CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Cassie
For four days I’ve watched the video Dax sent me Friday night on repeat.
I’ve barely eaten and I’ve drunk way too much of Wade’s special bourbon.
Luke’s label did such a good job of keeping what happened that night quiet, so ticket sales wouldn’t be hurt.
They labeled the incident in California a freak accident and almost succeeded in minimizing its impact until my video surfaced, portraying me as a fragile, broken woman drowning in her own demons.
After four days of living on ice cream, crying to my mom and Ivy, and only showering once to change into fresh pajamas, I’ve come up with nothing.
Except maybe that the next shot of bourbon always tastes better than the one before.
Which means the very last thing I need to deal with right now is a stern-looking cowboy on my porch.
I start to close the door on him, but Haden’s strong hand stops it.
“I know I missed my ride, but I’m not in the mood—” I start.
He takes in my state and the bourbon in my hand, before bringing his gaze back to my eyes.
“I’m not going anywhere when I walk in on you with a whiskey bottle mid-morning.”
“I’m not your problem,” I bite out.
“Actually you are. For the time being you’re my neighbor, and if you get drunk and slip in the shower, I’ll never forgive myself for walking out that door. So I’m coming in.”
Haden pushes past me and closes the heavy door behind him.
“Well, aren’t you overbearing?” I say, turning away from him.
“Cassie.” He says my name for the first time since the day I met him, and the sound of it fizzles under my skin in a slow, steady sweep. “Who’s making you cry like this?”
I start to laugh through my tears. “Nice to see you remember my name.”
I don’t have an explanation for why I sound so sarcastic, but Haden doesn’t laugh.
“Well, let’s see …” I say. “According to my manager and publicist, the majority of American country fans who know I exist are making me cry. Care to take them all on for me, Cowboy?”
I pad my way into the living room in my fuzzy bunny slippers, lifting the bottle of bourbon to my lips. I’m gonna need to get another stash of this ASAP. Haden’s jaw twitches as he stays rooted in my doorway.
“Well, are you coming in? Or were you just doing the caveman act for nothing?” I gesture to the living room. “Misery loves company, you know.”
I hold the bottle out. Haden doesn’t speak, just takes his hat off and hangs it on the hook near my door.
“Drink?” I don’t get the chance to take another swig because Haden eats up the space between us in two quick strides. His large hand wraps around my wrist, sending another zing of electricity under my skin as he slides it up and takes the whiskey from my hand.
“Hey!” I call out, stomping my bunny-clad foot like a petulant child.
“Never met a problem that was solved by drinking straight bourbon at eleven a.m.,” he says, walking with ease to my kitchen.
“You sound like my sister,” I tell him. She’s been here with my mama every single day, telling me everything will be okay. They tell me today is a new day but then I get sucked back into reading the comments about me online. I look directly at Haden.
The bourbon swirling around my head has me noticing too clearly the way his strong biceps strain against his shirt as he pushes the cork in fully then shelves my fun. I look away so I don’t get caught watching him. Such a frustrating man shouldn’t look that damn good.
“And drinking was suiting me just fine actually,” I inform him, turning my gaze out my front window.
“How about food? Have you had any of that today?” he asks, as he carefully unbuttons his flannel cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.
He washes his hands in my sink and then slides a box over on the counter, adding a coffee pod to the Keurig.
I watch his hands as he works and wonder why he has the strong trunk of a barren tree creeping up over his fingers and onto his hand.
Haden clears his throat and my eyes snap to his. Did I just lick my lips?
“I asked you what you take in your coffee and if you’ve eaten today. Or are you on a strict whiskey diet?”
“You’re off the hook, Haden. We hooked up one night. You don’t have to be my keeper.”
Haden grunts and mutters something under his breath as he grabs a mug.
I flop down onto the sofa and look out the window to the light dusting of falling snow.
Neither of us speaks as he works in my kitchen.
When he presents me with a coffee and a bottle of water a few minutes later it’s not what I’m looking for.
The bourbon was better. Though somewhere inside my slightly tipsy mind I know alcohol isn’t the answer.
“‘Thank you’ usually works,” he says gruffly.
“Well, thanks cowboy, for coming in here and ruining my fun with your scowl. Even though everyone keeps telling me you’re the happy one around here—”
“Chrissakes, woman,” Haden barks out. “I usually am, but you just do a real good job of pissing me off. I’m trying to give you grace.
I know you’ve been through some shit. But, instead of drowning all these feelings, and hiding out in your cabin for days on end, why don’t you try talking about them? ”
“With you?” I ask, my voice hitting a higher octave. “You couldn’t know anything about what I’m going through.”
I expect him to back down but he doesn’t. He simply turns, heading back into the kitchen, and starts going through the cabinets like he owns the place.
“Well, with a therapist for starters,” he says as he works.
“I have another appointment tomorrow,” I tell him. Though I don’t know why.
He pops some bread in my toaster.
“Look, I don’t know shit about you, never did …” I see the conflict behind his words waging in his eyes. “But, in my experience, the only way to get to the other side of something hard is to go through it.”
I feel the tightening in my chest and the tears I’ve been drinking away fill my eyes. But every second he’s here I feel a little more sober.
“I’m the target of online gossip right now. My manager is breathing down my neck to get back to work in an industry that drains me. And my public image is sort of in the toilet. Like I said, all things I know you can’t understand.”
Haden comes toward me with a plate in his hand. I take the toast laden with peanut butter and a side of fruit from him, and as I do, I look up and my eyes meet his. I can’t help myself, I let out a soft laugh. “Do you know how long it’s been since I ate bread? These hips don’t like bread.”
Haden grunts something under his breath as he puts his hands on his own narrow hips before clearing his throat. “You need something to soak up all that alcohol. Eat.”
His tone is deep and even but his eyes are soft, pleading. It’s a combination I don’t argue with as I start munching on the toast.
He sits down across from me with his own coffee and leans back. “I understand what’s it like to lose the limelight and have the rug pulled out from underneath you a lot better than you’d think, Princess. And whatever you say goes no further than the end of this sofa.”
I sigh as I take my phone out and pull up the video Dax sent me.
“It was taken by a concertgoer at my last show,” I tell him as he watches.
It’s me. Visibly shaking, with tears streaming down my face.
Crying out “don’t make me go” and calling out for my dad.
I’m completely out of it, struggling to breathe, with my hand on my chest. The video continues as two paramedics do their best to make me get up, to no avail until one of them picks me up, sets me on a stretcher and pushes me away. I can’t remember any of it.
I set my empty plate down on the coffee table as the video ends. Haden’s throat bobs as he swallows and hands me back my phone.
“Panic attack?”
“Yeah …” I affirm. “Familiar?”
He nods. “My mother used to have them. Might sound odd but you had the same look in your eyes she used to get. Like you weren’t really there.”
I lower my eyes.
“I wasn’t there,” I say. “I was seeing all sorts of things. That I was with my dad. But he died a long time ago.”
“Horses do the same thing. They can go into panic mode when they’re in fight-or-flight.”
“I think that’s what happened to me. I just shut down,” I say honestly.
“The world likes to pretend they care when someone is dealing with something like this, but it seems like all that goes out the window when you’re in the public eye.
I hid the truth from my fans when I canceled that show originally.
We told them I’d caught a flu earlier in the day, which was clearly a lie when this video showed that I was backstage.
My manager, Dax, has put out a statement asking the media to please respect my privacy as I rest and heal with family. ”
“And you hoped people would,” Haden comments.
“I hoped they would understand. Some have sent me caring messages. But the internet is fucking cruel. Cruel and ruthless. In the last few days, I’ve read it all.” I smile and swipe a tear from my cheek.
“Some of my favorites have been ‘Her music isn’t that good anyway, hide as long as you want, Princess.’ Or, ‘Way to use a tragedy as a tool to boost buzz about her. She’s probably in rehab.’”
I leave out the one that hurt me most: “She thinks she has it rough? Imagine the poor family of the woman who died.” Because she’s all I’ve thought about.
“So yeah, needless to say I’m about to give up on the music industry. People are so hurtful.”
“Fucking hell,” Haden mutters, looking back out the front window.
“So many times I’ve wished I could respond and tell them all it’s real.
That I haven’t felt like changing my clothes in days.
” I swipe away a tear. “That I’m a human being and this hurts.
That the only thing I see when I close my eyes is that night.
I feel it. I smell it. But I don’t reply because there’s no point.
Anything I say will be accepted by some but twisted by others.
Dax is certain that no response for a few days is the best option.
Then he thinks I should take to my socials and apologize for not being honest. He says the best way through this is to weather it with grace. ”
“Fuck grace,” Haden says instantly.
“Fuck it?”
“Yes. And fuck apologizing for keeping something traumatic private. Just because you’re in the public eye doesn’t mean you have to take everything lying down.”
“It’s the way of the world. If you want to make it, you keep your mouth shut. You smile and nod. Know your place or the world comes down on you.”
Haden shakes his head and leans back on my sofa, relaxing his thick jean-clad thighs and draping an arm over the back.
“No offense, but the woman I met five months ago didn’t give a shit about smiling and nodding for anyone. Including me. Where is that woman now?”
“I don’t know how to get back to her,” I say honestly, my bottom lip quivering. Haden stands and moves toward the front window of my cabin. He places his hands on his hips and sighs.
“Well, I’d like to say life is fair. But it isn’t and I’ll tell you something else. Don’t you dare lie down. You can’t get that spark back by giving up.”
I start laughing. “Thanks for the tips. You here all week?”
Haden shakes his head and I see a hint of a smirk on his face.
“I’ll always be honest with you,” he says pointedly, and I can tell he means it.
“This isn’t something that will solve itself today.
It’s going to take time, and probably more tears, and more frustration.
But, in the meantime, fresh air and riding on horseback is a good start, so …
I’m gonna take this coffee and wait right on your porch while you get up, get showered and get moving. It’s a perfect day for a ride,”
I blink. “You want to ride? Now?”
“That’s what I said.”
I realize in this moment how nice it is to actually have someone listen to me without judgment. To just be there, in my corner. I breathe a little deeper and say nothing as I stand and nod.
“Okay.”
Haden puts his cowboy hat back on his head and tips the brim to me.
“Atta girl. And dress warm.”
As I hear the front door close, I make my way to the bathroom, with my head feeling clearer than it has in a while.
I let the hot water soak through my bones and think about Haden’s words.
Fuck grace. He’s right. I’ve been acting like I did something wrong, or like I owe the world an explanation for being human.
I’ve been wallowing in self-pity for days, and that is not the woman I want to be.
I shouldn’t have to apologize for being human or keeping some aspects of my life private.
Screw Dax for making me feel like I should.
As I rinse the conditioner from my hair it hits me that, over the last few days, I’ve pushed everyone away: my band, my mother, Ivy, Dax, and anyone who’s tried to call or text.
But the only one who didn’t take no for an answer when I tried to push him away, the only one who cut right through my protective layer and made me feel heard, was Haden Westbrook. And that surprises the hell out of me.