What really makes my stomach hit the cement is the toddler on her hip. Three—maybe four—his hair bright blond and his crystal blue eyes that say more about Cash than I want to let myself believe.
No, I tell myself. Don’t jump to conclusions. Cash isn’t Tanner. This isn’t happening again.
“Can I help you?” I ask.
“Where is he?” the woman demands.
“I’m sorry, who are you looking for?” Stupid question, since she’s been yelling his name at the top of her lungs for the past five minutes.
“Cash Gardner. You know him?” She leans past me, trying to yell into the club. “And I know he lives here, because this is where that hush money comes from.” Her constant yelling makes the toddler scream and break out in tears. “So you tell him to get his ass down here now and face his fucking responsibilities.” She bounces the kid on her hip, trying to cajole him, but the kid’s face has gone beet red and his screams are worse than his mama’s yelling.
My heart drops, but I try to stay cool. Please don’t let this be what I think it is. “What business do you have with Mr. Gardner?”
“You his secretary or something?” She hushes the kid. “Billy, please, it’ll be okay. Just give mama five more minutes.” Billy sniffles and still cries, but at the very least he’s gone down a few octaves. “Well, you can tell Mr. High and Mighty that Marissa Stamretz is here. Better yet, you can tell Mr. Gardner for me that I don’t want his money.” She pulls a check from her back pocket and shoves it at me. “His father ruined my family, and the only thing that could possibly help is for him to go to jail. He can’t buy forgiveness for what’s happened.” She adjusts the toddler on her hip and looks at me with compassion. “Look, you clearly don’t know anything about what’s going on.”
She’s right. I look at the check she holds out and it says Gardner Trust and there are a lot of zeros on that check.
What is she talking about? Cash doesn’t have that kind of money. And a trust?
“I’m sorry,” I say not knowing what else I could do.
“It’s not your fault. It’s what happens when you trust lousy businessmen. They take your money and run, and no, some loser’s kid can’t make up for that.”
“Savy?” Cash walks down the stairs, a pair of jeans thrown on hastily, his hair still messy from sleep. “What’s going on?”
I turn, holding out the check. “You tell me.” This was what I wanted, but the truth is I have no idea who I’ve been sleeping with. A man who can keep secrets like this Marissa woman and her son.
His face freezes in confusion. His eyes go back and forth between me and Marissa, like he’s trying to put it all together.
“This woman came here with her child to return a check,” I say flatly. Cash pales. That’s right, you asshole, you got caught.
“Savy—let me explain,” he says, taking a step toward me and I instinctually back up. I don’t know what he’s going to tell me, I just know, there’s a whole part of his life he’s kept hidden from me.
Just like Tanner did.
God, I’m so fucking dumb.
“You finally have the nerve to show your face,” Marissa says, advancing on him. “You think some sort of hush money will make up for what your father did or keep us quiet? Because we don’t want this.”
The look on Cash’s face confirms what I’ve been fearing since the beginning. He’s been keeping something from me, and it finally followed him home.
And I run for the stairs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Cash
Savannah rushes back up the stairs and there’s no way to catch her without completely abandoning the woman in front of me. She’s shoving a check into my face. One that I wrote over to her and her family. Marissa Stamretz.
No way in this lifetime was this how I wanted Savannah to find out about my father—about what he did. I don’t know what’s worse, the woman standing in front of me with a check or the blank, vacant look that took over Savannah.
“You can take your money and shove it.” The woman presses a check into my hands and starts to walk away. No no no. She can’t not take the money. This is supposed to make it better—supposed to make up for everything that my father did. If she doesn’t take it, then what am I doing?
“This is for you, I can’t—I don’t want it and I don’t need it.”
“Well isn’t that nice for you, poor little rich boy.”
“I can’t change what my father did. This is the only way I can think of to make it right.”
“My parents lost everything after what your father did. Their retirement, their home—but we survived. This check, do you know what it brings up for us? Horrible memories. We got through everything by the skin of our teeth while we watched you Gardners have it all.”
“That’s why I’m giving—”
“I wasn’t done, so you listen here,” the woman goes on. The boy on her hip has found something amusing and starts clapping for his mother.