Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
“I can’t believeyou didn’t tell me you were auditioning,” Gemma said, leaning on the counter of the reception desk. Cassie’s last class for the day was over and all her students had been picked up on time. Delilah had groaned when she saw her grandmother standing at the end of the hall with all the other parents and guardians.
“You don’t have to pick me up on time, you know,” she’d said to Maddie Hartson. “I can stay behind and help Miss Cassie clean up any time.”
It was a far cry from the tearful little girl who’d been almost inconsolable when her dad had been late picking her up.
But now it was just her and Gemma, and her friend was looking at her proudly. “Look at you, being all grown up and making friends.”
Cassie wrinkled her nose. She wasn’t sure she exactly made friends. But she’d gotten out of the house without having to rely on Gemma to be there, so it was a start.
“So….” Gemma said, lifting a brow. “How was it? When’s your first gig? I’ll need extra notice because babysitters are like gold dust around here.”
“We’re not at the gig stage yet,” Cassie told her. She wasn’t even sure if she’d could call them a band yet. Sure, her and Pres’ voices meshed together well, and the keyboard arrangements were easy to keep up with.
But last night had been… intense.
“It must be weird being the only girl in the band. Even Fleetwood Mac had two women,” Gemma mused. “And obviously when I say weird I mean nice. All that male attention.”
“I wasn’t getting a lot of that,” Cassie said. “Although Alex asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend.”
Gemma’s eyes widened as she laughed. “What?”
“I think he was kidding.” Cassie’s brows knitted. “At least, I hope so. He’s not my type.”
Folding her arms, Gemma leaned forward on the counter. “Well we all know what your type is. Miserable dancers who treat you like shit.”
Cassie sighed, because Gemma wasn’t too far off the mark. Truth was, when she was dancing for the New York Ballet she had little time for dating. Relationships with male dancers who understood her schedule were easier.
And a lot messier, too, when they ended. Which they always did.
She shook her head. There was no need to feel melancholy. She was fine. She had Gemma and rehearsals with the band to look forward to.
“Are you interested in Alex?” Gemma asked, leaning forward.
“No.” Cassie wrinkled her nose. “Not at all.” And the smell of smoke was off-putting, if she was being honest. He was funny, and he made her laugh, but that was it. “Anyway, relationships and bands don’t mix. Give me one example where it works out long term.”
Gemma tipped her head to the side, looking deep in thought.
“Um…”
“Well, I can tell you who it didn’t work out for,” Cassie said. “Either couple in Abba. Lindsey and Stevie in Fleetwood Mac. And then there was Stevie and Mick? Christine and John. I know, how about Sonny and Cher? Are they still together?”
Gemma grinned. “I’m getting the picture. They all split up. Boo hoo.”
“And Meg and Jack White?” Cassie was on a roll now. Almost enjoying herself. “How’s that relationship going?”
“Eww. Weren’t they brother and sister?” Gemma asked.
“No. They were married. It was just weird.” Cassie shook her head. “But you get my point.”
“I do.” Gemma sighed. “But it would be kind of romantic though. Maybe you and Marley…”
“Nope. He’s a nice guy, but that’s it.” It was weird how she didn’t feel that undeniable pull to him the way she did to Presley. Maybe if she’d reamed him out the first time they met it would be different.
But she didn’t think so. She hadn’t met many twins in her life. There were one set of girl twins she’d danced with as a kid, but that was it. And she’d constantly gotten them mixed up.
But now she could tell the difference between Presley and Marley easily. It wasn’t only that they wore their hair differently, or that Presley had tattoos where Marley had none. It was in their demeanor. Their expressions.
The way her heart skipped a beat every time her eyes met Pres’.
“The thing about band romances,” Gemma said, her voice soft and faraway. “Is that even if they end, they’re amazing while they happen. All that chemistry, that longing. The music.” She sighed and looked at Cassie again. “You sure you can’t give Alex a little try?”
They’d been rehearsing for a couple of weeks, and everything about them was gelling. They’d even added a weekend rehearsal to the mix and used it to jam and try out new songs. Pres was impressed by how quickly Cassie had picked everything up.
He hated to admit it, but Marley had been right. It was good to be playing again. Good to be spending some leisure time with adults, even though Pres still felt guilty every time his mom came to pick up Delilah from the studio and take her back to his house to put her to bed.
Yet Delilah was loving it. Every rehearsal day she would run to the studio to wait for Cassie to arrive, then hang around her until Marley counted them in.
Cassie was sweet with her, and he appreciated that. Not every twenty-something woman without children would be the same.
That was why he hadn’t bothered dating after they’d lost Jade. That and the fact he just wasn’t ready. He had to protect Delilah, and that wasn’t compatible with putting his own needs first.
It was hot in the studio tonight. The room had air conditioning, but the door kept opening and shutting, mostly thanks to Alex’s cigarette addiction. Pres had pulled his sweater off. He was down to a sleeveless tee and jeans. Marley had sensibly worn shorts and a t-shirt – he always got overheated – and Cassie was wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and a t-shirt she’d tied into a knot on her abdomen, exposing a sliver of her stomach.
And yeah, he kept looking at it. The woman was toned all over. According to his mom, who had obviously talked to her more than he had, she’d trained to be a dancer. She’d been with a dance company in New York when she’d been involved in a bad accident that meant she couldn’t dance professionally anymore.
He’d wanted to ask her about it during one of Alex’s many smoke breaks but he didn’t know how. God knew he hated answering questions about himself.
So they’d just shoot the breeze, and he’d try not to look too much at the pretty woman who taught his daughter dance class.
How’s that working out for you?
They finished the last song. This was one of his. During the band’s hiatus, he’d written a lot of music. It had been his outlet after Delilah went to bed and the house felt too quiet and too empty.
He’d fill it with the sound of his guitar chords and voice.
This one was poignant, though. He’d written it back in the days when Delilah would wake up calling for her mom. When she’d asked him all the questions he didn’t have answers to. And the ones he did, but he didn’t want to answer.
Cassie’s sweet voice wove around his gritty vocals, lifting them, making them feel prettier. Less emotional. Her eyes met his across the studio, and he could see understanding there. Sympathy, even.
But he didn’t want it. Hated it more than he hated anything else.
Nobody should feel sympathy for him.
He looked away, down at the chords his fingers were forming, finishing the final chorus off before they played the outro, a bead of sweat running down his face before he strummed the last note.
“Fuck, that was good,” Marley said. “Anybody ready for a drink?”
“Hell yeah.” Alex pulled his guitar strap over his head. “I’m just popping out for five minutes and then it’s all about the beer.”
“I’m gonna head home,” Cassie said softly.
“You sure?” Marley asked. “We’re just gonna take some drinks out into the yard. Shoot the breeze.”
“There’s no fucking breeze,” Alex muttered. “That’s the problem.”
She smiled at his joke. “It’s fine. Thank you anyway, but I have an early class tomorrow.”
Pres looked over at Cassie. She was tidying up the keyboard. He kept meaning to ask her if she was okay with the studio one, or if she’d prefer to bring her own.
But then she’d usually disappear after rehearsal and he hadn’t picked Delilah up from dance class after that one evening when he was late.
Probably best to let Marley do the talking, anyway. He was better at it, and he didn’t make her frown every time he spoke.
“Good night,” Cassie called out, pulling her bag strap over her shoulder. She was wearing her thick hair up in a bun. A few dark tendrils had escaped, and the heat had stuck them to her neck.
“Night.” He nodded at her. She flashed him a hint of a smile before turning and walking out.
No, gliding. She didn’t walk, she fucking floated. How was it possible to walk like that, anyway?
“You could be nicer to her, you know,” Marley said, as Alex ran out with a cigarette already between his lips.
“I am nice to her,” Pres said, frowning. “When am I not nice?”
“You could’ve asked her to stay and have a drink.”
“She didn’t want to. She said so.” He put his guitar on the rest and blew out a mouthful of air. “She has work tomorrow.”
“And so do we,” Marley pointed out.
“And?” Pres lifted a brow at his brother.
“And we’re having a drink. She leaves because she thinks you don’t like her.” Marley was walking around the drum set toward him. “If you fucking smiled occasionally…”
“I smile.”
“When?” Marley looked skeptical.
“I smiled at Delilah when she left.” Pres wrinkled his nose at him.
Marley shook his head, looking somewhere between annoyed and amused. Funny how often Pres had that effect on him.
“It’s okay to be attracted to somebody else,” Marley said softly.
Pres blinked, not sure he’d heard right for a second. But he had, he knew that. “Where the hell did that come from?”
“I’m just saying what I see.” Marley shrugged. “And there’s no need to look so fucking guilty.”
“I’m not looking guilty.” Pres looked away anyway. “And I’m not attracted to her. I just don’t gush over people like you do. Or flirt like Alex. I’m a professional.”
“You’re an idiot. And I know you like her.”
“Jesus, are we back in school again?” Pres asked, shaking his head. “Since when did I need you to organize my love life?”
“Since you didn’t have one?” Marley asked. “And if it helps I can tell she’s into you too.”
No, it didn’t help, actually. Not one bit.
“Can we change the subject? Talk about the weather or something?”
Marley lifted a brow. “I see a lot from behind the drums. You don’t realize I’m watching but I am. I see the way you look at her. The way she keeps looking at you.”
“We’re singing together. I’m making sure we’re in sync.”
“Sure you are.” A ghost of a smile passed his brother’s lips. Marley could be a cynical asshole when he wanted to be.
“Why are you so adamant for me to admit something that’s not true?” Pres asked. “We both know what happened to the band the last time there was a relationship.”
Marley shrugged. “Because I watched you crumble after Jade died. And you stayed crumbled for a long time. It killed me not being able to help. You not accepting any help. Did you know the reason Mom calls you every day is to make sure you haven’t done something stupid? We worry ourselves sick about you because you’ve built this wall up and you can’t seem to tell us how you feel.”
Pres’ chest contracted. “I know you worry. But you don’t need to. Delilah and I… we’re doing fine.”
“Fine.” Marley shook his head. “That’s the worst fucking word in the English language. Is that what you want for your life? Is that what you dream of Delilah being? Just fine? What happened to amazing? What happened to happy? What happened to living life again?”
“I am living life,” Pres said, his voice low. He felt cornered, like an animal.
Marley ran his hands through his hair, looking agitated. “No, you’re not. Or you haven’t been. Did you know the most alive I’ve seen you since losing Jade is when you’re singing with her? For a few minutes it feels like my brother is back. Like you’re letting him out of his cage to play.”
Pres’ mouth felt dry. He knew Marley cared. More than cared. They were twins, there was this invisible chord that bound them. If Marley hurt, he hurt.
And the other way around.
“I’m sorry,” Pres said, his voice gritty. “I know it’s been hard for everybody.”
“We love you, man. We want you to be happy. You and Delilah.”
“That’s what I want, too,” Presley told him. “And I’m trying. For her. I really am.”
Marley opened his mouth to reply, but the door opened and Alex breezed in. “What’s going on?” he asked. “Are we getting some beers or what?”
Pres looked over at Marley who shrugged. Conversation over.
And yeah, he was good with that. Talking about emotions had never been his forte.
Singing about them, however. Yeah, he could do that.