Page 25 of Sing Me Home
I covered my eyes with my hands so he couldn’t see that they were welling. I couldn’t tell him the truth. Could hardly admit it to myself. I took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm the ache.
“Hey,” Cash called. The tips of my ears heated at his deep voice. We looked over to see him leaning against the barn. “Everything’s done. I’ll wait for you in the car.”
I watched him walk away, breathing through the pain. Then I looked at my uncle. “You’re not going to tellanyone, right?
Holden’s eyes flashed from Cash to me. “No. I told you I won’t.” His head tilted and his expression was pleading, like it might kill him to keep that promise. “But you should.”
nine
Cash
Ipaced the kitchen, my trail runners squeaking against the floor as I shook a shaker bottle full of pre-workout. “Nine months to a year. I think I might die if I have to wait that long.”
“Fourteen years,” Dad said, standing over the stove, cooking bacon with a pair of tongs. He’d crossed his finish line a long time ago. “You’ve got this, son.”
“I know. I know.” I whirled and went back the way I’d come, shaking the bottle with more vigor. “Maybe this is good. We’ll have time to get to know each other again as friends. Then we’ll have a short engagement. We could get married at beach week, like Uncle Ash.”
Dad cringed. “Not sure if that was bad luck or not. Aunt Tally disappeared that night, remember?”
“Oh, yeah.” My head bobbed. “Then we’ll have it here. Like you and Mom. Down by the lake.”
“I hate to put a damper on things, sweetie.” Mom stood by the island, her back to Dad, cooking scrambled eggs over the griddle. “But I’ve yet to hear you tell me one thing that makes me believe she wants a relationship at all.” Her shoulders fell, like she hated being the bearer of bad news. “Shefriend-zonedyou.”
“Because she’s still married,” I said.
Mom’s eyebrow crooked like she wasn’t so sure.
“Babe,” Dad said on a chuckle. “Have you seen the way she looks at him?”
“Like she’s terrified?” Mom huffed. “It’s not the look you hope a woman gives your son.”
Dad waved the tongs like a conducting baton. “Yes, but also, full of fire. She likes our boy. A lot.”
“Thank you, Dad.”
“And who wouldn’t like him?” he added. “I mean, look at that face.”
Mom snorted. “You mean, your face? Because he looks just like you.”
Dad nodded proudly. “Man, I did good.”
“Youdid good?” Mom scoffed. “I grew him. Inmywomb. For nine freaking months. Without you. Thankyouverymuch. Then I had my stomach sawed open because he inherited your big old head. Woke up in the middle of the night to nurse him, changed his poopy diapers, and kept him alive through toddlerhood, primary, elementary, and middle school. Again, sans Ford Dupree.”
Dad shrugged and it was a good thing Mom couldn’t see. “And whose fault is that? You knew my number.”
Mom glared at me like she wanted to rip something in half.
I held my hands up arrested style. “We share the same face. Not the same mouth.”
She turned and popped Dad in the butt with her spatula. It bounced back like a boomerang, whacking her in the stomach. Dad didn’t even flinch. Just kept scooting the bacon around like he hadn’t felt it at all. Which must’ve annoyed her because she did it again. It bounced off even faster, no reaction.
“Stop flexing!” Mom huffed.
“Don’t hate on my buns of steel,” Dad said deadpan. He tossed a piece of bacon into his mouth from the cooling plate.
Mom shook her head, giving up. “Sweet mercy, I married a peacock,” she grumbled as she loaded buttered toast up with scrambled eggs. “Who would’ve thought I’d fall for someone more conceited than myself?”
I flashed them a grin. “I’m grateful for the face. And the singing voice. And the guitar skills. Thanks, Dad.”
