Or aunt. Or some fucked up shit that Cash couldn’t remember at the moment.
“What?”
She smiled but sadness glinted in her eyes. “Definitely related to Parnell.”
“Don’t fucking remind me. You’re the one who has willingly tied herself to him.”
“As his mistress, Cash. He won’t marry me.”
“This is your chance to run far the fuck away from that motherfucker.”
Glancing around, she relaxed a fraction when she saw the rocking chair. By the standards in which he’d grown up, his room wasn’t big, but it wasn’t small either.
“Never would’ve thought you’d have a rocking chair in your room,” she told him, pulling it near his bed.
“Dad would let Georgie come over sometimes,” he admitted. “I’d rock her to sleep on those rare occasions.”
“Perhaps, Cassandra prevented him from sending her more often.”
“Perhaps.” Cash didn’t care to hear about Georgie’s mother either. “What are you doing here, Abby?”
“Your dad sent me.” The announcement seemed to embarrass her. “He’s out of town.”
“So?”
She crossed her long legs, tanned and shapely. She wore white shorts, flip-flops, and a cami. His father was a lucky motherfucker to have a beautiful woman at his side who’d do his bidding. Cash’s beautiful woman had left him in the fucking dust.
“Jocelyn telephoned him. She’s quite concerned about you.”
“My mom called Parnell McCall?” She’d just as soon cut his balls off and feed them to pigs.
“Yes.”
The room spinning, he stared at the ceiling. “Dad sent you with a message?”
“He asked me to visit you on his behalf.”
“You’ve done it. Now, leave.”
The rocking chair squeaked. A moment later, Cash’s bed dipped and he opened his eyes to find Abby sitting on the edge next to him.
“For a long time I held myself responsible for Cassandra’s death,” she admitted.
“You were responsible.” He only gave a fuck because Georgie had been devastated. “We’ve cleared that up, so go.”
Silence. Not a peep, though Cash knew she remained. He glanced in her direction and found her pale. She lifted her chin.
“I’m not here to rehash that.”
“You brought it up, princess, not me. Take your fucking blinders off. My father will never marry you. Josh despises you.”
She stood. “I get that you’re upset about your breakup,” she said tightly, “but I didn’t come here for your verbal abuse. I came as a favor to your dad because I love him.”
“He loves him, too, so good fucking luck.”
“Cash McCall,” Jocelyn said with disapproval, standing somewhere behind Abby. “Don’t you dare treat a woman with such disrespect. It isn’t her fault you’re taking a break from the people you love.”
Cash lifted his head as his mother halted next to Abby. His father liked tall women. Why Georgie was so damn short, he couldn’t begin to understand. Of course, Helen Sanderson, Georgie’s maternal grandmother, was a short, old witch, perfect size to ride her fucking broom.
“Mom, we’re over. It isn’t a break. Fee wants what I can’t give to her.”
“What does Stretch want, son?” she asked, her eyes filled with understanding.
“God, I don’t know. What does it matter? I can’t…Fuck, Mom! I’m the sonofabitch. Okay? The aimless motherfucker who amused himself with two innocent people.”
Stretch’s words still burned in his brain. He’d been so right, too.
“His mother’s a bible-thumping cunt, but she’d say I was throwing stones and living in a glass house.”
“Cash, enough with the cussing and name calling,” his mother chastised. “This isn’t you.”
“This is exactly me, Mother,” he snapped, then rested his aching head on his pillow again. “They loved me anyway. I could be me. They’ve seen the worst of me and didn’t care.” Fuck this. He didn’t need to have his heart trampled again by rehashing this. He’d just remember them.
He swayed to a sitting position. “I’m going out.”
“You’re in no condition to go anywhere. Least of all on your bike.”
“That isn’t my bike,” he gritted. “My cycle’s hundreds of miles away, right the fuck where I left it.”
“You’re leaving your club?”
He squinted at the question. Was he? Would not seeing Stretch help him? Would not hearing tidbits here and there about Fee aid his recovery? Or would he become worse?