Page 69 of The Trophy

Could the woman be his high school sweetheart? Maybe his ex-girlfriend? Or…

Shit. I never asked him if he’s ever been married, it never occurred to me. But could Cash have an ex-wife and kids?

I exhale a shuddering breath, taking the photo out of the slot to take a better look at it. I turn it, looking for a clue and find the date scribbled in the bottom corner. It was taken this year, right before the fall semester started. So it’s just a couple of months old.

I’m totally reeling.

He would have told me… right?

I like to think he would have, but if she’s his ex, I guess he didn’t have any obligation to tell me about her. At least until now.

If we’re going to give our relationship a real shot, he should tell me about something as important as a wife and kids.

What if she isn’t his ex-wife?

I close my eyes at the unwanted little voice in my head, the second I think about that possibility.

Cash would never lie about being married. Right?

He keeps disappearing on you, canceling on you because of “family emergencies.”

He keeps saying that he has responsibilities.

What do you think?

Fuck.

I shake my head, as if that could help me get some clarity in the jumble of my thoughts.

Is this why he keeps disappearing on me? Does he have an ex and kids? Or worse, is he married?

Cash is sweet and funny once you get past his reserved, slightly surly exterior. He wouldn’t do that to me. Right?

He is reserved, you just said it. Why would he need to be so private if he wasn’t hiding something? And he wouldn’t do that to you? P-lease! Jon was your best friend. Did you think he would ever cheat on you? And yet he did just that.

I cover my eyes with both my hands, groaning in frustration.

I can’t sleep with Cash until I ask him about this photo.

I hesitate at the idea, because I don’t want him to think I’m snooping.

Wait, though. He saw me looking for the condoms in his wallet; it’s not like I was looking without his knowledge.

My mind is spinning like a crazy merry-go-round. Distrust, disappointment and heartbreak battle with the hope that there’s an explanation that doesn’t involve Cash lying to me.

“Hey baby,” he comes back into the room, making a beeline for his underwear on the floor and then sliding into his jeans. “I’m so fucking sorry to do this, but something happened at home and I’m needed there. I know the timing couldn’t be worse, but I really have to go. I swear on my lucky helmet that I’m going to make it up to you.”

By the time he said that, he’s fully dressed and he’s taken the wallet I dropped on the bed the second he came back into the room and tucked it into his pocket.

“I—uh, can come with you,” I offer without even thinking. “We could go make sure your family is ok and then resume our date?”

Yeah, I know.

My offer isn’t totally selfless, but going with him would kill two birds with a stone. I would find out who the people in the photo are and Cash and I wouldn’t have to end our date. I know I sound like a needy psycho, but right now I couldn’t care less.

“Nah,” Cash says way too quickly and without meeting my eyes. “Things have been a little difficult lately, it’ll probably take me all night. I’m sorry, Lake. I promise I’ll call you tomorrow.”

He doesn’t even give me the time to reply, the peck on the lips I receive before he’s out of my house is so quick, that I wonder if I imagined it.

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