Page 11 of Sweet Music
@1cashfan_OGi wasat that show, thatsmy boy lol ;)
@angeleyesoncash to@1cashfan_OG i was there 2cash was so hotttt the first three rows probly got pregnant just from listening #hotrocker
Cash closed the comments again,shaking his head.
Normally, rumors and fan theories didn’t bother him. The trouble this time was that hehadspent the night with a girl after that show. And the memory of it still made him feel like a heartbroken nineteen-year-old every time the memory surfaced.
Don’t think about it.
But there wasn’t much else to do besides think about it. So, he watched the video again, his eyes on the boy’s hands. Were those quick, long fingers as familiar as they seemed? Did the boy have Cash’s sharp jawline, or was it just the lighting?
But it wasn’t the physical resemblance that convinced him the most. It was thewaythe kid was playing. His hands moved effortlessly, but the look in his eyes told a different story. He had the same light touch and inner intensity that Cash remembered having himself once upon a time, back when he wrote a song practically every night, and his life was a whole lot simpler.
He found himself fantasizing that it was true, that he had a child—a son to take care of and share his life with.
A son I haven’t been there for or supported financially. A son who doesn’t know me…
But that wasn’t entirely true. Cash didn’t know anything about this kid, but it seemed like the boy didknow something about him. Unless the love of toe-tapping rockabilly music was genetic.
What if I could get him to forgive me for not being there?
What if this is what I’m supposed to be doing with my life?
Cash was probably going to miss tonight’s performance, something he had never done throughout his entire career. It was a known fact that Cash Law had played through bronchitis and the flu. When he had a broken arm, he brought in a guest guitarist and got onstage anyway to sing for his fans. He had been playing a show the night his grandfather died, while the rest of the family gathered in the hospital back in Vermont.
Cash Law did not disappoint his fans. Not ever.
But he’d raced out of that hotel last night without a second thought.
And now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe this was his destiny, maybe this was why he’d never felt fully satisfied with his life, even as his music dreams came true.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we’re approaching Burlington International Airport now,” the captain’s voice said over the speaker. “It’s twenty-nine degrees and clear.”
Cash tuned the rest out, his eyes fixed on the small screen again as he watched the boy with the too-long dark hair play his sweet song one more time.
“That’s your kid?” the guy in the seat next to him asked quietly, nodding his head up and down as if in answer to his own question.
“I’m going to see him,” Cash said automatically.
Luckily, it seemed like an answerwithin a non-answer, and he hoped it would be enough to keep the guy quiet.
“That’s nice,” the other man said approvingly before turning back to his Gillian Flynn.
Was that how people reacted to you when you had a kid? Like you were in some secret club? It was kind of nice to get warmth from a middle-aged guy on a plane instead of the usual sucking up or eye rolling.
As soon as the seatbelt light blinked off, Cash was moving off the plane in a rush, ignoring the handful of people who asked for an autograph or a selfie.
“It’s not him, Mom,”a young girl insisted.“Cash always takes pictures with his fans.”
His pang of guilt was short-lived. He was in too much of a hurry to get home to let it bother him for long.
The moment he stepped out of the airport, he was met with that familiar, sweet, frigid air of a Vermont morning. It was about five-thirty and the sun wasn’t even up yet, but he knew that just about everyone on the farm would be awake. No one was expecting him, and he hadn’t dared to call after midnight when he’d headed out. His phone still had enough juice to call now, but at this point he figured he was close enough to home that he’d just surprise them.
A cab pulled up right away, and he hopped into the warm interior. The smell of coffee mingled with the scent of the pine tree air freshener dangling from the mirror. The worn upholstery and polaroid of the driver’s family stuck to the dashboard made Cash feel right at home.
No stretch limos in my hometown.
“Where to, young fella?” the driver asked brightly, as if Cash was just another fare.
