyes off her.
It took everything in Cash not to treat Najee like another nigga in the street.
Luckily for him the city was watching, and crashing out wasn’t an option.
So he kept it player. Let the shit play out.
Let Zambia get her little insecure jabs off at Jackie’s expense.
And he’d felt like a lame-ass nigga ever since.
Cash could still see the look on Jackie’s face when she realized he wasn’t going to step in.
That brief pause where disappointment settled into disgust. He knew that look.
He’d seen it before—back at the club, the night Marcus tried to get physical with her.
Cash hated knowing his actions, or rather, his inaction—had put that expression on her face again.
Especially since he did end up checking Zambia privately, later that night.
Somehow Jackie’s name found its way in Zambia’s mouth again, this time in relation to Max.
“Now I see where her bad-ass son gets all his aggression from,” she said between pulls of hookah.
“He’s impulsive and quick to anger just like his hoodrat-ass mother.
” Her squad didn’t even get a chance to snicker before Cash locked eyes with Zambia, and he told her plain and simple.
“Watch your fucking mouth. And I’m not gon’ tell you again.
” He didn’t have to elaborate. Didn’t need to spell it out.
He put that shit on the floor in front of her and all her little minions, and that was the last time Jackie brown’s name came out of anybody’s mouth for the rest of the night.
Zambia stormed out the section immediately after and blew up his phone non-stop for the rest of the night.
However, Cash never responded because he was too busy trying to call Jackie to apologize.
That decision alone set off a chain of bullshit even Cash couldn’t have predicted.
By the next morning, Cash’s phone was ringing off the hook.
He didn’t even have to look, to know it was his parents calling to do damage control.
Zambia had already fed his mother her version of the events.
Which painted Jackie as the aggressor—and of course, his mother ate that shit up.
She’d even threatened to expel Max from the school if Cash didn’t attend some premarital counseling bullshit with Zambia.
So, he agreed reluctantly. He knew his mother wasn’t above using Max as a pawn in his family’s control games.
He had already let Jackie down once, and what he wasn’t going to do was allow her son to become collateral damage in whatever twisted game Zambia was trying to play.
For the first three sessions, Cash showed up and didn’t say one word.
He let Zambia run her movie. Let her play the role of the perfect fiancée.
Instead, he sat there quiet, jaw tight, slowly counting down the minutes for this shit to be over.
It wasn’t until this week, after Zambia got her fill of attention in therapy, that they agreed to return to their regularly scheduled program of keeping up appearances and staying the fuck out of each other’s way.
That peace lasted all of four days before she was on his phone begging.
This time to drive his brand-new matte black Land Rover.
Apparently, she had a few friends flying in from LA and she wanted to flex.
Of course, Cash told her no. That pissed her off and quite frankly Cash didn’t give a fuck.
Zambia had already totaled his Aston Martin driving drunk, and she hadn’t even pretended to be sorry.
Cash had cars, plenty of them—and by no means was he sentimental about most. But the Rover?
That was different. It was a custom build and the only one he designed with intention.
He didn’t want Zambia’s alcoholic ass anywhere near his shit.
So, when she brought Fatima around today, Cash knew it was done purposely to get a reaction.
Problem was, his mind wasn’t on her and hadn’t been all day.
His mind had been drifting all day, sliding back toward the one place he’d been avoiding.
The bleachers. And there she was. Jackie.
Sitting alone. Cash had clocked her the moment she arrived, not because she made an entrance, but because she didn’t.
The first thing she did was pull Max to the side just before the team met on the field.
She crouched in front of him, hands firm on his shoulders, speaking low and serious like she was giving him his own personal pep talk.
Cash hadn’t been close enough to hear every word, but he caught enough.
Follow directions, keep your helmet on, and most importantly, listen to Coach Cash.
Hearing his name in her mouth, spoken with such reverence, hit Cash in a place he couldn’t name.
It sat heavy, heavier than he expected. And before he could stop it, something sharp and unexpected pulled tight in his chest. It was almost like that club shit with Zambia never went down, and that’s what really fucked him up.
‘Cause deep down, Cash wasn’t sure he was still worthy of that from her.
For that reason alone, he forced his focus back to the field, anything to keep from looking back at her and remembering everything he was trying not to feel.
But as usual, his eyes betrayed him and drifted right back to the only place they wanted to be.
On her. She’d settled into the bleachers like she belonged there.
Knit throw folded over her lap. Kindle in one hand, thumb tapping the screen every now and then like she wasn’t fully committed to the story.
She was present without hovering. Engaged without making noise about it.
Cash caught himself adjusting Max’s drill more than necessary.
Giving him extra instruction. Extra encouragement.
Max didn’t need it, because if he were honest Max was natural when it came to the field, but because Jackie was watching.
Cash needed her to see he took his responsibility as Max’s coach seriously.
He also needed her to see that whatever had transpired between them all those weeks ago wasn’t bleeding into how he coached and cared for her son.
Every so often Jackie’s eyes lifted from the page and found the field.
Found Max. Found him. Her stare didn’t linger, but it made his heart thud in a way he couldn’t control.
Then just like that, she went right back to her story.
Cash didn’t know what he expected when they finally crossed paths again. But it wasn’t this. Because if she had been loud…if she’d even been pissed with him. Cash could’ve dealt with that.
But this version of Jackie calm, composed and unbothered.
Made it clear she’d already done the hard part.
She’d processed, adjusted, and now she was moving on accordingly.
And Cash? Cash was still standing on the field pretending he didn’t feel the shift, knowing he felt that shit everywhere, especially between his ribs.