Chapter 42
Chapter Forty-two
ISAIAH
I hold Cassidy to my side for the remainder of the evening. On the ride back to the hotel. All the way up in the elevator to the floor we’re saying on.
Tonight, she was the belle of the ball. Cassidy outshone her legendary uncle and other artists seemed to approach me intent on meeting her; the woman who enticed me by simply by being herself and provided a modicum of normalcy to my life.
Tomorrow, the entertainment rags will put our relationship through the gauntlet, dissecting everything from what she wore to the four measly minutes I sang to her in a packed opera house.
Comparisons to Kylie will follow Cassidy as long as we’re together—which will be until my dying breath, if I have anything to say about it. I often contrast the incredible woman at my side to my first wife, too.
What I come up with is an intimate view of who we really are. How an unwitting Cassidy reached out and steadied me before I tumbled back into a pit of despair. She showed me I was worthy of having a family I thought I lost out on.
I’ve been a star, performing on stage, longer than I haven’t. No one except Kylie knew me before I’d made my mark. And she left me with the impression no one, not even another artist, would love a celebrity for who they actually were on the inside and not who they appeared to be to the outside world.
Steve holds the elevator doors open and glances around. “The coast is clear. If you don’t mind, I’m riding back down. Monty asked me to bring him a coffee before I hit the hay.”
“No problem.”
There aren’t any corners for anyone to hide in and I can see our door from here. The smaller suite on this floor is where Vespa and the guys are staying.
Stepping out on our floor, Cassidy pulls away. Even without the awards presentation, our evening was overwhelming. We’ve never been away from Aria this long. She’s eager to check on the baby.
I tug off my suit jacket and hang it over my back by a thumb. She stretches her arm out. Our fingers interlock. I continue musing over our relationship as she guides me through the hallway, like a fantasy woman looking over her shoulder and leading me down the path to paradise.
No one will ever understand what Kylie put me through when she died. Cassidy didn’t try to pretend she did. Her initial reluctance to take me back was never not understandable to me. I lied. Or rather, I hid the truth and also hurt her feelings on New Year’s. Once I gave her the space she needed, Cassidy didn’t fix me. She accepted me. My life. And the world of problems that came along with it.
These past months, and the love we share, make it easier to shrug off the negative. No matter what anyone says, Cassidy and I are in it for the long haul.
The producers who contacted Will have a pulse on everyday America. They like Cinderella stories. But, regardless of the healing I’d done in my therapist’s office, I think I landed on my ass at Kingsbrier and it was Cassidy who picked me up and swept me off my feet.
I had to silence Will’s incoming texts. By the time we snuck out of the after-party, he’d hooked a big five editor, who placed dibs on the cookbook.
Screw that. Cassidy can retain more control and make a larger profit publishing independently. She’s got Rhiannon to photograph the food. She hasn’t touched the trust fund she inherited from her grandparents the way her cousins had, either going to college, building homes, or starting a business. And if she doesn’t want to put a dime of her own money toward it, I will finance whatever she wants. That’s how much I believe in her dreams.
I’m so freakin’ proud of her and, what I don’t think anyone will ever recognize is, I’m proud a woman like Cassidy Cavanaugh chose me. When you take away my guitar and the stage lights dim, I’m just Isaiah: an ordinary guy, who right about now thinks his little brother is smart for his age. Ezra? All he wants is normal, and that makes perfect sense.
While I have to admit to myself that I’ll never stop performing—I was disciplined early to relish the roar of the crowd and I get a thrill out of hearing them sing lyrics back to me when I hold out the mic—when you’ve been denied the ordinary, there’s something extraordinary about it.
Maybe singing to a small crowd is what I need. A few fans who I get to tuck in at night, shut off the light, and say “Daddy loves you.”
Carrying the top video collaboration trophy I share with Piper, Cassidy pauses a few paces from our suite. “You’ve been quiet since we left the gala, but you have a silly grin. What are you thinking about?”
“When this tour is over, we’re spending a few years at home. And, uh,” I clear my throat and my arm encircles her waist. My fingertips brush the soft satin. “I’d like us to adopt Aria once you agree to make it official.”
My lawyers are ready to proceed. I wasn’t ready until Aria called Cassidy momma this afternoon. I was rational when I decided I hadn’t wanted the baby to grow up thinking I was her father. Aria was supposed to exit stage left. But she hasn’t, and my gut is telling me that even if Cassidy had given me the old heave-ho in January, what I experienced over the holidays changed my mind.
I’m in it for the long haul. I can’t love her like a parent and be “Sa” any longer. Not when the baby’s version of Isaiah cripples me. I know she can make the D sound. I’ve practiced it with her. I want to hear her call me “Da” or “Da-Da”. I want to be the man she relies on for the next seventeen years and beyond.
I want to be her daddy.
“The law firm I used when she was born gathered the information at the same time the court named me her guardian. I flipped through the file they gave me when we were in Nashville. What do you think?”
Her chin lowers to my tie. She raises a palm to my shirt, protecting my heart. A self-assured smile graces her beautiful face, and it hits me in the solar plexus.
This time she’s going to agree to become my wife.
“You’d have to ask me to marry you for us to make anything official.” Cassidy turns pink, waiting for me to say, “Will you marry me?”
I’m about to reply that each time I’ve asked, even if she thought it wasn’t an actual proposal, I meant it—I have the ring—but a booming voice catches our attention.
“Stop denying it. Miss Cavanaugh isn’t her mother.”
“There’s nothing to deny. You’re off base, and you don’t belong here,” Vespa argues in a flat monotone as I unlock the door with a keycard.
I hear Monty next. “It’s late. If you want to take this up with Isaiah, come back tomorrow.”
“I’m not leaving. I’ll wait.”
“I’m sorry, man. But you’ll have to wait out in the hall. I have orders. No one can be in the suite while Isaiah and Miss Cavanaugh are out. Vespa wouldn’t have let you in if she thought you were here to conduct anything other than tour business. You said what you needed would take a minute. The minute is up.” Monty is calm, yet the intrusion has stretched his patience.
“You’re not getting rid of me.”
“And you’re not ruining Cassidy and Isaiah’s night because of your pathetic curiosity about a rumor with no merit,” Vespa’s voice pitches. Her thumb and forefinger crack together. “You’re replaceable in a snap, Dillon.”
“What’s going on?” I ask.
All eyes shoot in our direction. Dillon speaks first.
“Miss Cavanaugh. She takes good care of Aria, but she isn’t her mother.”
I square off with Dillon. “That’s a big accusation. You’re sure of this how?”
“I have proof.” He holds an envelope out to me. “I’m her father.”
I unfold the paper inside. A DNA test. “How did you—”
“A napkin at lunchtime. I’m sorry, Miss Cavanaugh,” he has the decency to apologize to Cassidy. “I know you love her. I don’t mean to humiliate you. But Aria has the same birthmark on her neck as Kylie did. I saw it when you stripped a dirty shirt off her before giving her a bath, and today at the pool.”
Cassidy’s lips twist. She swallows, holding back tears, and puts the award down on a sideboard. The thunk it makes in the silent room sends shivers up my spine.
I can’t see her cry. Not now. Not when I’ve just broken the promise that we can be Aria’s parents before I’ve finished making it. Not when I have to deal with my dead wife upending the picture she painted of our life together for a second time, and even though I’ve tried to repair it, the glass is falling from the frame and about to shatter.
“I need you all to leave.” I hide my devastation behind stoicism.
“Isaiah, call your lawyer before—”
“Leave, Vespa!” My voice softens when I hear myself yell. I could’ve woken the baby. “You too, Cass.”
Pale, Cassidy’s rooted her feet to the carpet like an oak, not wanting me endure this alone.
“Go, chou. Go to sleep.” I point to the room where Aria is. “I’ll come find you.” I assure her everything will be okay only because I need to assure myself.
But I’m taking another thing she dreamed of from her.
Cassidy wordlessly rushes for the baby and my chest cleaves in two. Vespa goes in a huff. Monty takes his post outside the door.
“I want to know my child, Isaiah. I’m going to be a part of her life, whether you like it, or not.”
“I won’t stop you.” I gesture to the couch. “I never meant to keep you from her. Kylie didn’t say. She didn’t say anything at all. I didn’t know she was pregnant until it was too late.
“She didn’t tell you?” Dillon hitches his jeans and sits at the edge of the cushion.
I can’t relax either, taking the spot beside him. “No. She asked for a divorce. Was that so you could be… together?”
“I can’t answer that. Kylie hid her pregnancy from me for a long while. When she came clean, it wasn’t as much about us being a family, like the three of you got going now. But she said she wouldn’t keep the baby from me. That I was the father. I thought… I thought they were both…” killed remains unspoken. Dillon can’t finish the sentence. “Did she relapse?”
“No, uh, there weren’t any traces of drugs or alcohol in her system.” I initially thought the same. “She tore out of my house upset and, well, it doesn’t matter. Losing control of the car wasn’t Kylie’s fault. I guess a placental abruption is more common if a woman has had substance abuse issues?” I unfold my hands, uncertain. “According to the doctors, it would’ve happened regardless of where she was. It just happens to be the reason she lost control of the car.”
Dillon bites his lip, boring a hole in the floor, trying to process what I said.
I give him a minute. Grief rebounds when I least expect it.
A year later, I’m still processing. Still asking myself if things would’ve been different had I stopped her from getting in that car. It wasn’t the abruption that ended her life. Kylie’s injuries did. She was on life support when the doctor delivered Aria.
“How did you, ah…” Curiosity gets the best of me.
Dillon releases a harsh breath. “Kylie and I talked about my sobriety. I’m not one to push it on anyone. God has his own timeline, and The Almighty gave people free will to decide when they’re ready. But I told her once I stopped self-medicating, the good days eventually made up for the bad. They were bigger. Better. That I feel them in my soul.
“One night, she went out with whomever and came back in bad shape. We were supposed to take off early for the next tour stop. Her assistant called in a doctor.”
I nod. I know the kind. There are plenty of celebrities with medical contacts who’ll do anything in an emergency for the right amount of zeros.
“Anyhow,” Dillon hunches over. “I don’t know if nobody else gave a damn, or if Kylie kept everyone at arm’s length. She’d do that to me if I got too friendly. The motor coach was empty except for us while she waited in her bedroom for the doctor to come. It was too quiet, and it felt like a bad omen.
“I knocked to make sure she was alright. She was, and she wasn’t. I cared enough about her self-destruction to remind her I’d been there if she needed a lifeline.”
The doctor came and went. Dillon went back to minding his business.
“A few nights later, Kylie was on the bus after a show. I told her what time we were leaving, hoping to jog her memory before she went wherever she was going. She said she was staying in. That’s when I noticed the upended bottles in the sink and the empty prescription bottles in the trash can.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “I flushed them.”
She needed a distraction.
“So, I stayed and talked that night. Showed up the next one. Then, she was always on the bus before me. I thought… I thought the woman was playing me, you know? Telling me stuff about her private life and asking about mine. Next thing we knew, Kylie was a month sober. We’d spent nearly all of those thirty late nights together.”
That was when things went too far.
“She avoided me afterwards. Never being impolite. But our talks dried up.”
Dillon tells me he offered to be her sponsor, but Kylie felt guilty.
“She said she took advantage of me while I was trying to help her, and she found someone else. It wasn’t a lie.”