Playing for Real - Book 2

Chapter 11

Quinn 

Seven and a half hours on a plane and one awkward limo ride later, I'm standing in Cash's new home in Santa Anna. Cash drops the keys on the little table by the door, and I look around. His apartment has two bedrooms off a sizeable main loft area with a beautiful view over several city blocks and across the ocean. It's messier than I expected, with clothes tossed over the back of a sofa, dirty dishes in the sink, and dust on the coffee table. I don't understand...Cash was always so neat. He follows the path of my eyes and then back at me, blushing knowingly.

"Sorry about the mess," he grumbles, and I weave a little on my feet. He studies me, pushing his hat off his head and mussing his hair with one hand. "I wasn't exactly expecting company."

"I'm not judging," I assure him, carefully stepping into his apartment.

I slide off my jacket and see his new life without me for the first time. It's weird to be here alone with him and see how different and alien everything familiar looks after we've been apart for what feels like forever.

He walks into the living room and motions for me to follow. From behind, he asks, "Are you regretting this yet?"

I start to respond to this—I've been regretting it from the moment I agreed to it, but I'm not about to tell him that—but he keeps talking.

"If the only reason you decided to come was because you pity me or because you feel obligated, then I don't want you here. You barely said two words the entire flight...you refuse to look at me...You're not exactly easy to read, Mittens."

"Okay, Brooks." Stopping in front of a door, I turn and look up at him. "You're going to lecture me about not being easy to read? You're the one who hid a secret wife from me. Is it shocking that I'm scared to get too close to you again?"

I don't mean to sound flippant, but I do. At this moment, I realize how long it's been since I stepped on that plane to Boston. How different our lives have become without each other. Instead of a life full of passion, impulse, and excitement, my life now is structured, controlled, and focused. Yet somehow, it's emptier than it's ever been.

He nods, and the silence stretches for a long, weird beat until he says, "I'm going to take a shower." He looks down the hall and then back to me, gaze moving from my face to my feet. "The spare bedroom is done in the hall."

He turns, ducking his head into the bathroom before slipping entirely inside and closing the door behind him with a quiet click.

I carry my bag toward the spare bedroom, and when I walk inside, I toss it in the corner and flop on the bed. I sigh and take in the white walls, tall wood dresser, and matching nightstand on my right. The bedroom looks staged. It reminds me of a cookie-cutter showroom for some luxury condo. None of this feels like the Cash I grew to love. It's cold and plain, and I can't quite put my finger on it, but something's missing.

The drawer on the nightstand is slightly open. I spy a worn photo album tucked inside and feel my heart sink into my stomach. I'm pretty sure this must belong to Cash. I grew curious because he'd never shown me any photos of himself as a child.

I look around for a moment, debating whether or not I should look inside or close the drawer and pretend I didn't see anything. What I should do is keep my emotions in check and keep my head straight. I'm only here to make sure he doesn't ruin his career by not treating his concussion, not here to look for answers in an old photo album or let my heart nostalgically swell until I'm considering giving him a second chance. But the longer I stare at the album, the more I feel a prodding feeling in my stomach that tells me I need to look inside.

With a sigh, I flip open to the first page.

The first photo has a glowing honey-haired woman, no older than thirty, hugging two cute little boys. I swallow hard at the realization that this woman is Cash's mother, Marie. God, she is so beautiful. A small smile touches my lips, knowing those two adorable little boys sitting on her lap are Cash and his brother, Cory. I run my finger over the photo, thinking Cash can't be older than seven or eight. His big blue eyes are full of mischief, and he misses his two front teeth. His brother Cory looks like a mini version of Cash but with brown eyes and no dimples.