Chapter Sixteen #2
Cassie’s chest tightened, pulse ticking up. What the fuck had she done? What was she still doing—
“…my money, my rules…Don’t threaten me with lawyers you can’t fuckin’ afford…Let me talk to Junie…Fine. Fuck you, too.”
Cassie shot to her feet. Definitely time to go.
Slipping into the hall, she hurried up the stairs, into Nash’s bedroom—already yanking off his shirt. She found her boots by the door, and her dress tangled in the sheets. Margie’s jacket was under the bed. Her phone, though, was missing.
Panic flared; she tore at the bedding, pawing through sheets, rifling corners that didn’t even exist. Where the fuck was it?
“Cas?” Nash called from the doorway. “Cassie—”
“Don’t.” Her voice was tight, barely contained.
“What the fuck is goin’ on?”
“I need my phone.” She dropped to the floor, arm reaching under the frame. “Where is it?”
“Cas, stop.” He crouched beside her, catching her arm. “Talk to me.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She yanked free, scrambled up, ripped at the sheets again. “I just need my fucking phone.”
Nash rose with a hard sigh. “Phone’s in the living room. Coffee table.”
She froze mid-motion, fists still twisted in fabric. Dropping everything, she shoved past him into the hall, his steps following close behind.
“Cassie—what the hell’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing. I just need to go.”
“Go? You were ready to fuck a minute ago.”
She cringed, even as heat flashed beneath her skin, stupid and immediate.
“Yeah, well, now I’m thinkin’ straight.” She snatched her phone off the table and turned—only to find Nash blocking the exit.
“This about Addy? You hear me on the phone and suddenly you’re runnin’?”
“No.” Her grip tightened around the phone. “I just need to go.”
“Bullshit,” he spat. “You don’t flip like that unless somethin’ sets you off.”
“Or maybe,” she bit out, “I don’t typically stick around to listen to my one-night stand argue with his wife.”
Nash’s jaw ticked. “Ex-wife,” he ground out. “Sure as hell sounds like you’re pissed about Addy.”
“No. Jesus—I’m not pissed about anything. I just need to—”
“You sure you ain’t pissed? ’Cause you keep workin’ that finger—”
And just like that, she was ten times angrier. Partly from the intimacy of the observation, sure, but mostly because he could still read her faster than she could shut herself down.
She forced her hand still. “Stop it!” she shouted. “Stop acting like you know me—because you don’t. You don’t know a single goddamn thing about me.”
“That so?” Nash shot back. “You wanna pretend you’re some brand-new, world-travelin’ little thing now? But here you are—back on my dick like nothin’ ever changed.”
“Oh, fuck you!” Cassie shrieked, shoving past him—
He grabbed her arm and yanked her back so hard she stumbled into him.
“No, Cas—fuck you! Don’t try to sell me some ‘you don’t know me now’ bullshit!
You’re still smash-first, think-later. Still runnin’ that goddamn mouth.
Still refusin’ to ask for help. Still pretendin’ you’re fine when you ain’t.
Still goin’ cold the second somethin’ gets too goddamn real.
Same as you used to. Same as fuckin’ always. ”
His grip tightened, her leather jacket creaking as he leaned in, mouth brushing the edge of her ear. “There’s nothin’ about you I don’t know,” he said darkly. “Not then. Not now.
“Fact is, I bet you’re wet right now—just from me grabbin’ you.” His mouth twisted into a sneer—
Cassie’s fist shot up and cracked against his jaw, the jolt snapping straight up her arm. Nash’s head whipped to the side, shoulders bunching, a snarl tearing out of him as he staggered half a step.
“You don’t fucking know me,” she spat. “You just remember the stupid little girl who thought you were everything because she didn’t know any different.
“Thankfully, that’s not the case anymore.”
Nash went still—eyes gone flat and black—and Cassie, knowing a loaded gun when she saw one, turned and ran.
Then—CRACK.
The sound of his fist going through a wall chased her, followed by a roar that hit her spine like a slap:
“See you in another twelve fuckin’ years!”
Cassie stopped so fast her breath caught. Turning, she raced back to the living room, skidding in the doorway.
Nash whipped toward her, chest heaving, blood slick over his knuckles. The wall beside him had a fist-shaped hole in it, plaster scattered across the floor.
“Eleven!” she shouted, her voice shaking with adrenaline. “It’s been eleven years, you fucking idiot—not twelve.”
A flicker of confusion crossed his face—gone as fast as it appeared, swallowed by rage.
“This again? Jesus Christ, Cas—your brain broke? You left twelve goddamn years ago and never looked back. Christmas—you didn’t show. Spring break? Nothin’. Summer? You stayed fuckin’ gone—”
“You’re right,” she cut in. “Because I had to work! My scholarship barely covered anything.”
“Con was sendin’ you money. So was I—”
“And summer?” she shot back, her voice climbing over his. “I told you about the internship. I told you I couldn’t miss it. You knew!”
“Still doesn’t change jack shit!” he thundered on. “You never came home. You never called after Christmas. You changed your goddamn phone number—”
“It was supposed to be a fucking surprise!”
Her scream sliced through the room, stopping him cold.
“For Christmas,” she went on—still loud, still shaking. “Only Connor knew. I took two buses—the second one broke down. Thought I’d never make it, but I did. Connor picked me up, I dropped him back at the house, then drove straight to yours. You weren’t there, so I went to the club.”
The words came fast and breathless, tumbling out before she could stop them.
“The commons was empty, but I heard noise coming from the pool room.”
It all came rushing back at once:
Christmas lights flickering. Hank Jr. growling from the jukebox. Laughter—low and intimate.
The pool room door half-open.
Nash shirtless, jeans hanging low on his hips.
Addison perched on the pool table, dress shoved up around her waist, legs wrapped tight around him.
Her eyes found Cassie in the doorway—
and then, smiling like she’d won something, she pulled Nash down for a kiss.
Cassie dragged in a breath. When she spoke again, her voice cracked. “And there…you were.”
Nash’s mouth opened, but nothing came out. The fury bled off his face fast, leaving him looking like she’d just ripped the rug out from under him.
“When did it start?” Cassie asked, clearing her throat, though her voice still shook.
“Because I think I knew…I knew something was wrong when you wouldn’t come to New York for spring break.
Or for my birthday. But I never”—she swallowed hard, before spitting out the rest—“I never thought it was…her.”
She’d come back.
Three stupid words knocking the breath clean out of him.
“Spring,” Nash rasped, gravel-rough. “Started that first spring you didn’t come home.”
He could barely stand to look at her, but he didn’t look away either. Couldn’t. Not when she stood in the entryway stubborn as mountain stone, even with cracks running clean through her.
Cassie stared at him. “Why?”
Nash dragged a hand through his beard.
“I was pissed,” he muttered. “Drinkin’ too much. And she was…there.”
Addison hadn’t wasted a second after Cassie left for New York. She’d slid right in—dropping off meals, hanging around the garage, passing him tools, planting herself at the clubhouse and pressing drinks into his hand. Doing the same shit Cassie used to—just poisoning the well while she was at it.
She’s in New York now, Nash.
Think she’s comin’ back to this two-bit town?
Pretty girl like her? Bet she’s already got them city boys linin’ up.
Why the hell would she want Clifton when she’s got Manhattan?
It hadn’t been subtle, and he hadn’t been blind.
He’d just…let it happen.
Because the truth—the one he’d never said aloud—was that things had started rolling downhill long before Addison.
Hell, it had started back when Cassie was in Morgantown.
She was growing; he was standing still. Even then, he’d felt her building a life bigger than these mountains, and he’d pretended it didn’t scare the shit out of him.
But New York…
New York was fucking different.
Most folks never made it out of these hills. Not the way Cassie had—handpicked, given chances people around here didn’t even dare to dream about. Conservatories, orchestras, brilliant composers, whole ass crowds of people who lived in a world Nash couldn’t imagine himself standing in.
Not with his grease-stained hands.
Not with a future that didn’t stretch past the county line.
So when her calls started slowing…
When holidays passed without her…
He grabbed for the first thing in arm’s reach, anything to prove he wasn’t the one left behind and built himself another story—that she’d abandoned him.
Because somehow that hurt less than the truth—that Cassie had always been meant for more than Clifton. And she sure as shit had been meant for more than him.
Christ. He hadn’t even realized how tight he’d been clinging to that bullshit…until she ripped it right out of his hands.
“I didn’t know,” he said quietly. “Didn’t know you’d come home.”
But even as the words left him, he knew they didn’t matter.
She’d come back to him.
But he’d already been gone.