Her eyes widened. “You’d say so?” She’d heard him on the phone with someone, that night when they’d first kissed. His so-called partner, maybe. He’d told that person to fuck off, in no uncertain terms.
“I’d been on the fence about one final job, but I never agreed to it. So yes, it’s over.”
“You said you’d gone straight.” Hadn’t he? Or had she merely assumed? “You said you wanted to be a better man, from now on.” Because of me. Because of us.
“The bar’s nearly cleaned me out. I can pay my rent, keep food in the fridge and gas in my car, but there’s other things I need a little padding for. One night’s work, thirty thousand bucks. There’s a lot of good I can do with that kind of money.”
“But the money itself is bad,” she spat, catching how hysterical she now sounded, and not caring. “And the bar is full of that same bad money.” How on earth could it possibly succeed, when it was built on a pile of dirty cash? “Does Duncan know about all this? About how you made the money you used to go into business with him?”
Casey shook his head. “He knows it was shady, but he never asked for the details.”
She wished she didn’t know those details herself . . . But she had to, didn’t she? Without them, she’d been falling in love with a stranger. With a man as bad as James had been. Maybe the bad that James did left marks on people’s bodies, and bullet holes, and maybe he didn’t apologize for those things. But he’d never taken pleasure from his job, she didn’t think. Whereas Casey . . .
“Did you enjoy it?” she asked. “Those jobs?”
“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t.”
She stared down at his hands for a long time, more than a minute. Hands that had held her baby—the hands that had held her before any other person in the world. Hands that had made Abilene feel wonderful in ways she’d all but forgotten about. And hands that had struck matches and started fires, counted money, but in all likelihood never come together to pray for forgiveness.
“Say something, honey.” There was worry in his voice, the excitement she’d sensed all drained away.
“I don’t really know what to say. I’m not even sure what I think just now.” All she knew for sure was that this changed everything.
“Tell me what you’re feeling, then.”
“I feel . . . disappointed. And a little disgusted, to be honest.” She looked up and met his eyes, finding more than worry there now. Pain. That might’ve been enough to have the old Abilene wanting to take it back, to soothe his hurt feelings, but fuck the old Abilene.
“Disgusted?”
“Yes,” she said, sitting up straight. “That you don’t sound, with hindsight, like . . . like, ‘Holy crap, I’m so lucky I never hurt anybody. Thank goodness I stopped when I did.’ Plus you didn’t stop, not completely. You were still thinking about doing it again.”
“I was, but I won’t now.”
She huffed, exasperated. “Because of how I’m taking it, you mean?”
He nodded. “I only wanted the money for you. To help you find a place, maybe take some classes. I can make a person’s entire salary in one night. Tax-free. And I’m not bragging, I’m just saying, that’s a lot of money, a lot of money that could do a lot of good. But it’s pretty clear you wouldn’t take it, knowing where it came from.”
She shook her head. “No, I wouldn’t. I couldn’t. Even if I sent it to an orphanage, how could it ever feel right? Nothing feels right now, knowing that. Knowing that’s where my wages are coming from. Knowing that’s how you paid for the groceries you’ve brought us, for everything you’ve ever given Mercy . . .” She sighed, shoulders trembling faintly, tears stinging.
Casey’s eyes were wide, his lips pursed. He looked scared, and she’d never seen such a thing before. Not like this. Scared with no ferocity behind it. Helpless.
“I still appreciate everything you’ve done,” she said. “I’m still grateful. But if I’d known then what I do now, I don’t think I could have accepted any of it. Not anymore.”