Chapter 21
Cash
I dash up the stairs and ring the doorbell. It’s not a huge place in the West Village, but it’s nice, and Terpidy and Cullen have it all to themselves. I’m late, and she’s not going to let it go. She never does, though I’m rarely five minutes after the agreed-upon time.
The door opens, and I’m greeted by Cullen’s toothy little grin. “Hey there,” I say, bending down to hug him.
“Hi, Daddy.” He reaches behind him and grabs his bag, but I slip in and get it to carry myself.
“Cash?” Terpidy calls from behind the half-open door. It swings open, and she looks me up and down. I catch the slightest of eye rolls before she catches it herself.
Standing, I say, “Hi.” Fighting with her is the last thing I want to do, especially with our son between us.
“I have a job in Paris on Monday.” I could point out the lack of pleasantries or the basic courtesy of a hello.
Her career had already skyrocketed when we met.
The girl who partied one night in Monaco and then in LA after the Oscars isn’t the same woman now.
She has no tolerance for me like she once did.
Justifiably.
I was a real beast of an asshole once we soured, which didn’t take long.
Not that she was any better. We were one and the same that way and never meant to be more than a few drunken nights in Ibiza.
What we were or weren’t doesn’t matter now.
Cullen does, and for him, I’m trying to be the father he needs.
“I leave on Sunday for Brazil. I can see if my mom is available.” Glancing down at Cullen, I smile. “That’d be fun, right, buddy?”
He shrugs.
She covers his ears. “If she can’t, he’ll be with a babysitter all week. I’m not turning this job down. It’s a big campaign, and the money is great.”
Got to love being made into the villain. It’s a no-win for me. Damned if I say I can’t. Damned if I stop her from leaving him with a stranger. “I’ll take care of him.”
Kneeling so I’m closer to his eye level, I ask, “Do you need anything for the week? Or do you have all your stuff?”
Another shrug.
I’ll buy what he needs.
Straightening back up, I bring him with me, settling Cullen on my side. “When will you return?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know? What kind of fu—” Deep breaths. In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Terpidy kisses Cullen’s cheek and gives him a slight smile before stepping back into the house and holding the door between us. I’m still staring at her in disbelief as my thoughts scatter, searching for answers she won’t give me.
She says, “You still have the key if he needs anything?”
“Yeah,” I reply dumbly, not saying a damn word about what she’s about to do to him. “Say bye to your mom, Cullen.” The phrase more for him than her as we walk into the unknown of when he’ll see her again.
He says, “Bye, Mommy.”
I’m still staring at her, wondering if she means days, weeks, or never returning.
She smiles at him. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“Will you?” I say, unable to keep myself from asking.
“A week at the longest.” Her smile for me is smaller but just as genuine as the one she gave him.
My chest loosens from hearing her say that, and I nod. “Okay. Just let me know.”
I set him on the ground when we get a few blocks down, finally feeling like I can breathe normally again. I don’t know what she was thinking. She can play games with me all she wants, but not with him.
Scrubbing my hand over his head, I say, “Your hair looks lighter.”
“Mom says it’s from the summer sun.”
Or me, but I’m not going to quibble over it. “Yeah, mine gets lighter during the summer as well.” A little quibble, but who’s counting? “Ice cream?”
He giggles. “It’s morning.”
“Exactly.” I tap his nose, seeing this as an opportunity instead of a burden. In a few months, he’ll be starting school. I need to make the most of his freedom. “We make our own rules.”
“Why am I adding beef bouillon to marinara?” I ask my mom, who’s walking me through a recipe on speaker. She lives two floors below mine, but the guys are cooking tonight. Day four on our schedule was packed with the aquarium and shopping to make this meal.
“It adds a nice depth of flavor, and I think it makes it heartier.” She says, “Check your meatballs.”
Cullen cracks up anytime we say the M word, so he’s in a fit of giggles on the couch.
“Okay, I added it.” I bend down to check the meatballs in the oven, which are looking good. Making this meal is a bigger production in time and steps than I expected, considering we could have just ordered it. I know it will pay off, though, and it’s been fun to cook with Cullen.
I was always at the track until after dark, so I didn’t get skills from my mom back then. I’m taking advantage of her expertise now. We’re not Italian, though, so we’re going off instinct versus accuracy.
“Thanks, Mom. I think I have it from here.”
“Happy to help.” She’s been a help and is set up to take Cullen when I leave for Brazil.
Grabbing a beer from the fridge, I twist the cap and flick it into the trash can I’ve pulled out from the cabinet.
I don’t drink often since my profession is taxing on the body, and it’s in my contract that I can’t consume alcohol within five days of a race.
But I don’t head to Sāo Paulo until Sunday, giving me five full days of padding.
And because I’ve earned this after all the kid fun we’ve had this week.
“Mom drinks wine,” Cullen says, climbing on the barstool on the other side of the counter.
I don’t dig the tale-telling, but I let my curiosity get the best of me and anchor my hands on the cold stone. “A lot?”
He shakes his head. “Mostly Sundays.” Um, that’s odd. He swivels in the chair and asks, “May I have juice?”
“Yeah, sure.” I get an apple juice from the fridge and hand it to the kid. “Every Sunday?”
“Race day.” He hops down after scoring a juice box and runs back to the couch to watch his show.
I don’t know what to make of that, but the garlic bread needs my immediate attention.
“Guess what?” Marina says as soon as she answers.
I waited until eleven, my time, to call her. My tired body sinks into the mattress. I’m more exhausted from the past few days with Cullen than from my high-intensity, high-risk job. “What?”
“I’ll be in midday but head straight to wardrobe and makeup. I have an afternoon packed with interviews and a late-night talk show. It films early, though, so I’ll be free by dinner. Hint. Hint.”
“Subtle.”
“It’s my specialty,” she says, laughing,
I chuckle as well, both of us knowing the truth. “Would you like to have dinner with me, Ms. Westcott?”
“And Cullen. We can go somewhere fun that he’ll—”
“If you’ll take me, I’m overdue for a grown-up conversation. Anyway, he probably needs a break from me. He called me grumps earlier.”
“He wouldn’t be the first.”
I feel like the sympathy I was looking for isn’t going to be found on this call. “He’s worn me down, Marina. The kid doesn’t need sugar. He’s wound up on life.”
She laughs. “Kids are great like that, but if you want me all to yourself—”
“I do.” I smile even though she can’t see me. “He’s been begging to spend the night at my mom’s.” It sounds as if my son prefers Grandma’s, and I’m okay with this. “She bakes cookies for him every time he stays over.”
“That will do it.” A little moue crosses the miles, and then she says, “Will you bake cookies if I stay at yours?”
“I’ll bake you anything you want, babe.” She sniffles, so I ask, “Hey, what’s going on?”
Her breath is unsteady, but she says, “This press tour and premiere are supposed to be a pinnacle in my career, but I’m just happy I get to see you again.”
Damn, it’s like she reached in and squeezed my heart. “I thought I was supposed to be romancing you?”
The softest of laughs is heard, and she whispers, “I’ve been sentimental all week.”
“I like that about you. And I can’t wait to see you again, Marina.”
The call isn’t long as she has an early flight, and Cullen has officially made me feel like an old man. I don’t know why I felt the need to pack in so many activities this week, but I think a few slower days are called for starting tomorrow.
I woke up with newfound energy and hopped on the treadmill to knock a few miles off this morning before Cullen wakes up. I hit my limit right around four, but I also find the treadmill boring as shit mentally. I prefer the runs with Duncan when we’re on location for all races.
I don’t hear from Marina until around two o’clock. She sends me a quick clip of her in hair and makeup before leaving to do interviews. I text:
You’re beautiful. Break a leg.
She replies:
I love you.
I will never leave her hanging:
I love you. Knock ’em dead!
Cullen and I head out to the park just after three because he’s bouncing off the walls. He needs wide-open spaces to let his imagination run free. He talked me into buying a balloon that he lost two point three seconds later when he released it in hopes of bouncing it like a ball.
Tears followed when it got too high for even me to catch . . . and that’s how he ended up with four more balloons tied to his clothes. I’ve held his hand the entire walk home because he then worried he would float away. I promised to always keep him grounded, like my mom did for me.
When we’re two blocks shy of the apartment, his mood snaps, so we detour into the deli for a snack. Food is always a good decision when it comes to Warren men.
Warren . . . Sometimes I regret being talked into his using Ryatt as the surname. It was all ego naming him Ryatt.
Holding Cullen’s hand in one of mine and a sandwich in the other, I take a bite, which is a quarter of the sandwich. Food fixes bad moods. Mine included.
I ask, “How are the Goldfish?”
“Fishy.”
I laugh, watching him pop another orange cracker into his mouth. “Fresh catch.” A happy kid once again.
When we get upstairs, a familiar silhouette haunts my doorway. “Do I need to call security?”
Marina laughs as Cullen starts skipping toward her and gives her a hug. “Nice balloons.” She glances at me. “Daddy must have been a pushover today.”
“For the record, I was the hero.”