Chapter Twenty #2
It was so domestic. So ordinary. So utterly nothing. And yet, for one strange second, Cassie could see how easy a life like this could become. Waking up together. Showering together. Standing in a kitchen while breakfast cooked between them.
A ridiculous thought, she told herself.
Still, she didn’t shove it away fast enough.
“Since when do you cook?” she asked, leaning against the doorway.
Nash glanced up briefly before returning to the cutting board.
“Single dad,” he said. “It’s either cook or ride to the Rooster.”
Single dad. Right.
The elephant in the room they’d eventually have to deal with—if this turned into anything more than sleepovers and borrowed clothes and…oh my god, shut the actual fuck up, Cassandra Berry.
Cassie crossed the room, plucked a slice of red pepper from the board, and popped it into her mouth. “What about those greasy-ass butter bombs from the Quick Stop off Route 15?”
Nash barked out a laugh. “Christ. That shithole closed ’bout six years back.”
“Seriously? Oh man, I loved those things. I’d eat like six at a time.”
“And when you were hungover,” Nash added, scraping the vegetables into a cast-iron skillet, “six fuckin’ dozen.”
“Yeah, but in my defense, drinking that much of your daddy’s shine would’ve killed most people. I just wanted biscuits. Lots of ’em.”
“That ain’t all you wanted,” Nash drawled. Oil snapped in the pan, the smell of garlic and peppers unfurling through the kitchen.
Cassie rolled her eyes. Nash’s dick had gotten more than enough credit for one day.
“Speaking of Mav,” she said dryly, “that smells familiar. What’d he call it—mountain man hash?”
“Only thing he could cook. Now it’s the only thing I can cook. And probably the only thing Junie’ll cook. Girl thinks seasoning means salt.”
She pressed her lips together. There it was again—the kid-shaped fact still wedged between them. She exhaled slowly.
“Listen.” Her gaze slipped to the skillet. “I didn’t know about…Junie. Connor never told me. So when I saw her at the clubhouse…” She exhaled softly. “I’m sorry for how I handled that.”
“Doesn’t surprise me,” Nash muttered. “Him keepin’ that from you. He didn’t talk much about you either. Not with me around.”
She cocked her head. “Did you ever ask?”
“I said things. He’d toss some bullshit back.”
“Maybe he figured you’d short-circuit if someone said violin,” she said at last, trying for teasing and failing.
Nash’s eyes cut to hers. “Guess he figured you’d do the same if someone said ‘kid’.”
Neither of them spoke; off to the side the skillet hissed.
“He wasn’t wrong,” Cassie said finally. “When he told me you and Addy were getting married…” She shook her head. That had been the last time she’d let herself fall apart over what could’ve been.
“I think that’s why we started drifting,” she went on. “He knew I didn’t want to hear anything about…you. And you—the club—that was his whole world.” Her hands lifted, then fell. “Eventually, our worlds were so far apart there wasn’t much left to say.”
“And that’s on me,” she added, quieter now. “I let my…issues…get in the way.”
Nash went still.
He set the spatula aside and moved down the counter. Leaning over it, he tugged gently at her hair—enough to tip her chin, enough to make her meet his eyes.
“Cas,” he said quietly. “That ain’t just on you. ’Fore Con wrecked, he was good. Better than good. Seein’ this waitress up near Buckeye. Pullin’ shifts at the garage, goin’ on runs. Maybe y’all grew apart, but shit happens. The man never had a bad word to say.
“To him,” Nash went on, “you walked on goddamn water.”
“I thought he was keepin’ quiet around you,” she whispered, her throat gone tight.
“Don’t mean I wasn’t listenin’ to what he told everyone else.”
“Hear anything good?” she asked, a slight smile in her tone.
Nash huffed. “All I ever heard was Cassie doin’ this. Cassie goin’ there. Cassie winnin’ somethin’ else.”
“What?” Her eyes lifted to his. “You wanted it to be bad?”
“Sometimes,” he admitted, thumb brushing over her lower lip.
The honesty caught her off guard—and fuck if it didn’t shoot straight to her core. Catching his thumb between her teeth, she bit down until he cursed under his breath and yanked his hand back.
“Why?” she asked, leaning forward, reclaiming his hand, her tongue tracing where her teeth had been.
His gaze darkened. “Because I was a piece of shit and my life was a fuckin’ mess.”
More honesty. More owning it. Holy shit—her pussy was not going to survive it.
“Don’t feel bad,” she said coyly. “Walking on water is very hard—not everyone can do it nearly as well as I can.”
Her mouth closed around his thumb, sucking slow and deliberate, eyes never leaving his.
Nash growled, low and rough, and yanked his thumb free. His hands closed around her arms and he lifted her clean over the counter like she weighed nothing.
“You’re a fuckin’ menace,” he muttered, his mouth a breath from hers. “You know that, right?”
Laughing, Cassie wrapped her legs around his waist, fingers tangling in his hair as she pulled him into a kiss.
“A goddamn fuckin’ menace,” he rumbled, breaking from her mouth as he pushed her back on the counter, shoving up her shirt—his mouth closing around her nipple—
“Dad! Practice is canceled ’cause of the rain and Mom got—”
Nash jerked back so fast the whole room seemed to shift with him.
Cassie was already moving—sliding off the counter, dragging her shirt down just as Junie appeared in the doorway, duffle bag slung over one shoulder…with Addison right behind her.
For one awful second, nobody moved.
Then Nash cleared his throat and snatched up the spatula. “Hey, Junebug,” he said easily. “You hungry for hash? Go on—grab the ketchup and take a seat.”
Junie hesitated a moment before dropping her duffle bag on the floor and heading for the fridge, while Nash pulled a plate from the cupboard and began piling hash onto it.
“I’m, uh, gonna get going,” Cassie muttered.
Nash, plate of hash in one hand, silverware in the other, flicked an apologetic glance her way. “Take my truck if you want. Keys are in the visor—”
Addison let out a short, humorless laugh. “Wow. Just…wow.
“You hear that, Junie?” she continued, “The man who never lets a single soul touch his daddy’s truck is now just handin’ it over to—”
Her gaze slid to Cassie.
“—whatever the fuck this is.”
Cassie held Addison’s stare, temper rising fast—and practically choked trying to swallow it down for Junie’s sake.
“Addy,” Nash ground out. “Not in front of Junie.”
Addison scoffed. “Then maybe stop doin’ it in front of her.”
“What?” he shot back. “Livin’ my fuckin’ life?”
Addison stepped farther into the kitchen. “Yeah—and how long you been livin’ it with her?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Her eyes sliced between them, voice climbing. “Because this ain’t normal—her bein’ gone this long and the two of you are suddenly playin' fuckin’ house like the last decade never happened!”
“You’ve gotta be shittin’ me right now,” Nash muttered. “First off, what I do in my own time is none of your goddamn business no more, and second, I told you to stop pullin’ this shit in front of Junie—it ain’t fuckin’ fair to her.”
“None of my business?” Addison repeated shrilly. “Everything you do is my business when we got a kid together!”
Nash’s mouth opened—
“No,” Addison cut him off, her voice climbing again, faster now, fraying at the edges.
“No, you don’t get to Addy me like I’m some random bitch from the club.
We were married, ’case you forgot. We got a kid, ’case you forgot.
I washed your goddamn underwear and cooked your meals, ’case you fuckin’ forgot. ”
Her chest heaved. “And here I am still doin’ the day-to-day with our kid while you”—her gaze sliced toward Cassie—“while you’re here with her like it’s 2014 all over again.”
“Look at her,” Addison went on, voice cracking hard. “Standin’ there in your clothes like she belongs here. Like it’s fuckin’ cute or somethin’. Like she didn’t leave this town and never look back!”
“Enough!” Nash roared, slamming the spatula against the counter hard enough to snap it clean in two.
“Juniper,” he said sharply, breathing hard. “Go on and get upstairs for me.”
Junie didn’t argue. She moved quickly, shoulders hunched, disappearing around her mother.
“Except she did look back,” Nash bit out once the second floor had swallowed Junie’s footsteps. “Didn’t she, Addy?”
Addison stopped short, gaze flicking between Cassie and Nash, a slow smile spreading across her face. “Oh, okay,” she sneered. “So we’re spillin’ secrets now, huh?”
She turned back to Cassie, eyes bright with spite.
“Does he know all of it then? Does he know you were never really gonna marry him? That you had one foot out the door the whole damn time?”
Cassie went still, cold washing through her. Not because it was true—because it wasn’t entirely false, either—but because she knew exactly where her former best friend was headed.
“Does he know about the clinic, too?” Addison rushed on, her smile widening.
Everyone froze—or maybe it was just Cassie who’d frozen. Her gaze slid to Nash, whose startled stare was locked on her.
“That’s right. She wasn’t late—she was fuckin’ pregnant.”
“And her junkie brother drove her up to Charleston so she could get rid of it—so she could get rid of you, Nash.”
Cassie’s vision went white at the mention of Connor, her temper flaring so fast it felt physical. Racing forward, her hand moved before she could stop it, cracking across Addison’s cheek and wiping the sneer clean off her face.
Addison staggered back half a step, then surged forward just as fast, a wild, wordless sound ripping out of her. They collided hard, hands grabbing at shirts and hair, stumbling into the table and sending one of the chairs skidding sideways before crashing to the floor.
Cursing, Nash grabbed for them, catching Addison around the middle with one arm while forcing Cassie back with the other, using his body as a barricade.
“Jesus Christ, stop this shit—”
Addison thrashed against him, screaming, trying to reach past his shoulder. “You fuckin’ bitch,” she spat, spittle flying. “You stupid fuckin’ bitch—you don’t always get to have everything while the rest of us get fuckin’ nothin’. You hear me? You hear me, you stupid fuckin’ bitch?”
Cassie just stared at her, breathing hard, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Cassie,” Nash bit out, still holding Addison back. “My fuckin’ kid is upstairs. Just take the goddamn truck and go.”
She stood there a heartbeat longer, ears ringing, heart hammering in her chest, before blinking and turning away.
Darting down the hall and up the stairs, she crashed into Nash’s room—her clothes still tumbling somewhere in the dryer—and yanked on the sweatpants she’d slept in, hands moving fast, like speed alone might undo the last five minutes.
Rushing back down the hall, she nearly tripped over Junie coming out of the bathroom, red-faced and glassy-eyed.
In the brief pause of the moment, Nash and Addison’s voices carried up the stairs toward them—
“Don’t you ever use Junie for your bullshit again—”
“Oh, now I’m the bad guy? She’s gonna leave again, you know that!”
“I’m sorry, Junie,” Cassie whispered, slipping past the young girl and taking the stairs two at a time.
The screaming followed her outside where Nash’s dark-green Ford sat, light rain beading on the hood—still the same boxy body from when it belonged to Maverick, but with fresh paint now and not a drop of rust to be seen.
Climbing inside, she shut the door and flipped the visor down, the keys dropping into her lap.
With shaking hands, she shoved the key into the ignition, threw the truck in reverse, and drove quickly away.