Page 57 of Cold Foot Cash

“Shit,” Cash muttered, turning in a quick circle.

I’m alone.

He gripped his hair and scanned his bedroom. His wallet sat on the dresser, and he bolted for it, shoved it in his back pocket and grabbed his duffle and yanked open his drawers, shoved a few T-shirts and some jeans in. He didn’t even know what else he packed.

I’m alone.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!! This right here was scratching at what had caused the hole inside of him. This feeling that he wouldn’t get to her in time. He’d been here before. He’d heard that before. His dad’s best friend, Toby, had said that on the phone to his dad before he’d taken his own life, and Cash had been there. He’d been there when his dad found him.

Cash had been this scared little six-year-old who had watched his dad fall apart holding Toby’s body, and after that, his life hadn’t made any sense! He had just needed to keep his head busy always to drown out the vision of his dad falling apart over his best friend. And he had eventually done it. He’d drowned it out. He’d banished the memory. He’d absorbed the years when his dad was a shell of himself and fighting everything and everyone, and Cash had made his own struggles so big and so loud, that he didn’t have it in him to go back and visit those awful memories. He was making too many new and destructive ones.

And now those two words had brought it all back up to the surface.I’m alone.He’d read the hopelessness in her texts.

Lance, that chode. Cash was going to kill him for whatever he’d pulled today.

But…

She didn’t want him to come. Harley had asked him not to.

He thought about actually driving to Bozeman and crashing her life uninvited.

The house was silent as he stood in the middle of his loft, frozen. He needed help. He needed guidance.

He grabbed the unzipped duffle and flew down the stairs, and straight out the front door.

His pace didn’t slow as he bolted down the porch stairs and made his way to Raynah’s house. He knocked on the door hard.

Inside, Breah fussed. Crap. He knocked softer.Come on, come on, come on.

Raynah was taking forever to answer. He twisted around and made sure her little Ford Ranger was parked out front. Yep. He knocked again.

“What, what, what?” Raynah barked out as she flung the door open. Whoo, her eyes were glowing brightly, with the elongated pupils of her crocodile.

“Hey, hello, hi, I have a question. A question for a girl. A female. A woman? Whatever you are.”

“Have you gone insane?” she demanded.

He dropped the duffle bag and paced her porch, in front of the door. “I think Harley is in some kind of trouble, and she’s really upset, and I don’t know what has happened, but clearly something big happened. I think it’s with her ex—”

“Let’s bring the ship to the dock.”

“Right. Shorter story. Conclusion. Fast conclusion. Um, she texted me, and she sounds really off, and she says she’s all alone, but she’s not, because I’m here. I’m right freaking here! And she’s headed to a bar in Bozeman, but I don’t think she’s in a good headspace, and I don’t want to be a controlling dick—”

“Land the freaking plane.”

“Right. If you were a girl, which you are. Of course you’re a girl—”

“Cash!”

“If you were having a really hard time mentally, and you told Garret you didn’t want him to be around, because you wanted to fall apart alone, would you want him to show up, or not?”

Raynah narrowed her eyes, and pursed her lips. “You should hit the road. You should speed.”

“Great, that’s what I needed to know!” he called as he grabbed the duffel bag and sprinted down the stairs.

“Listen to her!” Raynah called. “Don’t try to fix it right away. You boys always go into fix-it mode. Sometimes we just need someone to listen.”

“Listen. Right. I’m really good at that,” he said sarcastically. His fix had always been either joking or fighting.

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