Read Online Cash Out by Greg Bardsley - Free Book Online

you think this involves someone you know, or something you did a long time ago.”
    I look up at him, shake my head.
    â€œWell,” Bryant says, “this won’t be the last time you see me.” Another pause. “Just the beginning. I’m gonna be all over you.”
    I look at him.
    â€œAnd do you know why?”
    I wait for more.
    â€œBecause I don’t like knife fights in my children’s park.” He glares at me, his eyeballs nearly shaking with rage. “Not here. Not in San Carlos.”
    I struggle to stand up. “Give me my bottle, guys.”
    Bryant snatches the Vicodin and tosses it to me. So much for that bullshit about checking my prescription. I pop it open, finger two pills, and swallow them dry.
    â€œNow, you guys wanna start actually doing your job?”
    Topeka stirs, Bryant jolts.
    â€œWhat’d you say?”
    â€œYou wanna do your job,” I snap, “and get some protection out at my house?”
    T he first time I saw Kate, I was at Alta Plaza in San Francisco.
    Saw her sitting with a girlfriend on the north end of the hilltop park, a six-pack of Tecate and a bag of Las Palmas tortilla chips between them. I was sprawled out on a blanket, trying to return to Bukowski’s Women and failing badly—all on account of her, this bewitching individual sitting nearby, laughing with her girlfriend as they looked out at the breathtaking view of the city. I kept staring and smiling, and she kept glancing back with a grin.
    There was a cuteness to her. A freshness. She was barefoot, sandals kicked off, jeans rolled up.
    She hollered, “You want one?”
    â€œHuh?”
    She yanked a can of Tecate off its plastic ring. “You want one?”
    I still have that can.
    Two years later, Kate and I sat right where we’d first met. She had her head on my lap, and I was running a finger along her hairline, looking down at her, determined to reassure her. We were getting married in a month, and we’d just had our worst fight ever—about my career as a reporter, its inability to provide stability for a family, and the difference between chasing a dream and being responsible. The conversation—or yelling match, as it turned out—in my Toyota had quickly disintegrated into a nasty attack-defend flurry in which everything from “You always wanted to change me” to “You don’t really love me” came flying out before we could think to stop.
    It had been a great two years, except for the past three months. The closer we got to the wedding date, the more things between us had unraveled. Of course, it had taken all that time to realize what was happening here. We were getting married, and Kate was horrified that someday we’d end up just like her parents—divorced, with a child.
    Kate spent her childhood alone, with a TV.
    She looked up at me, sniffling. “You’re not gonna leave me?”
    I stroked her head. “Kate, I’ll never leave you.”
    She started to cry. “Even when things get shitty?”
    I wiped the tears off her cheeks. “I’m in this for the rest of my life.”
    â€œEven if you get sick of me?”
    â€œEven if I get sick of you.”
    She looked up, those blue eyes melting me, the purity drilling into the center of my heart, and I was certain of two things: I loved this woman more than anything, and I would never let her down.
    S even years later:
    ANNE : OMG, my face is so flushed right now
    DAN : That’s because you know I’m turned on
    ANNE : Well that and the fact I can’t stop thinking about you
    DAN : God, you are so bad
    ANNE : Whatev . . . ;)
    DAN : So did you think about me?
    ANNE : Okay, now my face is getting like cherry red
    DAN : Did you?
    [long pause]
    ANNE : Yeah
    DAN : The big moment
    ANNE : Yeah?
    DAN : Did you have one?
    ANNE : Um . . . yeah
    DAN : And were you thinking of me?
    ANNE : I can’t believe I’m telling