22. Cash
CASH
The bonfire is already going hard when we pull up.
Sparks are shooting into the dark, and somebody’s truck speakers are rattling so loud the bass is making my beer can vibrate in my hand.
Dawson’s old high school crowd is everywhere.
Lawn chairs are scattered, tailgates open, girls in cutoff shorts and boots, and red cups in every hand.
This is exactly the type of therapy I needed.
Half of these people I’ve known since I was a kid. The other half I don’t give a shit about.
I’m already three beers deep before we’ve even parked.
“You good?” Dawson asks, killing the engine to his truck.
“Never fucking better.”
We both hop out of the truck.
“Why don’t you grab a beer?” I ask him.
Dawson shakes his head. “I’m not drinking anymore.”
I scoff. “Don’t be a fucking pussy.”
He rolls his eyes and fucks off, leaving me to my own devices.
I make my rounds, slapping hands and getting pulled into half-assed hugs and handed another beer.
I wink at some girls that stare at me for a second too long and they giggle at one another.
This is the Cash everyone loves—loud, stupid, and fun.
I just need a good time and a warm body to sink into at the end of the night.
I’ve been running this version of myself nonstop for the last two weeks. The version of Cash Thornwood that everyone despises.
Halle doesn’t want me, and that’s fine. I took care of the Zach problem for her, though, so she can live her life in peace, and I can live mine exactly how she’s been trying to get me to live for months.
I’m twenty-two years old, I’m single, and I’m about to party like I’ve got something to prove …
because I do. I’m gonna drink until I stop thinking about her.
I’m gonna flirt until my face hurts. I’m gonna find some girl who doesn’t know my last name and doesn’t give a shit about my family or any of the heavy shit I’ve been dragging around.
I’m gonna remind myself who the fuck I am.
Cash Thornwood doesn’t sit around moping over some woman who called him kid and then decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Cash Thornwood parties. Cash Thornwood moves on. Cash Thornwood doesn’t get left behind.
About an hour in, a cute dark-haired girl comes to stand by me as I talk to Kyle and Derek. I give them a nod and they fuck off. I think her name is Brynne, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I throw an arm around her and she blushes as if on cue.
“You’re in a good mood tonight,” she says, leaning into me.
“Always in a good mood when I see you, baby.”
She likes that; I can tell by the way she rubs against my chest as she talks to me. This is easy. This is what I know how to do. I don’t do that deep-talk shit.
Halle was right; I need to enjoy the time I have and not give a fuck.
I’m doing exactly what she told me.
By the time most people have wandered off to find somewhere darker to make out, Brynne’s sitting sideways in my lap in the back of Dawson’s truck.
My hand is on her waist, and she smells like campfire and whatever sweet shit she sprayed on earlier.
She’s talking about something, but I stopped listening five minutes ago, so I’m just nodding along, drinking my beer.
Brynne shifts in my lap and turns toward me, her hand sliding up my chest. She’s looking at my mouth now, eyes half-lidded, and I know what’s coming. I’ve done this dance so many times I could do it in my sleep.
She leans in.
I lean in too.
Right before our lips touch, a hand clamps down on my shoulder from behind.
“Cash,” Dawson says.
Fuck you, bro.
I pull back, and Brynne makes an annoyed sound.
“We gotta go,” Dawson says. “South fence is down. Cattle’s getting out.”
It’s the most obvious lie I’ve ever heard in my life.
Because Dawson doesn’t lie—he’s terrible at it. His face doesn’t even know how to hold the shape of bullshit. Which means he’s giving me an out—a clean exit.
And some pathetic, traitorous part of me is relieved.
I stand up, dumping Brynne off my lap. “Duty calls, baby,” I tell her.
She doesn’t even bother looking pissed, just grabs someone else’s drink and turns away like she already forgot I existed.
Smart girl.
I follow Dawson to the truck without another word. He doesn’t say anything until we’re already on the dirt road, the bonfire shrinking in the side mirror behind us.
“You didn’t actually want to kiss her,” Dawson says.
I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Jesus. You too?”
“I’m just saying.” He keeps his eyes on the road. “You looked like you were about to throw up right before you leaned in. That’s not you.”
“That is me,” I say, defensive. “That’s exactly me—loud, drunk, making bad decisions with pretty girls. That’s what I do.”
Dawson is quiet for a second. “Not with girls you don’t actually want.”
I don’t have a good answer for that, so I look out the window instead.
“You’ve been going hard every night the last couple weeks. I’m not judging, man. I’m just saying … it doesn’t look like it’s working.”
I clench my jaw. “It’s working fine.”
“Okay.” He doesn’t argue, doesn’t lecture, just lets the word sit there between us like he knows I’m full of shit and he’s not gonna waste his breath fighting me on it tonight.
We drive the rest of the way in silence.
The porch lights are on when we pull up to our parent’s house—moths are already slamming into them in a frenzy. Rhett is smoking a cigarette on the steps and stands up when he sees us.
He watches us get out of the truck, jaw tight.
“I need to sleep. I’m on the road early in the morning with Dad to meet with the accountant,” Rhett says, annoyed.
I shrug, still riding the leftover alcohol and attitude. “Didn’t ask you to stay up. Didn’t realize I had a fucking curfew either.”
“Yeah, well, fuck you.” He looks between me and Dawson, then shakes his head. “You’ve been ghosting work, showing up late, half-assing everything, and now you’re out here trying to fuck your way through half the county just to prove you’re fine?”
“I am fine.”
“No, you’re not,” Rhett says. “You’re acting like a fucking child.
You’ve been spiraling and you’re taking it out on everyone around you, including yourself.
And now you’re trying to pretend like whatever happened with Halle didn’t matter so you can go back to being the same reckless asshole you were before. ”
I feel my jaw tighten. “Don’t bring her into this.”
“I’m bringing her into this because she’s the reason you’re acting like this,” Rhett fires back. “You can lie to yourself all you want, but you’re not fooling anyone else. I’m so sick of your bullshit.”
Dawson stays quiet beside me, but he doesn’t disagree. Rhett exhales hard, then reaches into his jacket. He pulls out the envelope and holds it out to me.
“Grandpa left this for you,” he says. “Read it. Tonight. Tomorrow. I don’t care when, but read the damn thing. Maybe it’ll knock some sense into you.”
I take the envelope but don’t open it.
Rhett watches me for a second, then says, “Get your shit together, Cash. We’re all tired of watching you self-destruct.” He turns and heads inside without waiting for a response, the screen door slamming behind him.
Dawson pauses on the steps. He doesn’t say anything else, just puts a hand on my shoulder for a second before taking off to his barn loft apartment.
Then, it’s just me.
I sit down on the top step with the envelope in my hand and stare out at the dark fields.
I don’t open it.
Not yet.
I tell myself it’s because I’m still drunk.
That’s not really why.