Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98652 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 493(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
"When you write lyrics, you pour your heart onto the page."
"Sometimes," she says.
"You're fearless about it."
She blushes. "Don't distract me with compliments. I want to have this conversation."
"I don't know if I can."
"Okay." She rubs my hand with her thumb again. "Let's talk until you run out of words. Then we can write a song about it."
"For Bryce?"
She shakes her head. "For us."
"Are we a band now?" I ask.
"We'd be a duo, not a band, and no. It's not for public consumption. It's for you. To have the space to express yourself. If you decide you want to share it with other people, we can do that, but it's not the point."
"You write without purpose?"
"Don't you?" she asks.
"Not anymore."
She nods. "I do it less than I did before I made it my gig. But I need it. I need it to breathe. You probably do too."
"I lost it somewhere," I say. "It got to be too hard. Too painful."
"Still?" she asks.
"No. It's been easier working with you."
She sits up all the way straight. "Did you just say I helped you reconnect with music?"
"Don't let it go to your head."
"Too late." She smiles, and this time, there's nothing bittersweet about it. "Fuck. Sorry. We're talking. You can't drop a bomb like that on me."
"I can't?"
She shakes her head. "Not if we're going to keep our clothes on."
"Who said we need to keep our clothes on?" I ask.
Her smile widens. "Trust me, Damon, I want to have my way with you right now. But we need to talk first."
"How about after?"
"After is from the end of the conversation to the end of the universe."
"Is that a yes?" I ask.
"It's a start talking if you want to get to after."
Chapter Thirty
Damon
The whir of the air conditioner fills the room. It melts into the steady rhythm of Cassie's breath.
Long inhale, slow exhale. She's not running away or freaking out or looking at me like she's sure I'm going to fuck this up.
She's here.
Calm isn't a word I'd normally use to describe Cassie. She's fiery, passionate, expressive. But she's steady too. She really is.
"Wait." Cassie holds up her finger one minute. "I know how to make this easier."
"Taking off your clothes?"
She laughs. "Strip confession? Take off your clothes every time someone else shares?"
"Sounds great. You start. I think you could lose the entire outfit at this point."
She pulls her cell from her jeans pocket. "It's easier for me when I have music."
"Is this your go-to move?"
"Stop distracting me." She kicks me softly and taps the screen a few times.
A soft guitar riff fills the room. Then moody vocals. A confessional singer-songwriter from the seventies.
Somehow, it's perfect.
She's really fucking good at this.
"How's that?" She studies my expression. "Better?"
I nod.
She sets her cell face down on the desk and sits next to me. "Whatever you want to say. Wherever you want to go."
I close my eyes and let my breath sync up to the beat. The rhythm fills my veins. Steadies my heart. "I've ignored this for too long."
"Music?"
I nod. "When we were kids, it felt good to escape into it. Even when I started drinking. When I started drinking way too much. Then one day, it wasn't enough. It didn't feel like an escape anymore. It felt like a reminder of the person I used to be, the person I wasn't. It was a pressure to dig deeper, and I couldn't. I needed to feel something else. Anything else."
"You didn't have music?"
I nod.
"No wonder you were such an obnoxious shit."
"Hey."
She looks up at me with a sweet smile. "It's true."
It's fair too. I stare back into her eyes. "You look right here."
"I feel right here."
I lean down and press my lips to hers.
She kisses back for a moment, then she pulls away. "I want to…"
But we need to talk first.
I get it.
"Let me back up." I already laid down the foundation. Now, I need to go back to the beginning. I want to explain this to her. I want her to understand. I want to understand myself. "At first, I believed Mom. I believed Dad would come back and be the same guy. That he needed a little help to avoid his temptation. But when he got home, he was different. Moody and distant. And that hurt her too. All of it hurt her. They tried to hide it from us. I think they did hide it from Daph. But I saw."
Cassie rests her head on my shoulder. She reaches out and takes my hand again.
It's enough to steady me. "That was what I learned. Dad had a problem. He would always have a problem. No matter how hard he fought, he'd always feel that temptation, and, eventually, he'd slip, and it would hurt everyone who loved him."
"I'm sorry," she says.
"I guess we all have shit from our parents."