CHAPTER ELEVEN #2
Make it good? A very demanding voice inside me has other ideas about things that could far surpass good, especially in the face of his chiseled physique and risk-taking tattoos—cards and money, dice and chips, a roulette wheel, a guillotine box with a woman sawed in half, and a skeleton, donning a crown composed of music notes and melting from flames.
It doesn’t matter that I glimpsed his bare skin last night. I can’t look away. This is the legend of Cash Noire, inked across his golden flesh.
Focus.
My heart thrashes my sternum, and my throat grows dry. “It’s a long story.”
“Remember what I told you?” He steps toward me again, but he doesn’t touch me this time. “As long as it takes.”
He did say that, but I can’t seem to reconcile his patience and commitment to being here with what I’ve heard about him. Maybe I need to see him through a new lens.
In an effort to protect my sanity and preserve my skin, I reach for the sunscreen, spraying the mist all over my limbs, cleavage, stomach, and back before turning it on him, like a vigilante against UVB rays.
He merely wrinkles his forehead, lowers his sunglasses, and lets me hose him with SPF.
Eventually, he chuckles and turns around, clasping his hands together on the back of his head.
And I’m instantly held captive, alone with his gambling-themed tatted backside and bulging biceps—which is a mistake because every expertly crafted ridge is droolworthy—until he spins, and I catch him off guard.
“Have you ever had a time in your life that blended the worst and best moments?”
He hesitates, peering out at the subtle lapping waves with a more pensive disposition than I’ve ever seen him possess.
“My parents died in our house fire when I was twelve. That day and the weeks and months that followed were … yeah, the worst. But somehow, Axel took that time and turned us into the kind of family that I imagine most people only dream about.”
Tragedy to triumph.
I didn’t expect him to answer beyond a simple yes or no. He doesn’t seem like the type to share anything personal, so I tuck away my follow-up questions and accept that for the gift it is.
“I could tell Axel was that kind of man when I met him,” is all I offer before turning it back to me.
“I was a gymnast. On the path for the Olympics. I went by SJ Palmer back then. At nineteen and twenty-one, I was the NCAA Floor Exercise Champion, and I was consistently All-American, so I had a promising career ahead of me.”
He exhales, picks up the chairs, and kicks his chin toward the ocean. “That’s incredible. Did you always want to be an Olympian?”
As we walk down to the tide line, I begin with a heartwarming snippet. “Actually, when I was young, I wanted to be a Harlem Globetrotter, but my father steered me toward gymnastics. We’ll never know if that was the right call,” I tease. “Anything that allowed me to flip was going to be a win.”
“Tough choice. You’re only a few inches shy of being a basketball star.” He laughs, but when we take our low-to-the-ground seats, he redirects me. “But you didn’t go to the Olympics?”
“No,” I sigh, letting the grit of the sand, the lull of the sea, and the bright, sunny skies lend a backdrop to the retelling of the darkest years of my life.
“I put it off, hoping my father would be released in time to see me. It felt like it would be a new start for our family. And he’d poured so much of himself into getting me proper training. ”
“Your father was supposed to get out early?” he probes once we’re burrowing our toes into the wet sand.
“It hadn’t been determined yet, but like everyone else, the guards and warden loved him.
He was eligible for parole right around my college graduation, which was an Olympic year, so I decided I’d pursue it then.
There were a lot of skeptics who didn’t believe I could be as competitive in my twenties.
Some still considered that ancient for gymnasts then.
I was consistent and strong though, so I wasn’t worried.
But then … he was killed, and I … I didn’t want to be an Olympian.
I just wanted to be his daughter.” Those last few words are barely a whisper, skittering into the roar of the wind, so I center my breathing and concentrate on the families playing nearby.
“People kept telling me I was wasting my talent by quitting, so I put it to use,” I finally manage. “I pulled a bunch of jobs. Made a lot of money and a name for myself. I was good at that too. It was in my genes.
“Then I ran into Danny. We’d had a fling in college, but we were both too focused on goals back then.
I guess that was still true for him to a degree since he’d gone pro.
Anyway, we dated for a year and a half, and he proposed.
By then, he knew who my parents were, but not that I was in the same line of work.
I was also coaching gymnastics at the time.
I decided I wanted out of the heist game.
And since I was Heath’s daughter and I was happy, the people I was involved with wished me well. ”
He jumps up, runs back to the blanket, gets two bottles of water from the bag, and returns, handing one to me. My dry mouth rejoices, and my spirit calms. Cash is more of a caretaker than I would’ve imagined him to be.
Twisting the cap back on, I set the bottle in the sand, between my feet.
“Six months later, I got pregnant. Danny was upset, but I understood it felt like a lot. I figured, eventually, he’d realize while the timing was off, this was what we wanted.
And I was elated enough for both of us. For four months. Then I miscarried.”
I haven’t spoken those words in such a long time that I feel them chafing my throat, but I gulp the pain down and go on.
“It devastated me—so much grief for this invisible loss of a baby I never met—which was hard for some people to grasp. I know it probably doesn’t make much sense, but it felt like reliving my father’s death too.
Danny was pissed because I was sad all the time, but I couldn’t help it. ”
“Of course you couldn’t,” Cash says, and whether that’s just something any listener would interject or not, it’s appreciated.
“We grew apart. He was less available than ever when he was on the road. I suspected he was cheating on me. When I confronted him, he insisted he wasn’t, but that he needed to be allowed to grieve, too, and it was too hard to be around me.
I felt more lost after that.” My attention drifts back to the turquoise water, the boats zipping by in the distance, and the way things take on a distorted speed and shape when you’re removed.
“Then, one night, when he was in Miami, he called me, and I told him I hadn’t been out of bed for three days, that I was really struggling.
I just wanted to know I was still a priority.
” I glance at him, certain he’s wondering if his question warranted all these details.
“I promise there’s a point to all this.”
He nudges my sand-covered foot with his. “If the only point was that you wanted to tell me what happened, I’d still be invested.”
I want to believe that, but the rest of my explanation is why I have no idea if he’s genuine or simply being who I need him to be right now for his own agenda. I don’t trust my own instincts anymore.
“Danny claimed he’d been worried, so he stopped by my sister’s house to ask her how to help me.
Flora had been dealing with her own shit.
She’s diabetic, and she’s always had a lot of complications from it.
She’d been sick, and she went through a bad breakup.
I think her ex actually moved to New Orleans. ”