Chapter 46
FORTY-SIX
I startle awake.
Bang.
Bang.
Bang.
That would be why. The glowing alarm clock says 2:00 a.m. Who knocks at this hour?
Bang.
Crash.
What the heck—
“Summer. Sum, it’s me.” Cash’s voice is thin, like a whisper, but ten times louder, so not a whisper at all. He’s going to wake up the entire hotel. How did he even break out of Paula’s cage?
I throw on a flannel over my sleep shorts and shirt, then tiptoe to the door. I flip the deadbolt and open it. Cash comes tumbling in. I step back just in time to not be crushed. He sits on the floor, feet stretched out in front of him, looking like a lost puppy.
A puppy who reeks of whiskey.
“What’s going on?” I try to pull him up. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fucking fantastic, Sum.” He stumbles over to my bed, plopping down on the end. When he bends over, I think he’s going to be sick, but he just wrestles with his boots.
I crouch down, pulling the zipper at his inner ankle, and he’s able to free himself. He tosses them in the general direction of the door.
He looks down at me with the dopiest expression.
“What happened to you?”
“What do you mean? I’m really, really, really great,” he slurs.
“Really?” My lips twitch.
“Yup.”
“Okay.” I stand, and he attempts to follow me with his gaze. He ends up closing one eye and tilting his head. Oh, he’s not going to be really great tomorrow.
“I love you, Sum—” Cash hiccups. “Just as a friend. Don’t tell Hockey Boy. I don’t wanna get punched in the face. I like my face.”
“You have a nice one.” I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. “I love you as a friend, too.”
“You’re my only friend, you know that?” He stands, trips over his own feet, but manages to get into bed. He falls back with a huff.
“You have tons of friends, Cash.” I sit on the opposite side.
“No—nope. None. People use me, then drop me after they get what they want.” He rolls onto his side with a small, sad sound.
Oh God, please don’t puke.
“You’re not going to do that, right, Sum?” He looks up at me with glassy eyes and a pouty lip.
“Never.”
“We’ll be best friends forever.” He nods continuously until he’s really just smushing his head into the pillow.
“Yep, we will.” I lean back against the headboard, arms crossed, resigned to the fact that he’s sleeping in here. There’s no way I’m getting him back to his room, and I’m not leaving him alone in this state anyway.
“Oh, I almost forgot—” He yawns. “I fixed everything.”
My brows pull together. “What do you mean?”
“We don’t have to pretend anymore.” He blinks, pure joy flashing across his face. “I don’t have to pretend anymore.”
He jolts up, scrambling for his phone. He finds it in his pocket and holds it at arm’s length, squinting, trying to unlock it with clumsy thumbs. It takes a few attempts before he gets to his messages.
I grab it from his hands.
“Hey!” His whole face scrunches, like a toddler having a temper tantrum.
“Let’s not be sending any messages we’re going to regret in the morning. Friends don’t let each other send drunk texts.”
“Aww.” Cash flops back onto my bed, this time on his belly. “I think I’m gonna really like this whole friends thing. Want to get smoothies in the morning?”
“Sure, but you might prefer a bacon, egg, and cheese by then.”
“Yeah.” His eyes droop, then close. “You’re a good friend, Sum.”
I grin down at him. “So are you, Cash.”
“You should give me a nickname.”
“I’ll get right on it.” I slip under the blanket. I would cover him, but there’s no way he’s moving enough to make that possible. I’m shocked he’s still conscious. “Hey, what did you mean about fixing everything?”
He hums drowsily. “Fixed everything,” he mumbles.
“… But how?”
“I kissed someone.”
Okay, now I’m really confused. “This isn’t a Sleeping Beauty situation… You can’t kiss your way out of an NDA.”
“Oh, yeah, you can.” He giggles, high-pitched and ridiculous.
“You wanna explain?”
“Tomorrow.” He hums again. “I’ll tell you all about the prince… Love you. Night, night.”
Less than a minute later, he’s snoring softly.
For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, I’m jolted awake by banging on my door, then shouting. “Cash! Summer! Open this goddamned door.”
Beside me, Cash grumbles.
“Shhh.” He steals my pillow and pulls it over his head.
The pounding stops, but it’s followed by a much worse sound: the beep of the door unlocking. Did I not flip the privacy lock last night? I must’ve forgotten, too distracted by the drunk man who stole my bed.
I raise my head to see who the intruder is—though I have a pretty good idea—just as Paula yanks the blankets off us. I shiver, my flannel doing little to ward off the chill of the air conditioning.
“What’s going on in here?” Paula screeches. She’s hitting notes I wouldn’t dream of, and giving me a headache. “Cash! What is this?”
I rub at my eyes and sit up. She waves an iPad frantically. Not that Cash can see it—his head is still buried under my pillow.
“Me and Prince Charming,” he mumbles without looking. “Or maybe just another frog. It’s too soon to tell, really.”
Paula’s face goes red. “This isn’t funny, Cash.”
“Wasn’t trying to be.” He finally lifts the pillow off his head, squinting in the bright light. “Morning, Paula. You’re looking lovely today.”
“Don’t.” She shoves the iPad at him. “Look at this. Look at it.”
Cash takes it, blinking at the screen. I look over his shoulder at the headline, big and bold on some gossip site.
CASH WALKER SPOTTED KISSING MYSTERY MAN
Below it, a grainy photo taken from a distance, but clear enough. Cash outside what looks like a bar, kissing someone. A man wearing a baseball cap, his face mostly obscured.
I’m not exactly surprised. The control, the secrets, the way they manage every aspect of his life.
Something moves across Cash’s face that I can’t quite name.
I rub his shoulder. “You okay?”
He nods just as Paula snatches the iPad back. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
Cash runs a hand through his hair. “You said when I was ready, you’d handle it. Well, surprise, I’m ready.”
The indignation on Paula’s face tells me she was hoping he’d never be ready.
“I didn’t think I’d be cleaning up cheating accusations at the same time.” She tucks the iPad under her arm with a huff, then stomps toward the door.
Cash stands, surprisingly steady on his feet for how drunk he was a few hours ago. “That’s why we’ll announce the whole thing was fake. Technically, we never confirmed it, so—” He shrugs.
That stops Paula in her tracks. She pivots and glares at Cash before her gaze cuts to me. “You planned this, didn’t you?”
“What? No, of course not.” I shuffle up the bed.
“She didn’t.” Cash squares his shoulders, but his hands tremble at his side. He exhales slowly, like he’s been holding that breath for years. Maybe he has. “I did.”
Paula’s face turns a shade redder. I wouldn’t be shocked if steam came out of her ears. She marches out, mumbling, and the only thing I catch is “unbelievable” before the door slams behind her.
Cash falls back on the bed with a groan, his head flopping toward me. “Fuck a smoothie, I need about a pound of bacon.”
“Told you so.” I curl into bed, facing him.
His eyes close, his arms folded up with his hands tucked beneath his cheek.
I think about what it costs a person to hide the truest part of themselves. The weight of carrying it alone.
“You could’ve told me, you know,” I whisper.
“I know.” He opens his eyes like it takes effort. “But I’m new to the best friend thing, so cut me a break.”
I huff a laugh that turns into a sigh. “You wanna talk about it?”
“What’s there to talk about?”
“I don’t know… your prince?”
He rolls onto his back. “He was no one. Just some guy I met at a bar who was game for my plan.”
“Why’d you do it?”
He drums his fingers on his stomach, brows furrowing. Then he looks back at me. “Guess you inspired me.”
“What?” I push myself up on one elbow.
“The way you go after what you want without apology. How deeply you care for others, sure, but for yourself, too. How you refused to give all of yourself to this damned industry. You made me realize it wasn’t too late to get some of me back, too.”
I sit up. “What are you going to do now?”
He stands and grabs the room service binder before returning to sit at the end of the bed. He stares at the blank TV screen.
“I guess be me?” he says, like he’s not quite sure who that is yet. Then he looks over at me. “The real question is, what are you going to do now?”
The question barely lands before I know.
I want to go home.
Not Nashville. Not wherever the tour bus parks next.
Him. I want to go back to him.
“Go watch Miles win the Cup.”