10. Cass
CHAPTER 10
Cass
B everly Hills, Monday, August 18th
The pictures were all over the internet. Levi and me at the restaurant, the candle a bright smudge on our table. Our hands touching as he’d passed me his phone. Leaning close for those handful of posed shots before we’d been ushered outside. And then Levi right behind me, with Frank leading the way. Videos showed me slipping into the car first, Levi just a second behind, and then the slam of the door.
Mission accomplished. So why did it feel like I’d lost something?
Well—because I wanted it to be real.
As if I had any right. As if Levi hadn’t spent the last five years growing into this amazing man while I still flaunted my body on stage and smiled for the cameras. I’d chased record after record only to realize that didn’t fill the void. Even if I came out— when I did—I wouldn’t know who I was without the rush of performing my music.
‘Ever consider taking a break?’
‘I don’t think I even know how.’
I threw myself into a punishing morning workout that did my trainer proud, then showered and jumped into the pool to cool off. By the time the others arrived for another rehearsal before we’d spend the afternoon recording, the shaky energy under my skin had subsided a little.
We fell into place much more quickly this time, harmonies clicking, Mason’s guitar the only backdrop to our voices. My vocal coach joined us an hour in to help us nail the acoustics, and it felt like old times, the five of us in a circle, taking our cues from each other.
It felt like family. My brothers—and more.
‘Singing together is one of the most powerful ways in which people bond,’ was how my last tour choreographer had put it. ‘The fans at your concerts—they’re not there to hear you sing. If that was it, they’d be better off watching some video with their earbuds in. No, they’re there to sing together, and with you. Make it happen.’
I repeated it to the others, sprawled in the shade after we’d splashed around my pool. “Changed how I think about a show, you know?” Midday lethargy crept in around the corners of my mind. It was the time of day when most of LA retreated indoors, but between the five of us, we’d spent a lifetime trapped in hotel rooms and moving vehicles.
“Also makes you see religious songs in a new light, doesn’t it?” Ellis asked.
“And war anthems,” Jace said.
Mason laughed. “Okay, that escalated fast.”
Levi, cross-legged on the grass, hummed softly. A wet towel was draped around his neck, darkening his faded T-shirt in uneven streaks. “It’s not broadly applicable, though, is it? The singing-along bit. Like, yeah—for people with a fanbase, sure. But what about newcomers? No one even knows their songs.”
That had never been us. We’d had millions of followers before we’d even recorded our first single, never had to tour seedy clubs and open for a headliner much bigger than us, with an audience counting down the minutes until we were finally done. In that sense, we’d had it easy.
“Slip in a couple of covers that people connect with?” I suggested. “Or have them sing easy stuff, like a few words that repeat.”
Levi’s gaze flicked my way, fleeting but warm. “The classic ‘yeah, yeah, yeah’?”
“Eh.” Jace stretched out on his back, one arm over his face. “Personally, I hate it when I’m at some concert and they’re trying to make me sing every other minute. Maybe I just want to wallow in the music.”
“I’d sing,” Levi said. “Always. It’s hard enough when you’re new, so unless someone’s total rubbish, I’d sing.”
“That’s because you’re a good person,” Jace said, sounding entirely at ease with himself.
Levi snorted. “I try. Unlike some .”
“I donate to charity,” Jace said, then paused. “When it’s a tax write-off.”
Man, this truly felt like old times. Aimless banter, good-humored ribbing, no one else who quite got it the way we did. I blinked at the lazy shadows of palm trees that swayed above us. “Hey, Levi?” I asked. “For when I play Leeds.”
He tilted his head back, his posture easy and relaxed, thighs nicely muscled. “Yeah?”
“You could bring one or two of your acts along.” Too much of a leap? We’d already talked about how he’d drop by for my concert, hang around the backstage area for a bit to solidify the rumors. But what was in it for him? He’d rejected an opening slot on my tour for his young artists, but surely there were other ways I could help. “I could show them around backstage, tell them what it’s like. Not that you couldn’t. Obviously, you know what it’s like. But they’d see it firsthand.”
“Please don’t trip over your own tongue,” Mason said. “We still need you to sing later.”
I flipped him off. “Ass.”
Levi’s laugh curled low and rich. Then he sat forward slightly, attention fixed on me, one knee drawn up to his chest and his sunglasses shoved up into his hair so it stuck up in odd ways. “I’d love that, Cass. But not if it’s done out of guilt or some such.”
“It’s not.” Mostly. I held his gaze. “The five of us—we got lucky. If I can help someone else out, even just a little? I’m happy to do it. And you believe in them, so I know they must be good.”
“They are.” He sounded confident, and in a way, that was Levi in a nutshell—not always sure of himself but always ready to prop up others.
God, I’d missed him. No matter how this all played out, I didn’t want to go another eternity without contact. We had no plans beyond Leeds, but I intended to stay in the UK for a few days after my show, catch up with a couple of songwriters I’d been working with.
I could visit him, maybe. No cameras—just us.
If he let me.
* * *
“I want to do the introduction.” Levi’s announcement held a defensive note, like he expected the rest of us to fight him on it.
We all turned to look at him—his hair gelled into a messy tumble, dressed in a loud, floral shirt just like the rest of us. The music room had dipped into sudden stillness, the crew hired to film us clearly aware that this was an important moment. Their equipment took up half the space, cables snaking across the floor and a lighting rig angled to make us shine.
They’d filmed us getting ready in one of the guest bedrooms earlier, chaos and a pile of wildly patterned shirts on the bed adding an element of comedy, combined with a few topless shots of Ellis, Mason, and me. More clicks meant more donations.
“Of course, man,” Ellis said softly.
“If you’re sure?” Mason asked, while Jace and I stayed quiet. It wasn’t my place to comment, even though I’d do anything to clear away the shadows in Levi’s eyes.
“I’m sure,” he said firmly. “Let’s do the music first, though.”
Was this why he’d agreed?
It hadn’t occurred to me before—Jessica’s death and this, now, being about supporting cancer research. If not for that, would he have refused to see me? The idea lodged itself like a splinter in my skin, something I’d find hard to shake.
I dropped my attention to the floor as we all stepped into place. We formed a loose semicircle with Levi right next to me, sharing a mic stand, shoulders brushing every so often. Our shirts were colored to match—mine a deep green with bold hibiscus flowers in a soft pink and gold, while his was the reverse. Another puzzle piece in this game we played.
The first take was a little stiff, with Jace and Levi clearly distracted by the cameras, no longer used to it when years ago, that had been our norm. Backstage or in public, interviews, rehearsals—there’d been so many people swirling around us all the time, trying to capture snippets to feed an insatiable marketing machine.
The second take was better, harmonies sliding into place and Mason’s guitar steady beneath us. The song was wistful, lines about growing up and driving home, grateful for the road that lay behind. Levi’s voice soared on the bridge, winding around mine like a thread of warmth I could feel all the way down to my toes.
After the third take, the director gave us a thumbs up. “Thanks, everyone! I think that should do it.”
The intro, then.
We must have done this a thousand times for photoshoots and interviews, draping ourselves over pieces of furniture meant to fit three instead of five. Levi took the middle, the rest of us slotting into place like a slapstick scene—Ellis to Levi’s right, a casual arm slung across the couch, and I took the left, angled into Levi’s side with an arm around his waist. Mason and Ellis sat on the Persian rug, leaning back against our legs.
“Whenever you’re ready,” the cameraman said.
Levi sucked in a breath, so quiet that I almost missed it. I pressed my knuckles into his hip, just enough that he would notice, invisible to the room. His quick, searching look was followed by the slightest upward tug of a smile. Then he turned back to the camera.
“Yeah,” he said. “I’m ready.”
“All right,” the director said. “Let’s roll.”
Nods around the room, all sound dropping away. The cameraman raised his hand, fingers spread, and silently counted down—five, four, three—then pointed directly at Levi for two. And one.
I could feel him draw another deep breath.
When he spoke, his low, measured voice betrayed none of the tension I could still sense in him. “It’s hard to explain what it feels like,” he said. “Seeing someone you love in a fight they didn’t choose. Lost, helpless, all of that.” He took an extra beat between words, throat moving once, tightly, before he continued. “But every breakthrough, every discovery? Those come from people like you, who want to make a change. So tonight, let’s turn helplessness into hope.”
Silence. His words hung in the air for a long moment, and I forced myself to keep my focus on the camera until its recording light switched off. God. My entire body ached like that time I’d gotten the flu somewhere along the South America leg of our final tour, maybe in Peru or Chile, and I’d dragged myself on stage anyway, high on meds, only to crash into a lonely hotel bed immediately after and wake up shivering all over. All I’d wanted was for Levi to lie with me for a little while, but I’d already lost him.
Mason broke the silence with a quiet, “Jesus, now that’ll make people cry. Good job, brother.”
“Thanks.” Levi’s grin didn’t reach his eyes.
I didn’t think before I pulled him into a hug. Just hung on, arms tight around him, choking back another apology I knew he didn’t want to hear. The way he folded into me said he heard it anyway.
That I was forgiven—maybe.
* * *
Beverly Hills, Tuesday, August 19th
In a couple of hours, Levi and Emily would fly back home.
It was no big deal—really, it wasn’t. Yeah, maybe things would look a little different from a distance; maybe once LA was firmly behind him, Levi would remember why he should hate me. But he was someone who kept his word. So I’d see him in Leeds in just a matter of days.
No. Big. Deal .
Which meant I needed to get my act together. Slowly spinning the globe in my entrance hall might make me look like the star of some French drama with meditative shots and long silences, but geography wasn’t going to write my next album. I still let my finger run over the metal ridges, over words etched in imitation of Levi’s sloping handwriting.
Berlin: ‘Fireworks and Thunder’ for an open-air show in the middle of a summer thunderstorm, rain pouring down, but the vibe had been amazing. Bangkok: ‘Keep it Up’ for how the five of us, overtired and high on caffeine, had turned the airport’s VIP lounge into an impromptu makeshift hacky sack circle. Machu Picchu: ‘Peaks & Valleys’ for a rare day off in Peru when we’d done a hike through breathtaking scenery, just him and me.
So many memories.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, breaking the stillness. In the name of productivity, I considered ignoring it and ended up checking anyway, just in case. A message from my assistant confirmed the logistics of my live performance for tomorrow’s charity event. Not Levi—of course not.
Should I send him a note? ‘Have a safe flight,’ maybe? No—too boring. ‘It was really good to see you again.’ Too formal. ‘I already miss you.’ Too much.
Words unwritten, I tucked the phone away, stepped back from the globe, and finally turned toward my quiet, empty music room. Settling in a spot of sunlight on the Persian rug, a guitar and a notebook by my side, I felt the echo of Levi’s words like they’d sunk into these walls.
‘It’s hard to explain what it feels like, seeing someone you love in a fight they didn’t choose.’
I closed my eyes and listened. Then I picked up my pen.
* * *
Leeds, Friday, August 22nd
I didn’t get nervous before a big show. Excited, yes. Impatient, hyped up, insufferable for anyone trying to get me ready in a controlled manner. Levi had been the same, so back then, we’d used that energy on each other.
Now, it was just me and my backing band. And that was the thing —it was just me and my backing band, and today would be the first time Levi would be in the audience. So, yeah. I was nervous. And my trailer was too damn quiet.
Not really—bass thudded through the stage speakers and set my teeth on edge, and I could hear the noise of the crowd, feel their vibrations. But I felt cut off from it all, couldn’t care less about my stylist and makeup artist out-talking each other over how far I should unbutton my shirt and whether to roll up the sleeves. “I’ll be in the green room,” I told them. I didn’t wait for a reply before I threw open the door and stepped into the carefully managed chaos of the backstage area.
Crew members buzzed past in neon vests, headsets clipped on. Rows of porta potties lined the muddy pathways. A golf cart whizzed by, loaded with band equipment and what looked like someone’s forgotten leather jacket. Recognition buzzed around me, some nods and murmurs trailing in my wake, but no one stopped me for a chat.
The headliner’s green room was one of the bigger tents, set up with velvet sofas and armchairs, a coffee table bearing the scars of endless beer bottles and careless boots. I spotted my band, joking around where they’d colonized the space like the furniture was on some ‘occupy one get one free’ deal. About to step inside, something made me stop—a gut tug, instinct. I turned.
Levi .
He walked up the muddy track with the air of someone who wasn’t entirely sure they still belonged, flanked by a teenage girl on his left and a couple of barely-twenty guys on his right. I drank him in as though it had been weeks—his hair a little mussed from the wind that swept through the site, in a simple white T-shirt and dark jeans. Want stabbed through me and made it harder to breathe.
“Levi!” I called, and his attention snapped to me, bright like a spotlight.
He quickened his steps, smiling, his protégés following like little ducklings. One of the guys looked at the rigging above with wide eyes while the girl seemed determined to hide her awe behind a mask of bravado, her tight black curls creating a vivid silhouette around her face.
I met Levi halfway and grasped his shoulders, suddenly unsure. Were we meant to keep it professional in front of his acts? He was sort of their manager, after all, even if they might have seen the speculation—it had kicked up another notch after I’d worn a flashy rainbow necklace for my Stand Up to Cancer solo performance.
Levi pulled me into a hug, and everything else melted away.
I closed my eyes and held on, warmth and the subtle coil of muscle under my palms, only the faintest trace of his cologne. A museum of what I missed. I blinked the lyrics from my mind.
“Hey.” Levi’s voice was a low murmur meant for just me. “How’re you feeling—ready to climb the walls?”
I exhaled a laugh. “Just about, yeah.”
We drew apart. His focus dropped to where my shirt gaped open, an instant so brief I might have imagined it. Then he studied my face, expression tugging into one of concern. “You look tired.”
Huh. My makeup artist had tutted at the dark circles under my eyes, taking some extra minutes to cover them up. Apparently not well enough to fool Levi.
“Just a lot on my mind, you know? Plus, busy times.” I smiled. If anything, it seemed to deepen the concern in his eyes.
“When’s the last time you took a proper break?”
“You sound like Jace.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Define ‘break’?”
Levi frowned. “Cass…”
“I should say hi to your acts, right?” It came out a little too quickly, the topic change entirely too transparent, but he had enough to worry about. I didn’t want to add to that list, or make him wonder whether I was having second thoughts. I wasn’t. If anything, I wanted to come out far more quickly than my team advised. ‘You need to give it time to breathe,’ they said. ‘One brick on top of the other. A house isn’t built in one day.’
While trite, it made sense. But I’d waited years .
For a beat, Levi didn’t move, his entire focus on me. Then he sighed and gave a small nod, his hands sliding from my shoulders down my arms, wrists, before he let go. I hoped there’d be pictures.