God, he hurt again all of a sudden. “I never told you this, but I had a ring.”

She bolted straight up. “Excuse me?”

Cash pushed up on his elbows, unsure where the fuck that honest tidbit materialized from. He laughed, not all that shocked that he’d confessed the truth, and stood up. “Good night, Nicola. Hope your arm feels better.”

***

“Oh, no you don’t,” Nicola yelled from the picnic table.

He walked into the house and shut the door before she was even upright. Hopping and hobbling as fast as her good and gimp feet would move her, Nicola tried to balance with an arm in the sling. He couldn’t throw a bomb like that and just run. Hell no.

She threw open the door and hollered, “Get back here.”

“Night, Nic.” He was halfway across the kitchen, not looking back. “Have a nice life.”

“Cash Garrison. Stop!”

He pivoted and looked at her in a way that tore her emotions into bits of shrapnel. “Why? What does it matter?”

“You can’t say you had a ring and walk away.”

“Why not? You walked away. You left, remember?”

“I left everyone!”

“You left me.” Cash laughed. “You know what? I don’t care about everyone. I never even cared about me. I cared about you. I mourned you. I died that day alongside you. But ain’t that some shit?”

“Cash—”

“Yeah, yeah. You had your reasons. But it was a good thing. Never would be here, where I am now, if you hadn’t walked away.”

She hopped two steps forward, and the pressure in her chest nearly debilitated her. “You’re a son of a bitch.”

He met her in the middle of the kitchen like they were squaring off for a round of celebrity death match, operative-style. “You’re a goddamn liar.”

The lights flicked on. Roman stood in the hallway, gun in one hand, other hand still on the wall. “What the fuck are you two doing? Nic, are you okay?”

“Yeah, what are we doing, Nicola?” Cash’s glare locked on hers.

Silence.

She had nothing to say. Nothing except for… she narrowed her eyes. “I hate you, Cash.”

“You hate me? Jesus fucking Christ. If that’s not the best line you’ve had all night, I don’t know what is. The CIA feed you those beauties?”

Roman cleared his throat. “CIA? What’s the Agency got to do with this?”

They ignored him. “You think you can keep your mouth shut about anything? Mister Let’s-sit-and-talk-under-the-moon?”

“At least I’m solid to those I care about.”

They were nose to nose. Well, as close as they could be with him towering over her. She breathed hard through sealed teeth, angrier than she had ever been, and she didn’t know why. She shoved him with her good elbow, attempting to push past him. He grasped her bicep, pulled her close.

Inches. She was inches from his face, and for some reason, all she could think about was how he smelled like soap. Soap and Jack Daniel’s.