28. Cash #2
She looks at me for a long moment. “Okay,” she finally says.
“Okay,” I say back.
And then, because I need her to laugh again—because I need both of us to come back to the surface for a minute, I say, “Also, I should tell you something: I’m not good at dating. So Dawson told me what to do … I had to figure out the specifics, but he … uh … helped think of a … gesture?
She lets out a breath that’s almost a laugh. “Is that what this is?”
“This is me trying to do something right for once. I don’t really know if I succeeded.”
“Cash. It’s—” Her voice softens before she can stop it. “It’s really thoughtful.”
“I was hoping for thoughtful and a little bit hot, but I’ll take thoughtful.”
“You’re insufferable.”
“Yes. Yes I am.” I look at her.
I’ve never done this before.
Not once in twenty-two years have I asked a woman to be my girlfriend. I’ve fucked, I’ve flirted, I’ve had fun, but I’ve never looked at someone and thought, I want this to be real. I want her to be mine in every way that matters.
Until Halle.
So, yeah, I’m nervous as hell.
“I want to do this right,” I say, looking at her.
My heart’s beating like I just ran sprints.
“I’ve never … I’ve never asked anyone to be my girlfriend before—never wanted to.
But I want that with you. I want to be with you.
For real. Not just sneaking around or whatever the fuck we’ve been doing.
I want you to be mine, and I want everyone to know it. ”
Halle goes still, and the easy smile she had a second ago fades. She sets her glass down carefully, like she’s buying time.
“Cash …” She swallows. “I can’t.”
The word hits harder than I expected, and I nod once, trying to keep my face neutral. “Okay. Why?”
She looks out over the valley instead of at me. When she speaks, her voice is quiet but steady. “I just … I think we should keep it casual.”
I stare at her.
She still won’t look at me.
“Casual,” I repeat, voice low.
“Yeah.” She picks at a loose thread on the blanket. “What we’ve been doing has been good. Easy. I don’t think we need to complicate it.”
I let out a short, humorless laugh and shake my head.
“There’s nothing casual about us, Darlin’.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes flick up to mine.
I lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, holding her gaze.
“You think what’s between us is casual?” I ask.
“You think me showing up at your bar every night, watching you close, sitting in my truck in the parking lot just to make sure you get to your bike safe … you think that’s casual?
You think me killing a man for you and then fucking you on the floor while his body was still bleeding out ten feet away was casual? ”
Her breath catches.
I don’t let up.
“You kissed me first, but you’ve been in my head every single day since. There is nothing casual about the way I want you, and I’m done pretending there is.”
Halle’s quiet for a long moment. She looks down at her hands, then back out at the valley like she’s trying to find the right words.
When she finally speaks again, her voice is smaller.
“It’s not just about keeping things easy,” she admits. Her voice is quieter now. “I … I can’t give you what you want, Cash.”
I frown. “What do you think I want?”
She lets out a short, humorless laugh and looks away again. “You want what all men want.”
“All I want is you,” I say without hesitation.
She shakes her head. “But one day you’re going to want more. That’s what happens.”
“What more is there?” I ask, genuinely confused.
She finally looks at me, and there’s something tired in her eyes. “Kids?”
I go still for a second. Then I ask carefully, “Is this because of my comment in the truck? About telling our kids the story one day?”
“No, not really,” she says, a little sharper than before. “It’s not just that … it’s so much more.”
“Then what is it? Because you’re all I want, Halle. I’m not asking you for anything else.”
She’s quiet for a long moment, and her jaw tightens like she’s trying to hold something in. When she speaks again, her voice cracks just a little.
“I can’t have kids, Cash.”
I blink. “Okay? What do you mean?”
She swallows hard. “Like … I physically can’t carry a child.”
I stare at her, trying to process what she’s telling me.
It takes me a second.
She keeps going before I can respond, her voice getting smaller but steadier, like she’s forcing herself to get it all out.
“I had an early, second trimester miscarriage. There were complications with the procedure afterwards, and with all the blood loss, they had to do a full hysterectomy. I’m thirty-two years old and I will never, ever be able to carry a child.
It’s something that I wanted—want more than anything.
So you can’t just decide that this is something that doesn’t matter. ”
“Okay. I understand now,” I say.
She laughs again, but it’s brittle. “No, you don’t.
I can’t do the one thing a woman’s body is supposed to do.
You think you know what that means, but you don’t.
Not really. Not for someone your age. Not for someone who comes from a family like yours.
I can’t give you what you’re supposed to want, and I won’t let you wake up one day and resent me the way I already resent myself. ”
I stay quiet, letting her talk. She needs to get this out.
She keeps going, voice cracking now. “I used to sit in that empty nursery we never finished and cry because I could already see them—little hands, the pitter-patter of feet on hardwood floors, messy hair and bedtime stories. The things that breathe life into a home. And now that’s just …
gone. I’m not whole anymore. I’m broken in a way that can’t be fixed.
I can’t see kids anymore without seeing pieces of myself in them because I will always wonder what that would be like.
I have room in my heart for someone I had never even met, but I knew that they were a part of me, even if it was only for a short while.
And I can’t ask you to sign up for that. I won’t.”
She wipes at her eyes, angry at the tears. “I already had one man who made me feel like less because of it. I’m not doing it again.”
I reach over and take her hand. She lets me.
“Halle,” I say, voice low. “Look at me.”
She does, eyes glassy and defensive.
“I don’t care, and I mean it. The idea that women are only supposed to have kids is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Women are capable, beautiful creatures who do so much more than that. Any man who puts that thought in your head deserves to be killed.”
She stares at me, stunned.
I squeeze her hand. “I’ve never sat around picturing myself as a dad—never had that dream.
Rhett and Dawson are gonna have big families.
There’ll be more than enough little Thornwoods running around to keep everyone happy.
The only thing I need is you. Just you. The rest of it doesn’t matter to me. ”
She shakes her head, like she doesn’t believe me. “You say that now—”
“I’m saying it because it’s true. You think I don’t know what I want?
I’ve spent my whole life doing whatever the fuck I felt like.
This is the first time I’ve ever wanted something enough to fight for it—to plan for it.
To be nervous about asking for it.” I squeeze her hand.
“You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met.
You lost a baby, you left a marriage that was killing you, you came home and started over from nothing.
You’re rebuilding your whole life and you’re doing it without asking anyone to carry you.
That’s not broken, that’s fucking incredible. ”
I take a breath, because the next part feels huge.
“I love you, Halle. I’m in love with you. And I don’t need kids to feel like I have a family. I just need you.”
Tears are sliding down her cheeks now, but she doesn’t wipe them away. “I can’t make any decisions until the divorce is final. I’m still legally married, Cash. I can’t … I can’t start something with you while that’s still hanging over me. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.”
I nod slowly. I hate it, but I get it.
“Okay,” I say. “I can wait. I’ll wait as long as you need.”
She looks relieved and devastated at the same time.
I lean in, brushing my thumb across her cheek to wipe away a tear.
“But we’re still gonna fuck on this blanket,” I tell her, voice dropping. “Because you may think you have a choice in this relationship, but you don’t. Not anymore. You’re mine, Halle. And I’m done pretending otherwise.”
Her breath catches, and her eyes darken.
I don’t give her time to argue.
I pull her into me and kiss her hard, pouring every ounce of want and frustration and love I’ve been holding back into it. She kisses me back just as desperately, hands fisting in my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear.
The food and wine get shoved aside, and the blanket is soft under us as I lay her down, my body covering hers. Her skirt rides up easily, and my hands are already under it, gripping her thighs, spreading them so I can settle between them.
She makes this soft, broken sound when I grind against her, and I swallow it with another kiss.
“Cash—”
“Shh.” I nip at her bottom lip. “You can say no to being my girlfriend right now. But you’re not saying no to this. Not tonight.”
“I wasn’t going to say no to you tonight.”
I reach between us, fingers finding how wet she already is, and she arches into my hand with a gasp.
“Or ever,” I correct her, the corner of my mouth turning upwards.