Read Online Cash Out by Greg Bardsley - Free Book Online Page A

you this
    DAN : You were, huh?
    ANNE : Uh-huh :)
    DAN : And??????
    ANNE : IT . . .
    ANNE : . . . WAS . . .
    ANNE : A
    ANNE : M
    ANNE : A
    ANNE : Z
    ANNE : I
    ANNE : N
    ANNE : G
    DAN : Whoa
    ANNE : It was like you were inside me last night
    DAN : Whoa
    ANNE : Uh-huh . . .
    DAN : God, I want you
    ANNE : Are you still hard, Dan?
    DAN : Oh, yeah.
    ANNE : Good :)
    My worst moment, hands down.
    God, I am scum.
    D riving home from the police department in the predawn mist, I’m thinking about it all, realizing how close I’ve just come to letting Kate down. Writing that crap with Anne. Soiling the spirit of my marriage. Jeopardizing a million dollars just to leak gossip to a reporter. Not to mention nearly getting locked up for assault and battery. I can’t imagine anything more destructive, anything that would destroy the trust Kate had developed over the past nine years, that would send my boys along the same damaging trajectory their mother experienced as a child.
    I need to keep my family intact. I just don’t know where to start.
    I open the front door a crack and peer in. The faintest hint of dawn has crept through the blinds, the colors muted. In the corner, in my leather armchair, is Rod’s silhouette, his heavy brow profiled prominently, his posture upright but relaxed, his legs planted open on the floor.
    â€œHey.” I open the door a little more. “It’s me.”
    â€œNo shit.” He doesn’t move. “Could hear your car two blocks away.”
    I have to admit, it feels good to see Rod in my front room. Rod is never afraid of anything, and being around that confidence, that strength and courage, is reassuring. These assholes, whoever they are—they’re in for a surprise if they haven’t accounted for Rod.
    He nods to the back of the house. “Go.” His voice is cool as granite. “I’ll pour you something.” He rises and strides toward the kitchen. “Coffee or a cold one?”
    I limp across the living room. At the hallway entrance I nearly trip on a toy motorcycle. My house is a freaking minefield of boy toys. Coffee sounds pretty damn good, but after everything that’s happened, all that’s racing through my mind, I know what I really want.
    â€œCold one,” I whisper.
    In the boys’ room, I stand between their beds and gaze down at them. Ben is stretched on his side, twisted blankets snaking through his legs, his back arched dramatically, his belly coming through the pajamas, belly button showing, his chin up—just as he slept as a newborn. I squat down, bite my lip from the pain, and run the back of my hand along his cheek—smooth, warm, and perfect. He’s brought to bed a small truck, a plastic lion, and a framed photo of me from the living room. I kiss him lightly on the temple.
    My boy Benny.
    I turn and look at Harry—at his blond hair, fair skin like his mom’s—and start to tear up. I’ve come so close to scarring him. Daddy attacked a nice man at the sandbox. The thought makes my stomach turn.
    I gather myself in the hallway, taking deep breaths. I hear Rod opening beer bottles, the caps bouncing on my counter. I take another deep breath, exhale slowly. I hobble down the hallway to our bedroom, inadvertently kick a Hot Wheel down the hallway, where it slams against the baseboard. I look in; Kate is asleep, surrounded by extra pillows, the phone a foot away from her face.
    Loyal Kate. I back out, careful not to wake her.
    When I get the kitchen, Rod is sitting at the table, nursing a Modelo. When he sees my eyes, he walks over, grabs my shoulders, and shakes me. Affection, Rod Stone style. “It’s gonna be all right, Danny.” He shakes me harder and brings me in for a hug—an awkward man-hug, chests pushed out to limit the intimacy, big hard thumps on the back. “Whatever this is, we’ll figure it out.”
    We sit down and take our