Suited (St. Martin Family Saga) (5 page)

Cash cut him off. “I’m a
successful
professional gambler. There aren’t a lot of those.”

Clifton didn’t acknowledge his comment. Instead he said, “And look at how you’ve defaced your body with those tattoos. No one would take you seriously much less trust you with their investments.”

Cash got up from the table with enough force to knock his chair into the wall and dent it.

“Never could control that temper of yours, boy.”

Cash walked out.

Isa stared from Clifton to Camp and then back to Clifton. She ran after Cash, but he was already flying out of the driveway when she got outside. She planned to follow him in her car but was hit with a bout of nausea and ended up vomiting over the railing. The tension was taking a toll on her.

She trudged back into the office. Camp looked at her expectantly, and she shook her head and looked down at her hands.

She walked over to the table where Clifton was seated. She picked up the overturned chair and sat in it. She stared at Clifton, knowing that Camp was watching her.

Narrow-eyed, Clifton looked at both of them. “Everything I said is true, and the two of you would know it if you looked at him objectively rather than that way you do, as if he were perfect. As if his love for you made everything else he did right.”

Did he mean to say she shouldn’t look at Cash with love? That she shouldn’t consider his care of her when she decided what kind of man he was?

Is that what Clifton did, stripped out the love and tenderness, pulled out all the good in a man to see what was left?

Well, if he stripped the love away from Cash, there wasn’t a whole lot left. Not that Cash didn’t have a lot going for him or wasn’t skilled or talented. It was just that everything he did was done with love and integrity. The core that made him up, the love, couldn’t be stripped away from his actions. If all the parts of him that were interwoven with good and compassion and honor were cut away, then no, there wouldn’t be much left. And thank God for that. Cash was good through and through.

He’d made mistakes when he was younger, but he was honest and upright, compassionate and loving. And Isa would take that over other qualities any day.

Clifton pushed himself back in his chair. “You would think the boy would at least cover his arms with a long-sleeved shirt, but he has never considered anyone but himself.”

Isa had heard enough. And she’d had enough of this Southern shit. She knew instead of pressing their father, the boys just chose to retreat, respect the elders and all. Fuck that. She was going to speak up. “He doesn’t normally dress that way. He’s been wearing dress trousers and Oxford shirts with long sleeves every day. But that’s not the real issue here, is it?”

Clifton met her gaze with intense, burning eyes. “It’s true that in business tattoos don’t conjure up thoughts of a responsible and respectable individual.”

“Fair enough. As I said, they’re usually covered. He’s heading out on a long weekend. He hasn’t taken a day off since he started eight weeks ago, has even been coming in on weekends.” She rapped her knuckles against the table. “And without being paid, as Camp already pointed out to you.”

“That’s all well and good, but I still don’t trust him. I built this company from the sweat of my brow all those years ago—”

Isa held up her hand and spoke over him. “I’m aware of how your company got its start, and that is admirable. Your company thrives, yet there are aspects of your family and your personal life that do not. Cashel is your son. He needs your acceptance. It’s all he longs for, the one thing he doesn’t have. He’s changed, changed a long time ago, but you’re so caught up in finding his faults you can’t see how far he’s come. We’ve all messed up at one time or another. If we can’t count on the people we love and who love us to accept those mistakes and forgive them, well, sir, life wouldn’t be worth living, would it? Why would a man strive for acceptance when acceptance could never be won? Cash came home alive and healthy; that’s all many fathers can hope for. But he also came back an honorable and loving man. But
you
didn’t change. And you should have. Because you are no more perfect now than he was eight years ago.”

She shook her head. Looked at him. Turned to Camp and then looked back at Clifton. She leaned in close.

“
You
need to make positive contact with Cash. Before it’s too late.” She turned toward the door and imagined the world outside the office. Imagined Cash wondering alone in it. “Before his heart is too hard to hear you. Before it’s too hard to hear yours.”

Isa stood and gathered her things before quietly slipping out. She knew the Cash of the past eight weeks was gone. She’d seen it in his haunted eyes just as she had eight years ago. There would be no jazz fest, no forever for them. He was gone and he’d let her go again.

6

C
ash drove and
drove, his head stewing in a sea of red. The only thing that focused him was the hum of the tires and the endless miles he was clocking between Baton Rouge and Las Vegas.

It was finally clear to him that his father would never accept him. And Cash would never give him another chance. Why he even thought going back to that godforsaken town was a good idea was a mystery to him now.

He drove for seven hours without stopping. Unfortunately he couldn’t stop thinking. He’d gone back home to reunite with his family. Camp had needed help, and Cash had done a damned good job with that help, but he wasn’t going to stick around and not be appreciated. It would be a cold day in hell the next time he got caught with a losing hand.

Eighteen hours later, he’d made it back to the smoke and lights in a place as soulless as himself. Cash had given up binging on alcohol and drugs but standing at the window in his high-rise Vegas condo, he could have killed for a snort. Yet he’d made a promise to himself, and he’d kept it. He hoped it would hold firm through this shit storm his father had stirred up.

Cash had been so mad when he stormed out that he’d forgotten about the jazz festival. Stopping only for gas, he’d driven twenty-five hours straight on the adrenaline coursing through his veins. He grimaced as he thought about the excitement on Isa’s face when he’d told her of the plans he’d made for them in New Orleans. He’d promised her he wouldn’t hurt her again and that he’d never again leave. He’d broken all his promises and after only eight weeks. There was something about the number eight that he was beginning to dislike.

The phone Camp lent him was lighting up like it was the Fourth of July. He didn’t even bother to look at it before turning it off and collapsing on the cool crisp sheets of his bed. His migraines were back and the pain was piercing off his ability to focus but he relished the pain. The more the merrier as they say.

≈

Cash was aroused from sleep at the hard banging at his door. What time was it anyway? Fucking Vegas. Cash rolled over and closed his eyes, but the banging didn’t cease. He drew himself up and pulled on a pair of lounge pants. He walked to the door and cracked it open.

“Dad?” He looked behind his father. “Camp?” He opened the door wide, permitting them entry.

Cash was distorted and confused. Had he taken drugs, or was he drunk? To his relief the clock on the wall read four o’clock. No drugs, no alcohol, just a crazy brother and father. He knew it to be early morning because the view from his window was glowing from the lights of the Strip.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m sorry, son.” His father’s eyes focused on Cash’s overly inked chest. As they made eye contact, Cash saw liquid pool in his father’s eyes. Saw him take in a deep, audible breath. His father whispered his name and reached his hand out to Cash’s shoulder, resting it there as the tears fell. “I was overjoyed that you returned. I never told you that.” He scrubbed his face. “I should have made the first move to attempt our reconciliation, but instead I chose to remain petty. I’m sorry. You’ve come so far, you make me proud.”

Cash was completely taken off guard. Was he dreaming? Were his twin brother and his father really here? Had to be dreaming. He closed his eyes. No, he’d wanted it too much and now it was here mocking him as a figment, a mirage. He pinched himself on the forearm and it stung. He opened his eyes and his father and Camp still stood before him. Why now? Why not back at the worksite where he could have been with Isa? He felt the resolve harden across his face and knew his father understood he’d probably just been defeated.

His dad’s head shook narrowly. He slumped and turned his eyes to the floor. “You’ve every right to hate me.”

Camp guided them both to the living room and bid them to sit. His father sat with his head in his hands, elbows resting on his knees. Camp cast wide eyes at him. Cash shrugged. He’d never seen his father in such a state. He could tell by the worry on Camp’s face that he’d never witnessed it either.

When he finally sat up, he scrubbed his face with his hand. “When I was your age, it had been said I did things my own way and would never use conventional methods. Everyone thought I was crazy, but I outbid them all using innovative solutions. At first I’d been a loose cannon—the word was that people would be crazy to trust me. But then I’d had a series of small successes and the stories started to change and the business started to grow.”

He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes at Cash. “The same is true of you. The very same thing. I’d heard the stories all those years ago about your career choice. I’d heard the townsfolk joke and laugh at your expense. Then those stories started to change:
Cash won the world series of poker;
Cash has his own television show;
Cash has a Gillette commercial;
I saw Cash’s book at the store
. I’ve been following your career using Google alerts. I memorized every win. I saved every television appearance on TiVo. I read both of your books. I can’t tell you the amount of pride I felt when I learned how successful you’d become.”

Tears flowed down his father’s face.

Cash was completely stunned. He’d thought his father worked hard to not think of him at all. Confusion, humility, rage, love, and hate coursed through his body until it left him numb.

“As your father, I will always want to protect you—even from yourself. While I’ve read all the good things about you, I’ve also read about your Vegas lifestyle, and I prayed every day that you would see your way safely home before…”

He gasped and wouldn’t finish. Cash stared. He could do nothing else. Who was this man?

“I’m sorry for the words I said at the office. I’ve seen your growth. I see you sober. I’m grateful that you have wrangled your demons. I know I went about it the wrong way, but I was only trying to make you understand, make you see so you wouldn’t forget and be drawn back in. It’s a constant battle. I know that.” He clamped one hand to Cash’s arm. “Anyway, I’m sorry. I was a fool. I love you. I tell everyone I know about your books and your shows and your big competition wins.”

Camp nodded as if he’d heard about them way too many times, “He does. To everyone.”

Cash listened as his father apologized. He wanted to believe him, but he’d always been so hard on him, so much more than the others. He couldn’t understand why. He’d never understood why.

Camp jumped up and went rummaging through the kitchen. Cash expected him to come back with beer and Oreos. Instead he handed him and their dad bottles of cold water. Cash was glad his brother was here. Had it just been his father at the door, he wouldn’t have answered. He suspected Camp knew that very thing and that’s why he’d accompanied their father on this journey.

His dad drew his attention again.

“When you started gambling and getting into trouble, I thought that was my punishment.” He stopped to drink some of his water.

“When I was a young man, before your mother came to save me, I’d been heavily into the gambling scene. That’s how I got into building casinos. But one day my luck ran out and I owed big. I didn’t have any way to pay, and the deadline I’d been given came and passed. They found me; they always do. I was left for dead.

Cash couldn’t believe his ears. His father had been a gambler. He’d thought his dad hated him but he’d been just like him as a young man, except that he’d lost. For some reason this negative lifestyle that they’d shared made him immediately respect his father more. Suddenly, he was interested to hear more.

It was your mother who saved me and took me to the hospital. I was in and out of consciousness for two weeks. I remember her face during that time. She worried and fussed over me. When I woke for good I asked her why she’d done it. She said she had a vision of us with many children, boys mostly, and a set of twins.”

Camp laughed, and Cash said, “Bullshit.”

“All true; you can ask her. I, of course, laughed it off, just like you guys just did. But she was serious. She borrowed the money from her father to pay my debts, and I swore I’d live the rest of my life making it up to her.”

God, with those words he thought of Isa and it made his head hurt.

His father stood. Then he unbuttoned his shirt, slid it down his shoulders and handed it to Camp. He removed the undershirt he always wore. When he finished he stood unmoving in front of Cash.

Cash couldn’t remember if he’d ever seen his dad’s naked chest. “Uh, Dad?”

His father slowly rotated and revealed his back. Cash gasped as he stared at tattoos very similar to the ones that littered his body. Tattoos of burning aces and poker chips, a roulette wheel, and one of all his children’s names.

“Dad, what is this?”

His father looked at Camp.

“Should I give you guys some privacy?” Camp asked.

Their dad shook his head. “Stay.” He turned all the way around, until he was once again facing Cash.

“I’ve been hardest on you because you are the most like me. I know your potential, the good and the bad. My tactics have been all wrong and instead of pulling you in, I’ve pushed you away. Turns out you’re a better man than me. You were able to get control of your demons and you alone are responsible for your success. I know we’ve been at odds for these past ten or so years, but please, let’s not make it any more.”

They embraced; Cash didn’t know which one of them moved first. But he liked it. Liked the strength of his father’s arms wrapped tight around him. Accepting him. Welcoming him. Tears rolled and washed away all that had been in the way. Washed away the bitterness that had colored all the good things Cash had earned.

Camp eventually joined them, laughing and making Cash laugh too.

His dad said, “If only our women could see us now.”

They laughed again, until they were nearly crying. Then Cash went light-headed.

“Isa! I’ve got to go to her.”

They raced for the airport.

An hour later Cash, Camp, and their father were waiting at the gate for a standby flight to New Orleans. Cash hadn’t been able to get Isa by phone, text, or email.

“We had plans,” he said. “We were going to the jazz fest. I got tickets to see one of our favorite artists, Bernard Larue. We saw him when we were students and took his CD home and made love to it all night. The symbolism of getting those tickets and planning that trip was huge. And I fucked it up.” Cash wiped at his face with his hand. “I don’t think she’s going to understand. I’d told her I wouldn’t run again, and yet I left with no explanation. Instead of turning to her, I cut and ran.
Again
.” Cash shook his head. “Any way you look at it, this is bad.”