Page 23 of Cash

"Okay, just get there when you can. Wes can hold it down till then. I should be there around lunchtime."

"Okay, I'll be there."

"Thanks, I owe you man."

"We're good. Do you need anything else?"

"That's it. I just need to figure out why my nephew showed up halfway across the country without my sister even knowing."

"Good luck, man."

Cash hung up and took a long sip of his coffee that had finally cooled enough to drink. This was not how he saw his day going.

When he pulled up to Penn Station around seven thirty, his punk nephew was there in a leather coat in the middle of June with a guitar. He could kill him.

He honked and waved. River popped up and quickly made his way to the truck. After tossing his guitar in the back seat, he climbed in the truck and didn't say a word. Cash took off back to Glendale.

They both sat quietly while Cash made his way out of the city.

"Here," he handed a charging cord. River plugged his phone in. "Call your mother," Cash said, handing him his phone.

River just looked at the phone. "Call. Your. Mother." he repeated.

River took the phone out of his hand.

"Hi mom," River said quietly. He held the phone away from his ear and Cash could hear his sister losing her shit on the other end.

"Are you done?" he asked in a surprisingly nasty tone.

"Don't you dare talk to your mother that way in front of me," Cash grumbled at him.

"I'm sorry mom.... yes, I'm safe...I don't know...bye."

"What did she have to say?"

River chuckled darkly under his breath. "Clearly, she's pissed. She told me not to come."

"She knew you were coming?" Cash glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, I had an audition for a band. They’re an established band. I think it went well, but she didn't want me to audition."

"What band?"

“Turnpike."

"No shit? I've heard of them,” Cash said with a surprised glance.

"Yeah, they’re looking for a new guitarist and I met them last time they were out in Denver. They reached out to me to audition."

"Your mom wouldn't come with you?"

"No, she doesn't want me to be a musician,” said River, his sulkiness returning.

"Why?"

"You guys' father was a deadbeat guitarist and now I'm paying for it. I think I'm going to get the gig, but she’s going to make me come home. She won't have any say come August."

"Why’s that?”

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