Chapter 8
My alarm hasn’t even gone off and I’m already wide awake drinking a cup of coffee with my legs propped on the coffee table. I’m well rested and my thoughts aren’t a blurry haze in my head. That magic mattress probably has something to do with it, but I also know it’s more about not waking up hungover.
Back when Cassie confronted me about my drinking, she told me that alcohol prevents a person from getting into a deep sleep, which meant I would always be exhausted as long as I was drinking heavily. On the days I woke up sober, my gut told me she was right, but it didn't stop me from picking up a drink the next time I was in a bad headspace.
Cassie chose to use our childhood to help others by getting a degree in counseling, while I chose to suppress mine and look where that’s gotten me. She used to constantly tell me I need therapy, and I know she’s right, but I’ve never wanted to take time away from my schedule to do it. I’m sure an even bigger part of me is scared to open up old wounds that have barely scabbed over.
She’ll be my first call today while I check in with my family. I shoot her a quick text first to make sure she’s available to talk.
You got some time to talk?
A few minutes pass, and I think she might ignore my text. She usually responds quickly unless she’s with a client. But after another minute, my phone buzzes.
Cassie
You know I do for you.
With shaky hands I click on her contact, swallowing hard and mustering up all the courage I’ve got. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, Aussie. You doing okay?” Aussie is the nickname she gave me when she was a toddler. She couldn’t quite say my name right, and it came out sounding more like Aussie. The nickname stuck. “I’ve been hoping to hear from you.”
I sigh with relief because her voice holds no hint of anger in it. She has every right to stay mad after the fight we had, but I should’ve known she wouldn’t hang onto it. That's not the kind of person my sister is.
“Yeah, Cass. I might be better than okay,” I admit. “I know I haven't even been here a full forty-eight hours, but this place is special. I can’t really explain it. My head feels quiet, ya know?”
“You sound different.” Her voice is thick with emotion.
“Yeah, I just might find a piece of myself I’ve been missing here.” We talk for a few minutes about the town, and she laughs when I tell her about Jackson’s crush on me.
I tell her what I know about the studio, but when I mention Penny, she cuts me off. “Wait, wait, wait—back up. The studio owner is a woman?” she asks, her voice rising with surprise.
Back when my label approached me, Cassie started looking into the business practices of record labels across the country. She’s all about opportunities for women, so she was quick to give me all the stats and data on how few women owned studios and record labels. Since then, the music industry has seen more woman-owned studios pop up here and there, but it's still overwhelmingly run by men.
“Yes, you’d love her. She’s funny and kind but she’s also assertive, and from what I can tell, she seems to be pretty stubborn.”
“You’ve learned all this from one day in the studio for a few hours?”
After explaining the motel situation and Penny’s offer to let me stay here, I tell her about our evening together around town. Cassie goes quiet, but then breaks the silence with laughter. “Austin Ryan James, do you have a crush? Are you smitten?”
“Gimme a break. I’m thirty-four years old. Grown men don’t have crushes.” I scoff. “It’s only been a day, and who the hell says smitten? We’re colleagues.” I'm sure my sister isn’t buying it because even I don't believe my words.
“Hmm,” she hums. “Just be careful. Try not to lose focus on why you’re there. You’re not the best at dealing with your crap, ya know?”
“I won’t lose focus. I promise,” I say, hoping she hears the truth in my voice.
“Okay, well, I know you’re there to get a breather, but nothing will change without some professional help. People like you and me don’t bounce back easily from all we went through. Have you considered my offer to help you find a good therapist? Lots of them do telehealth now. Maybe you could work that into your downtime.”
For the first time ever, I actually consider her suggestion. “Sure. Send me some names. I’d appreciate that.”
The love I have for my sister overwhelms me sometimes. We’re probably closer than most siblings because of everything we went through before Aunt Ashley finally talked our mom into letting us move in with her and Uncle Brad. We’ve always felt like it was us against the world.
Finally, I broach a subject that I’m sure neither of us wants to talk about. “You heard from Mom lately?”
“Nope. I can’t remember the last time I did. Aunt Ashley says she’s ashamed and shame makes people do strange things.”
My aunt always told me the exact same thing. My feelings about my mother are complicated. I realize she’s the victim of my father’s abuse—and still is—but my sister and I witnessed things no child should have to see. I don’t remember a time when he wasn’t beating up on her, and she’s never had the strength to get out. Even today, she continues to live in the nightmare that was my childhood.
Cassie and I have said many times that we don’t know what would have happened if Uncle Brad hadn’t shown up that night to get us. It was only a matter of time before we were his next victims. It’s to the point now that Mom avoids us, and if it weren’t for the occasional calls to Aunt Ashley, I’m not sure we’d even know if she was alive or not.
I’ve tried calling hundreds of times, and those calls always end in disaster. Without fail, my father answers her phone and asks for money. When I refuse, he reminds me how worthless I am and tells me that one day I’ll be exactly like him. When the first negative articles about me hit, he was all too quick to call from my mom’s phone and let me know he was right about how I'd turn out. It was like a double whammy. I still remember the surge of hope at seeing her name on my screen—then the crushing blow when his voice came through instead. That’s when my whole downhill spiral began and it’s been a vicious cycle ever since.
Closing my eyes, I shove those thoughts down for today.
“What have you been up to?” I ask, changing the subject. Cassie used to have tons of friends and a full calendar with them. But about two years ago, she started dating Alan, the attention whore, and it seems like she’s been forcing herself to be less than so he can always be more. My sister is this wonderful, brilliant human who refuses to use her therapy knowledge on herself when it comes to him.
She’s telling me about Alan’s new gym he opened when I let out an involuntary growl.
“Austin, I know he’s not your cup of tea. Alan has his issues, but I love him. I’ve learned to look past them, and I wish you would, too.”
But that’s just it. Cassie shouldn’t have to look past his issues. She deserves more than that.
“You know I think you’re the greatest sister, human, everything. I want you to have the world,” I rake a hand through my hair, frustration seeping into my words.
“I know you do. And I love you for that. But it’s okay, yeah? Consider giving him more of a chance,” she responds with a note of finality in her voice.
I hum noncommittally. “Listen, I gotta call Aunt Ashley and Uncle Brad.” If we talk much longer, I know I’ll slip up and piss her off by insulting Alan.
“They’ll be thrilled to hear your voice. I’ll let you go.” She pauses and I hear her sniffle. “Take care of yourself.” Her voice cracks, but her next words are teasing. “Oh, and try not to fall in love.”
Huffing out a laugh, I say, “Cass, I don’t plan on falling in love in small-town Alabama. I’ll talk to you soon. Love you.”
“Love you, too. So much.” When the call ends a sense of relief washes over me that it went well. I disappoint a lot of people regularly, but knowing my sister and I weren’t in a good place was weighing on me.
Next up is my aunt. She puts me on speaker so Uncle Brad can hear, too. Our conversation is much lighter—more surface-level—than the one I had with Cassie. There's evident pride in their voices when I tell them about the album I'll be working on. They seem intrigued by this small town and even mention the possibility of coming for a visit soon. We say goodbye, and I see a text from my sister with links to therapists she thinks would be a good fit.
After months of avoiding my family, my head is overflowing from the conversations we’ve just had, and I try to remember what I used to do before alcohol became the thing I reached for. Running. I used to go for a jog. After all the reassurance that I won’t have fans following me taking pictures, I decide it's safe to leave the hat behind and just run. Sliding on my tennis shoes, I head out.
July in Alabama is blazing hot, like I'm running through Satan's armpit. Sweat soaks me instantly, and my lungs burn with each breath reminding me how long it’s been since I’ve done this. Still, it’s a welcome feeling. As my feet hit the pavement, I take in the town around me.
Main Street is quaint and well-maintained, with the original cobblestone bricks from at least a hundred years ago paving the road. I pass a row of busy shops, including a florist, a hardware store, and, surprisingly, a vintage record store. Since I'm dripping sweat, I decide not to go in, but I make a mental note to return later.
Right as I’m passing a barber shop, I spot Jackson stepping out of his diner just ahead and I slow to a stop to talk.
“Hey, Austin!” He seems a lot less starstruck compared to yesterday. “I was planning to text Penny about this, but I’ll ask you since you’re here. If you’re not busy tonight, some of the guys are getting together for poker. You’re welcome to join us if you’re free.”
“Yeah, man. Thanks! I think I’ll take you up on that. We aren’t recording today, so I’ve got nothing going on. What time and where?”
Jackson tells me the info, and I say goodbye, continuing my run for a while longer. Everyone I pass either smiles and waves or offers a simple nod in greeting. They all seem entirely unfazed by my presence here and something about their obvious disinterest is a breath of fresh air.
Finally, I head back to the tidy white bungalow. The front door opens as I approach and Penny steps out onto the porch. She’s barefoot, wearing a light blue tank top and cut-off shorts. Her milky-white shoulders have the slightest tinge of red, probably from tending to all the flowers surrounding her house.
Her face lights up when she spots me and she walks over to sit on the swing, patting the seat beside her in a gesture for me to join.
“Sorry if I stink,” I warn, sitting down on the other end of the swing.
“How was your run?” she asks.
“Real good. Cleared my head a lot. Oh, and I ran into Jackson. He invited me to play poker tonight.”
She lets out a short laugh, amusement flickering across her face. “Of course he did. Like I told you, nobody in this town will spill that you’re here, but I can’t promise Jackson won’t take every opportunity to ogle you. I guess I should warn you now; he has a poster of you hanging in his living room. That’s where the guys play. Are you ready for a poster-sized Austin James staring you down while you keep your poker face?”
I give her my best Blue Steel stare, and she throws her head back, laughing. “Thanks for the warning. It’d be a jump scare to look up and see my ugly mug staring back at me.”
Penny playfully smacks my arm. “You’re way too cocky to actually believe that.”
“Oh yeah?” I ask, turning on the charm. “So what I’m hearing is, you like what you see.”
“I won’t dignify that with a response. Your ego doesn’t need any more boosting. Why do you think I acted like I didn’t know you yesterday? I knew who you were the minute you stepped on stage at the bar. I’d know your face anywhere.”
Her eyes widen like she didn’t mean to say that out loud, and I smirk.
“I’m going to Josie’s tonight,” Penny says quickly, shifting the subject. “She texted earlier. Apparently, her kids are on the mend and fever-free. We need some girl time. I’ll probably be home kinda late.”
“Do you need a ride? I don’t know how late poker lasts, but I can take you and pick you up if you need me to,” I offer.
“No, she lives a street over. I’ll walk. So, how’d your talk with your family go?”
I lean back against the swing, still relieved from talking to everyone. “Really good. Better than I deserve.”
“Why do you say it like that?” She narrows her eyes, studying me. “Is it possible you’re being a little hard on yourself?”
For a second I debate how much to share. No way in hell can I tell her everything. But I can give her a version of the truth that doesn’t cut too deep.
“Cassie and I moved in with my aunt, uncle, and Tyler when we were kids. They all made huge sacrifices to take us in. It completely changed their lives, having us there.” I explain. “I’ve always tried to make sure I’m not a burden on them. But, for a while now, I’ve acted like a piece of shit. I’ve embarrassed them, lashed out, and eventually started avoiding them. Well, all of them except Tyler. He wouldn’t let me avoid him even if I tried.”
“Sounds to me like they love you enough to forgive you. Everyone deserves second chances. You know that, right? You do deserve this second chance you’re working hard for.” Penny’s whiskey-colored eyes lock onto mine, holding steady and intent.
I break her eye contact. I’m not sure I deserve much of anything, if I’m being honest, and there’s something about the way she studies me, like if I’m not careful I’ll show her every dark thing I’ve kept locked away.
“I need to grab a shower,” I say, steering us back into safer territory. “Thanks for…well, for everything. You’ve been the first friend in a long time who didn’t feel like they were trying to get something out of me.”
“Friend, huh?” she teases. “Yeah, I guess we are friends. I think I’ll make a cup of tea and read for a bit.”
“You and your dirty books.” I scoff, standing to leave.
She laughs, rolling her eyes. “They’re not all dirty!”
I raise one eyebrow, and she grins, shrugging.
“Have fun tonight. I’m sure you'll love Jackson’s poker group. They're good guys. Oh! I just thought of something,” she adds. “You’ll meet Liam. He’s in the band. You two will probably hit it off.”
Jogging down the porch steps toward the apartment, I pause at the last second, turning back to where Penny still sits. “You have fun tonight, too, Penn. You deserve it.” I give her a wink before heading to the garage, not daring to look back at her.