Chapter Twenty-Seven
Sydney
My toes were just stretching toward the end of the bed when a knock sounded against the front door.
Shit. I sat up straight, feeling a heavy pressure under my eyes, my throat still sore from the night before. Drinking my sorrows away didn’t help like Frankie had suggested it would. It being her last semester of college, she had an early class, which resulted in my waddling in a long T-shirt toward the door.
Bang.
“I’m coming!” I screamed.
I opened the door to Joey. He stood with his hands in front of him, the same stern look on his face. “What do you want?” I asked.
He lowered his sunglasses. “I need to talk to you. Can I come in?’
I gave him a long look before checking to make sure Cash wasn’t hiding behind him. “He isn’t here. He doesn’t know I’m here either.”
I shrugged, and opened the door wider. “Sure, come on in.”
I offered Joey a coffee, but he declined. He waited patiently as I fixed my own, put some pajama bottoms on, and met him in the living room. Nyla was stretched out on her back beside him, begging to be petted, but he ignored her.
“Now, please do tell why you disturbed me so early this morning. It’s seven thirty.” Which wasn’t early for me, but my attempt to drink my sorrows away had tired me out.
Joey nervously rubbed the back of his neck. “Look, I know what Cash did was fucked up, but you’ve got to listen to me. You need to come back to work.”
I lifted a brow over my cup. “Really? That’s something I need to do, huh?”
Joey rolled his eyes. “You have every right to be a smartass, Sydney. But he does love you.”
Love me? I’d wanted that to be true. I’d fought it from the beginning, everything between him and me. There was never any question that I was truly attracted to him. Hell, my body still craved him. I’d thought about his hands on me when I danced with a guy at the bar the night before, but when he’d ducked his head to whisper to me, I’d frozen. It wasn’t Cash’s voice, and I hated myself for wanting it to be. He’d fucked me over—royally—and my mother too. My own fucking mother.
I slid my finger around the rim of my coffee mug. “Joey, I’m gonna need you to get to the point. I’m not hearin’ anything right now that’s making me want to stay in here. My bed is calling my name.”
He sighed, rubbing his palms over his face. “Cash has been struggling with something that he didn’t even know about for years. He just found out last night.”
I pretending the light swirls of my creamer were more important than anything he had to say. Suddenly my coffee was out of my hands and sitting on the table between us. “Hey—”
“Listen,” he snapped, grabbing my hands. “Cash was abused by his father as a child.”
“That’s impossible,” I said. “He told me that his dad was never in the picture. Now he was abused by him?”
Joey stared at me for several seconds. “Cash repressed all of his memories. He is just now getting bits and pieces back of it. It must be because he’s never felt like this before. He doesn’t remember the pain from his childhood, his subconscious hid all of it, pushed back the part of him that needed to feel real emotion. He had never shown any kind of truly romantic emotion until now, until you. It’s brought back things his mind tried for years to forget.”
Suddenly my bed didn’t seem as appealing. “So you’re telling me I’m the reason he feels like shit? Well thanks, Joey. I’m glad you drove all the way over here to tell me that.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “This is serious. You’ve brought out what he needed. Love. He loves you. He fucked up, and you have every right to be pissed, but you need to know he does care for you. You shouldn’t let this stop you from making your money either.”
I laughed. “I’m not going back to work for him. The five grand I made off of him will last me for a while. Plus, I do have another job that pays my bills. I don’t have to live like my parents. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
Joey grabbed my wrists, bringing me close to him once I stood. “He’s a fucking wreck. Give it a few days and then come back. Don’t punish him forever for this. You’re meant to be with him.”
I snatched my wrists away from him. “Who are you, Miss Cleo? You don’t know who I’m meant for.”
He stood, towering over me. “I know you won’t find him in a damn club.” He reached back and pulled something from his back pocket. I looked down at the newspaper and déjà vu hit me. Me and what’s-his-name were sitting at the bar, drinking. It wasn’t the picture that shocked me but the small picture to the side, a picture of Cash. Jenkins and Henry split for good?
What. The. Fuck. I could imagine the look on my mother’s—I didn’t give a damn what my mother had to say. I glanced up at Joey. “Don’t judge me. You sure do know a lot about this. You knew he was playing me the entire time. So get off your fuckin’ high horse.”
Joey opened his mouth but closed it. He turned to walk out and stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “Just think about it, Sydney. Think about how you feel about him. He feels the same way, even though it might not seem like it. Cash isn’t the monster you might think he is right now.”
I turned my back to him, glancing out at the balcony. I couldn’t let him see me cry.
Mr. Scott stood in my doorway and cleared his throat. I looked back over my shoulder, smiling at his Hawaiian shirt and worn, faded blue jeans. “How’s the painting coming along?”
I shrugged, examining the mess in front of me. “Not too well.” I turned to face him—well, mainly to hide the destruction I’d made of my painting. “What’s up?”
Adjusting his glasses, he shut the door behind him. “The gallery for Savannah is coming up next week. I thought you’d want to enter something; you sold a few pieces last year.”
“Sure,” I said. “This’ll be finished by then. When is the deadline?”
He studied my face. “Sunday. Are you okay, hon?”
“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
He gave me a sad smile. “Cash called up here this morning. Actually, he’s called a few times. And since you didn’t leave after your class, I figured something was wrong. Want to talk about it?”
I’d spilled my guts to Frankie and cried for hours over this; I didn’t want to talk or think about it ever again. “I don’t think so, Mr. Scott, but I appreciate it.”
He nodded. “I understand—”
The sound of clicking echoed down the hallway. Mr. Scott shot me a look. Those quick steps only meant one thing—my mother. The door swung open and she barged in. Her eyes swept the room and landed on Mr. Scott. “I need to speak with my daughter, please.”
He gave me a worried look as he left the room.
“How are you, Mother?”
She swept her bangs from her forehead, her lips pressed into a tight line. “What in the hell is this?” She threw the paper, and I let it fall to the ground.
“What is what?”
She closed her eyes tightly. “Why would you go out without Cash? Are you two fighting?”
Dammit. I stood up quickly, my stool flying backward to crash against the wall. Heat boiled underneath my skin. “No, I found out about the deal you had going with him.”
My chest heaved as I watched her face morph to horror. “Sydney—”
“No,” I said, stopping her with my hand. “I don’t want to hear any fake-ass apologies. I’m completely finished with this family. I’ve been scorned and mistreated since Ryder died. It was an accident, and I have enough guilt about it as is. You only made it worse. I miss him too, Mom. Now I hope that you realize that you’ve lost both of your children. I don’t ever want to see you again.”
She opened her mouth several times only to close it. It was the first time in my life that she was speechless. The only time she didn’t talk down to me or snarl in my direction. She looked—sad.
“I know you don’t want to hear anything from me, but I didn’t do it to be mean—”
I shook my head. “No, you did it to make your family look good. I know why you did it.”
She lost eye contact.
“Just leave, and don’t come back.”
I turned my back to her, and heard the soft click of the door behind me. My heart fell to my stomach, and my knees weakened underneath me. I hit the cool tile floor and curled my body into the fetal position.
My mind raced through memories like a slideshow of the good, the bad, and the ugly. I guessed it was a lot like dying in the sense of remembering everything. The only difference was that the pain didn’t subside once it passed, it was a rerun of every mistake I’d made. The worst part was the good days with Cash, and how I’d never have that again.