kills me that she’d pick a fucker like him over me. Like, what does that shithead have that I don’t?
She sighs, like she knew this was coming. “You really wanna do this now, Cash?” she asks.
“How do you wanna do it?” I look at both of them, my voice even—but I’m not calm. Not at all. Inside, my blood is boiling because the three of us have been tiptoeing around things that matter way too much.
It’s like we’ve been holding it all together long enough for me to sign the fucking contract—but now it’s signed, and our hearts have space to finally explode.
And, right now, I could burst. I hold a lot of shit against the two of them. They turned on me when I needed them most. Maybe I’m holding it against them because people have been turning their backs on me for a long time before that.
Chad never went to prison. I did. I took the fucking fall for all of us.
And, sure, I got out after thirteen months, but being incarcerated changed my life. I’m not the man I was, and I lost more than a year of my life. I lost my boys, my hood. My identity.
And I’m no closer to finding it, two years later.
“Cash, this can’t be a surprise,” Gina says.
“Not a surprise?” I give a sharp laugh. “I promised you everything.”
“And what was that?” she asks, plainly.
And, God damn it, that slays me. Because, sure, I never had much to offer, but I was willing to give her all I had.
It’s so fucking clear. Why Chad, and why not me.
I don’t know who is the bigger fool.
“You think Chad will end up with more than me in the end, is that it? That he’ll rise in ways I won’t? That he’ll give you a life I can’t.” I down my drink. “Gina, I’m the talent he’s scouting. I’m the product. I’m the reason we have money in the bank.”
Her eyebrows raise; she’s not convinced.
“I made you what you’re going to be, little bro,” Chad says, walking toward Gina, and pulling her to stand. “And I am going to make a dozen more just like you. You may have the chops, but I have the vision. Visionaries always win in the end.”
“Fuck you.” I walk to the front door, throw it open. I want to fire him right here, on the spot, but I don’t trust my gut anymore.
I can’t fuck this up—ruin my chance—because Mom needs me. And I have no clue how Chad might react to getting the boot.
I can’t give in to the heat of the moment, because that would only confirm my fear: that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
The only thing that has felt real, true—good and honest—in a long fucking time is Evangeline.
I need to see her. Maybe I can look in her gray eyes and see the truth I seek.
Maybe my muse will set me free.
Chapter Eleven
Evangeline
I s it totally lame of me to admit that I spent the afternoon getting ready for my date? Because I did. I so did. Now that I know I’m going to lose my virginity tonight, I’m determined to make it as perfect as possible.
I shave. Twice. I put on thick black eyeliner, then wash it off and start again with soft silver shadow. I root around my closet in indecision, and eventually put on a strapless maxi and sandals. I braid my hair and pin it around my head, then unfurl the whole thing and let my dark locks fan over my shoulders.
I’m nervous in the best sort of way.
I google Cash Flow. I clink a link, then two. Then three. I feel wrong for doing this, but learn that he’s from a neighborhood filled with crime and went to prison for beating a man, and he started posting his rap-offs on YouTube a year ago.
His music is insane. Insanely beautiful. I was expecting something grim, or a song about bitches and hos, but Cash isn’t that kind of rapper.
He’s a genius.
I understand why my dad signed him. I’d sign him. I watch every clip, mesmerized, because with a mic in his hand he’s powerful. He’s electric.
He’s fucking hot as hell.
He has hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers. He tweets every hour.
But I swear, not one of
She sighs, like she knew this was coming. “You really wanna do this now, Cash?” she asks.
“How do you wanna do it?” I look at both of them, my voice even—but I’m not calm. Not at all. Inside, my blood is boiling because the three of us have been tiptoeing around things that matter way too much.
It’s like we’ve been holding it all together long enough for me to sign the fucking contract—but now it’s signed, and our hearts have space to finally explode.
And, right now, I could burst. I hold a lot of shit against the two of them. They turned on me when I needed them most. Maybe I’m holding it against them because people have been turning their backs on me for a long time before that.
Chad never went to prison. I did. I took the fucking fall for all of us.
And, sure, I got out after thirteen months, but being incarcerated changed my life. I’m not the man I was, and I lost more than a year of my life. I lost my boys, my hood. My identity.
And I’m no closer to finding it, two years later.
“Cash, this can’t be a surprise,” Gina says.
“Not a surprise?” I give a sharp laugh. “I promised you everything.”
“And what was that?” she asks, plainly.
And, God damn it, that slays me. Because, sure, I never had much to offer, but I was willing to give her all I had.
It’s so fucking clear. Why Chad, and why not me.
I don’t know who is the bigger fool.
“You think Chad will end up with more than me in the end, is that it? That he’ll rise in ways I won’t? That he’ll give you a life I can’t.” I down my drink. “Gina, I’m the talent he’s scouting. I’m the product. I’m the reason we have money in the bank.”
Her eyebrows raise; she’s not convinced.
“I made you what you’re going to be, little bro,” Chad says, walking toward Gina, and pulling her to stand. “And I am going to make a dozen more just like you. You may have the chops, but I have the vision. Visionaries always win in the end.”
“Fuck you.” I walk to the front door, throw it open. I want to fire him right here, on the spot, but I don’t trust my gut anymore.
I can’t fuck this up—ruin my chance—because Mom needs me. And I have no clue how Chad might react to getting the boot.
I can’t give in to the heat of the moment, because that would only confirm my fear: that I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
The only thing that has felt real, true—good and honest—in a long fucking time is Evangeline.
I need to see her. Maybe I can look in her gray eyes and see the truth I seek.
Maybe my muse will set me free.
Chapter Eleven
Evangeline
I s it totally lame of me to admit that I spent the afternoon getting ready for my date? Because I did. I so did. Now that I know I’m going to lose my virginity tonight, I’m determined to make it as perfect as possible.
I shave. Twice. I put on thick black eyeliner, then wash it off and start again with soft silver shadow. I root around my closet in indecision, and eventually put on a strapless maxi and sandals. I braid my hair and pin it around my head, then unfurl the whole thing and let my dark locks fan over my shoulders.
I’m nervous in the best sort of way.
I google Cash Flow. I clink a link, then two. Then three. I feel wrong for doing this, but learn that he’s from a neighborhood filled with crime and went to prison for beating a man, and he started posting his rap-offs on YouTube a year ago.
His music is insane. Insanely beautiful. I was expecting something grim, or a song about bitches and hos, but Cash isn’t that kind of rapper.
He’s a genius.
I understand why my dad signed him. I’d sign him. I watch every clip, mesmerized, because with a mic in his hand he’s powerful. He’s electric.
He’s fucking hot as hell.
He has hundreds of thousands of Instagram followers. He tweets every hour.
But I swear, not one of
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