Ford chewed his lower lip. He wanted to believe Cash, but he wasn't sure if he could. The hurt of realizing Cash had been keeping so many things from him was still there, apparently — time had let it stagnate, rather than healed it. He shifted his weight on his feet, then sighed.

"I guess it doesn't really matter now," he said eventually. Who had or hadn't come to Black's on Monday night certainly didn't matter; it was too small and petty for Ford to even pretend to be angry about. The depths of what Cash hadn't told him didn't matter, because Ford didn't think he would ever be able to look past it, whatever it was.

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