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“Did you and your dad talk or see each other much when you were little?” he asks.

I tilt my head back and forth. “Here and there, yeah. Every so often, he’d visit, usually when he had business meetings. He’d take me to dinner or whatever, but that was it. I know Mom didn’t want me going back to the ranch alone with him. I think after a while…” I shrug. “He just stopped trying maybe? Who knows? But it pissed me off, and my mom, she didn’t help me feel any better about it because she was pissed too. I hated him because she hated him, you know? I felt bad for her.”

“Not easy, raising a kid on your own.”

“Exactly. So when I started feeling some teenage angst on top of all that, I think I snapped. I stopped answering Dad’s calls. When he came to visit, I refused to talk to him. Our relationship never really recovered.”

“That’s tough,” Cash says gruffly.

I blink back tears. “I really regret it now. By the time I was in high school, Dad and I were strangers.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-six. Why?”

Cash glances at me. “When your dad stopped calling, that was right around the time he took my brothers and me under his wing. Not that that’s an excuse, but…yeah, we kept him busy. Real busy.”

I blink again, a mixture of emotions unfurling in my center. Do I feel relief that Dad disappeared not because of what I did, but because he took in five orphaned boys and had his hands full?

Or do I feel hurt that he chose those boys over me? Because, God, knowing he loved them day in and day out—knowing he showed up for them in a way he never did for me—sends a knife through my heart.

No wonder I’ve been so angry all this time. What I’m really feeling is sadness over the fact that Dad made me feel unwanted for most of my life. It wasn’t intentional on his part; I get that now. But that’s how I felt, and it still hurts like hell to hear how wanted—how loved—he made other people feel.

“I know that’s a lot to chew on,” Cash continues, reading my thoughts once again, “but it’s something to consider.”

I nod, the breeze blowing my tears across my temples. “I’m glad he was good to y’all. I really am.”

“But?”

“But what?”

“Be honest.”

I cut him a glance. “Why? So you can hate me even more?”

“So you can get it off your chest. Whatever it is, Mollie, don’t let it eat you alive.”

My heart somersaults. I look him in the eye.

One, am I imagining it, or does Cash keep saying my name? Myrealname? I like it more than I should.

And two, why not tell him the truth? Chances are, I’ll be back in Dallas sooner rather than later, and I’ll never have to face Cash Rivers again. So what if he thinks less of me? I really do have nothing to lose.

Maybe that’s why I blurt, “But I wish Dad had been good to me too. I wish I’d been good to him when I had the chance. I wish…well, my mother is clearly a piece of work. I wish I hadn’t let her sway my opinion of Dad so much.”

Cash’s eyes move to the windshield. We’re quiet for a long beat. My cheeks burn, even as the lump in my throat begins to dissolve.

Go figure—telling the truth really does make you feel better.

“Your mom is your mom,” he says at last. “She’s the one who raised you. Of course you were going to side with her. Cut yourself some slack.”

“Would you? Cut yourself some slack after you irreparably damaged your relationship with your dad?”

He thinks on this for a minute. “I got on your dad once or twice about this. More’n that, actually. All the things I wish I’d said to my parents that I never got to…” He takes a deep breath. “I told him he’d regret not making more of an effort with you.”

My stomach seizes. “You did?”

“Hell yeah, I did. Maybe you messed up, but he was the parent. He was an adult. He should’ve known better. I loved Garrett—don’t get me wrong. But he could be so stubborn. The regrets I have, I knew he’d have them, too, so I said something.”