38. A venting machine
CHAPTER 38
A venting machine
CALUM
Someone is tapping me. I blink sleepily until my blurred vision clears. Cathie grins. I like that she’s smiling. Without thinking, I reach for her cheeks, but she ducks in time.
“Did you just get here?” she asks.
“Get here? I never left, Cathie.” Except to clear my head downstairs. My reply brings another smile to her lips. Whatever the therapist did with her must have worked. “Are you done?”
“Yeah.”
Jumping to my feet, I offer her my hand. “Ready to go?”
She laces our fingers. “Yeah.”
“You did good,” I remind her.
“You don’t know that for sure,” she says.
But her steps are more relaxed as we begin the descent down the stairs. I catch her stares a few times and bump my hip into hers. “I love you,” I whisper.
Cathie hears me but doesn’t reply. Is she still upset? What if she wasn’t lying about moving on, that she’s not in love with me anymore, and I’m a means to an end? A venting machine. Sex was an outlet for her in the past. I don’t mind being that outlet, but I want everything.
The sex. The cuddles. The kisses. The love. The light bulb moments.
“Are you hungry?” I ask when we are at the entrance of the building. She shakes her head. I want to hear her voice. “You sure?”
“Yes. Are you hungry?”
“No.” Using my shoulder to keep the door open, I wait until she’s out before saying, “I spoke to your dad already. Mace is fine. We can go pick him up at your dad’s place if you like.”
With this new Cathie, I’m always on edge. I don’t know if that’s good or not. It’s probably bad. Her footsteps falter. She waits for me to catch up and slides her hand through mine.
“I would like that. Thanks.”
My body reacts without prompting. I kiss the top of her head, and she looks up with a smile that says she likes what I did. I love her. I’ll always love this woman. I open the passenger door and tuck her in. She blushes but keeps it cool. I miss the wild, younger version of her. The one that would have thrown her arms around my neck and pulled me in for a deeper kiss before letting me go. Maybe that’s why I wait a second too long to see if that will happen.
Silence follows us as we exit. It’s comfortable, but I want to hear her voice. It’s my melody.
“How was it?” I ask.
“Okay, I guess.”
Cathie hides her hands between her legs. She’s wearing a dress. She wears them a lot these days. I want to slide my hands under, play with her, touch her, feel her. Be everything she wants.
“How okay?” I whisper.
She cuts me a soft look. The road is less crowded, so I go below the speed limit to elongate this time. We haven’t figured out our dynamics, and I’m afraid to bring it up. I’m scared of a lot of things. It’s a limbo. I’d rather be stuck in this limbo of careful intimacy than accept the cold shoulders. She loves me. I know it. When the carefully placed walls are down, I’ll have her.
“I don’t like her,” Cathie murmurs.
My foot slams on the brake, and I clench the wheel. Pete said Ebunoluwa was a good fit. I agreed because we need someone Cathie can be comfortable around. She places a hand over mine, and I offer her an apologetic smile. I want her to be okay. To talk to someone who can help her. Her finger rubs my knuckles, and I kick the car into drive. We are silent for a while.
“Well, I like her. But she keeps asking annoying questions.” I smile at her tone. She’s getting upset, but it brings out the version I’m familiar with. Her voice changes as she continues. “ Do you think your mum’s death affected you? And maybe the fact that you had to take care of your dad only made it worse? Of course it did. Stupid therapist. Stupid everybody. Stupid.”
I park by the roadside and quickly undo our seatbelts. Cathie heaves, flattening her hands on the dashboard. I touch her arm. “Hey, baby. Come here.”
She sniffs. “You can’t keep calling me baby.”
Oh, I can. She’s my baby. But for now, I open my arms to invite her for a hug. “Come here.”
“I’m fine,” she replies.
She’s not. Her shoulders shake. She’s not crying but breaking down on the inside. When will she learn to open up to me? I miss those parts of us. The late nights and silly talks. I want to have her heart like I did in the past. I adjust my seat to create more leg room and lean my back on the door.
“I know you’re fine,” I say. She raises her head. “But I want a hug. I want to hug you.”
“That’s not how friends behave,” she tells me. But her knee already moves over the seat. Progress. Besides, she admitted earlier that friendship couldn’t work with us. And she was not wrong. For now, I’ll use that as an excuse to get the intimacy we both need. “You know.”
“Friends hug each other,” I reply. I wiggle my arms in protest, feigning annoyance to get her moving. She frowns but leans forward, so I hoist her on my legs. Her head settles into the crook of my shoulder, and my arms lock around her lower back. “Now I feel better, Cathie.”
“Me too,” she whispers. Her fingers drum on my chest like she’s rehearsing a beat. “Cal?”
“Yes?”
My head lowers, and our gazes meet. I gulp. “Can I kiss you?” she whispers.
Her cheeks turn crimson red. If she still had her long hair, she would have used it to hide away from me. I tip her jaw and nod. “Always. You can always kiss me. No permissions.”
Pushing herself up, she touches her soft lips with mine in a holy kiss. I make a sound at the back of my throat. But she pulls away with a smile.
“Is that it?” I ask.
“Yep.”
This is torture. I force a smile to my lips, but she giggles. Straddling me, she traces a finger across my ear, then her cheek touches mine like we used to do. I don’t want to be her friend. I want more. She cups my face, her eyes search mine, and her head lowers so slowly that I almost yank her down to crash my lips against hers. When her lips touch mine, a breath escapes me. It’s like finding the perfect end to a song after months of dry spells. No, it’s better. She kisses me softly, like she cares, like she doesn’t want it to end. I don’t want that either.
“I love you, Catherine,” I mutter against her lips. She grunts in approval but doesn’t say back the words. Her blue eyes drink me in. I want to be her muse. Maybe I sound crazy, but I want to be the only man she looks at this way. “I hope you can fall back in love with me. Soon.”
“Is that what friends tell each other?”
The softly delivered blow stings. I’m not her friend. I’m more than her friend. I touch my fingertips to her cheek. She’s my lifeline.
“Maybe,” I finally answer. My phone’s ringtone cuts the silence. I pull it out of my pocket halfway and shove it down once I spot the caller ID. Cathie edges away. I try to drag her back to where she belongs, in my arms, but she edges out of my reach. “It’s nothing. Come back.”
“Who was that?” she asks.
She slithers away to her seat and clicks the seatbelt back into place. Scott had to ruin it. He wants to know when I’ll be back. I need to return. The band can’t function with a missing lead.
“Scott.”
“Why didn’t you pick up?”
“Scott is going to chew my ears off,” I reply honestly. She draws my seatbelt over my chest and tucks it in. I have no more excuses, so I start the car and turn into the familiar road. Cars weave in and out, but none give me shit for my pace. “I should be with the boys. Practising.”
For the next few minutes, silence takes over. Silence and a little awkwardness. It no longer feels appropriate to reach for her hand and lace our fingers.
After Cathie’s second sigh, I reduce my speed, and she tilts her body. “He’s right, you know? You should be with the rest of your boys,” she says. The house is up ahead, but I slow even further. Things might change when we enter. “You need to practise. Why aren’t you there?”
“Because I’m here with you and Mace.”
“It’s interfering with your job.”
I hit the honk by mistake. She releases a breath, and I park the car by the small, gated fence of their house. I unfasten my seatbelt but don’t pull her into my lap, though I want to do that.
“Cathie, I don’t care about the job,” I tell her. My back meets the door of the car, and I drag my legs over the chair to cross them. “You know my stance already. If I have to pick, it’s you and Mace. It’s always both of you first.”
“You really will miss the tour?”
“If you’re not coming with me? Yes.”
“Doesn’t that sound like emotional blackmail or manipulation to you, Mr Dissick? Anyway, I already bought tickets,” she says. I ground my teeth in annoyance. I’ve never hated my last name as much as I do when it’s coming from her in that formal tone. She sizes me up, and her lips pucker in the cutest frown. “And I intend to get my money’s worth. You can’t miss it.”
Hope blooms in my chest. I almost take her hand. Call me selfish, even manipulative like she claimed, but I don’t want to give up anything. I want to have her, Mace, and the music. I wish to be among the small population of stars who have fame and their family. A happy family.
“You’ll come?” I whisper. I sound like a little boy, a boy begging Santa for his first guitar.
Cathie leaves without an answer. I run my hands over my face. Something is missing. When my emotions are under control, I contact Pete. We should have stopped by his place to get Mace. What kind of father am I? The one who didn’t know he had a son until weeks ago.
Pete ignores my apologies. He overcompensates these days, offering to help so we can have privacy. I can’t say if that means we have his blessing. But his blessing won’t matter if Cathie doesn’t want me. I end the call minutes later. He will be here with his grandson. Grandson.
Mum doesn’t know yet. I should tell her. But I won’t. It’s part punishment for what she did. If I missed out on a year of Mace’s life, she can handle a few more weeks without knowing.
I exit the car and freeze. Cathie is at the front of the house, but she’s not alone. Jason is here. He’s hugging her. How long has he been hugging her? I cover the gap and he’s still holding my girl. He needs to keep his hands to himself. I clear my throat. He looks up and smiles in greeting. Ashley might have been right. He can’t hurt a fly unless provoked, and that makes it tougher to hate him. Cathie steps away from the hug, but his hand lingers on her shoulder.
“When did you get here?” I ask.
Jason steals a look at his wristwatch. If he dyed his hair blonde or I dyed mine brown, we might pass for relatives. Is that why Cathie is comfortable around him? Should I dye my hair?
“Couple of minutes ago,” he says. How did I miss it? That’s what Cathie does. Nothing else matters when she’s there. He jerks his head towards my car. “Didn’t know that was your ride.”
“Yeah. Yeah.”
Cathie slides her arm around Jason’s waist. It’s friendly. There’s nothing to it, but why is she latching onto another man when I’m here? Did the kiss in the car mean nothing? I took her to therapy, not Jason. I breathe through my teeth while the duo head into the house. The door shuts after them, and I scoff. She didn’t even ask if I wanted to come in. I join them inside, my annoyance bubbling as they talk about Mace while I’m left looking like the outsider.
We need to decide on our relationship, and we need to do it fast.