Page 71 of Unruly

When he shuts the door, I walk over to it and lock it, watching Rhett as he heads to his truck and pulls away, dust trailing behind.

Grandpa Ben’s letter is still in my hands.

I may read it. Just not today. Maybe tomorrow.

My phone buzzes on the counter.

Lawyer:

Court is in 3 weeks on Monday, Sept 19 at 9 AM. Courtroom B. Meet me 30 minutes before that in the lobby to talk before we go in.

CASH

The bonfire is already going hard when we pull up. Sparks are shooting into the dark, and somebody’s truck speakers are rattling so loud the bass is making my beer can vibrate in my hand. Dawson’s old high school crowd is everywhere. Lawn chairs are scattered, tailgates open, girls in cutoff shorts and boots, and red cups in every hand.

This is exactly the type of therapy I needed.

Half of these people I’ve known since I was a kid. The other half I don’t give a shit about.

I’m already three beers deep before we’ve even parked.

“You good?” Dawson asks, killing the engine to his truck.

“Never fucking better.”

We both hop out of the truck.

“Why don’t you grab a beer?” I ask him.

Dawson shakes his head. “I’m not drinking anymore.”

I scoff. “Don’t be a fucking pussy.”

He rolls his eyes and fucks off, leaving me to my own devices. I make my rounds, slapping hands and getting pulled into half-assed hugs and handed another beer. I wink at some girls that stare at me for a second too long and they giggle at one another. This is the Cash everyone loves—loud, stupid, and fun. I just need a good time and a warm body to sink into at the end of the night.

I’ve been running this version of myself nonstop for the last two weeks. The version of Cash Thornwood that everyone despises.

Halle doesn’t want me, and that’s fine. I took care of the Zach problem for her, though, so she can live her life in peace, and I can live mine exactly how she’s been trying to get me to live for months.

I’m twenty-two years old, I’m single, and I’m about to party like I’ve got something to prove … because I do. I’m gonna drink until I stop thinking about her. I’m gonna flirt until my face hurts. I’m gonna find some girl who doesn’t know my last name and doesn’t give a shit about my family or any of the heavy shit I’ve been dragging around.

I’m gonna remind myself who the fuck I am.

Cash Thornwood doesn’t sit around moping over some woman who called him kid and then decided he wasn’t worth the trouble. Cash Thornwood parties. Cash Thornwood moves on. Cash Thornwood doesn’t get left behind.

About an hour in, a cute dark-haired girl comes to stand by me as I talk to Kyle and Derek. I give them a nod and they fuck off. I think her name is Brynne, but honestly, I don’t give a fuck. I throw an arm around her and she blushes as if on cue.

“You’re in a good mood tonight,” she says, leaning into me.

“Always in a good mood when I see you, baby.”

She likes that; I can tell by the way she rubs against my chest as she talks to me. This is easy. This is what I know how to do. I don’t do that deep-talk shit.

Halle was right; I need to enjoy the time I have and not give a fuck.

I’m doing exactly what she told me.

By the time most people have wandered off to find somewhere darker to make out, Brynne’s sitting sideways in my lap in the back of Dawson’s truck. My hand is on her waist, and she smells like campfire and whatever sweet shit she sprayed on earlier. She’s talking about something, but I stopped listening five minutes ago, so I’m just nodding along, drinking my beer.