Catching Cassidy

by Melissa Foster

  It was easier to fill that void than to suffer alone and wonder what it felt like to be the woman in Wyatt’s arms.

  Thankfully, the guy was on probation, so he didn’t press charges, and I have no idea what Jesse did to get the police off Wyatt’s back, but he said he knew the officers and they owed him one.

  Lucky Wyatt.

  Lucky me.

  Wyatt really did save me from him. I told him no, hit him, tried to get away from him. I can’t even begin to imagine what might have happened if Wyatt hadn’t come to my rescue.

  Wyatt, I miss you so freaking much.

  I have to stop thinking about him. At least tonight I’m helping Brooke with a wedding, which should keep my mind plenty busy. Talk about being thrown straight into a fire. Oh my gosh, I know absolutely zero about weddings, but one of the girls who was scheduled to help Brooke backed out at the last minute, so here I am beneath a star-filled sky, making sure the tables are in order while about fifty people gather around in beautiful dresses and the bride and groom—who apparently don’t care if they see each other before they say their vows—gaze into each other’s eyes off to the side. The florist brought in a gazebo and twined flowers around the railings. There’s a path of candles creating an aisle for the bride to walk down, and it’s just about the most beautiful, romantic setting I’ve ever seen.

  Brooke is serving drinks, and there’s no one around the buffet table because the ceremony hasn’t taken place yet, so I sneak my camera bag from under the table and snap off a few shots of the bride and groom when they’re completely unaware. The handsome groom has one hand on the bride’s hip, and he is whispering in her ear. The glow of the moon behind them makes a perfect silhouette. The way he’s touching his bride reminds me of the way Wyatt leans in close and shares inside jokes—or used to before I started wanting to become our own secret.

  Stop thinking about him!

  I walk around the table and focus on the wedding guests, taking a few candid shots, including the cutest little flower girl with golden hair and a halo of pretty white flowers. She’s barefoot, and I get a shot of her and the ring bearer, an adorable little towheaded boy, holding hands.

  I can’t help but get a little closer and try a few new angles. I’m crouched beside the gazebo, taking pictures angled up at the bridesmaids, when I feel a hand on my shoulder and hear Brooke’s harsh whisper.

  “Cassidy!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but no one is eating yet. I’ll get right back to the table.”

  Brooke pulls me behind the gazebo. “No. It’s not that. The photographer canceled. She had a family emergency. She’s already forty minutes late. Of course this happens the one time I try to help out a friend. I should have just catered the wedding, but no. I have to offer to do it all—hire the photographer, book the venue. What was I thinking? Naomi’s going to kill me. Can you take her pictures?”

  I feel like my eyes are bugging out of my head. “I’m not a professional photographer, Brooke. I’ve just taken a few classes and I take pictures for fun.”

  “But you’re all I’ve got, and didn’t you tell me that you won a few photography awards?” Brooke’s brows are knitted together. She’s wearing a pretty blue dress, and her long dark hair is pinned up in a bun with a few tendrils hanging down, framing her face.

  “Yeah, but that was in college. Not like real awards.” I’m proud of those achievements, but they’re not wedding photography big, even if they were pretty big deals to me. Brooke told me that she’d gone out on a limb coordinating this event because her friend seemed overwhelmed putting it together. I know how important it is that she pulls this off professionally and seamlessly, and that’s what worries me the most. What if I mess up?

  “Please? I’ll pay you what I was going to pay the photog. You can’t leave me hanging.”

  The bride heads in our direction and holds up her palms, which I can easily read as What’s going on? Where’s our photographer? I can’t turn Brooke down.

  “Okay, but you don’t have to pay me. And, Brooke, you have to tell her that I’m not a pro. It’s important that she knows these could be subpar, okay? I don’t want her to hate me.”

  “She never would, and if she hates you, she has to hate me, too, so we’ll suffer together.” Brooke takes my hand and walks quickly to the bride.

  “Naomi, this is Cassidy Lowell. Cassidy, Naomi.”

  “Hi. This is a beautiful wedding.” I’m not sure what else to say, and I’m too nervous to make small talk.

  “It will be if we ever get started. Brookie, what’s happening? Where’s our photog?”

  “She had an emergency, Naomi, and I’m really sorry, but it’s okay. I promise. Cassidy’s going to take your pictures.” Brooke pushes me forward, and Naomi’s face fills with confusion.

  “Didn’t I see you at the buffet?” she asks.

  “Yes. I also take pictures. For fun.” Uh-oh, not exactly the right way to calm a nervous bride. “But I’ve won a few awards. Here, look.” I pick up my camera and scroll through the pictures I’ve just taken, hoping they look good. Naomi looks over my shoulder, so I have no time to hide them if they suck.

  “Oh my gosh. Brookie, these are amazing!” Naomi smiles and pulls Brooke over to see the pictures.

  They’re excited, pointing at the pictures and whispering. The fact that they think they’re great makes me even more nervous.

  “Cass, these are fantastic,” Brooke says.

  I tell myself I can do this, mentally prepare for my first real photography assignment. I want to grab Brooke and scream, Can you believe it? I’m the photographer! But I want to hide beneath the table, wrapped up in the tablecloth, and let someone else be the photographer, carry the weight of knowing that if they mess up the pictures, the bride and groom won’t have any shots to reminisce over and show to their grandchildren.

  Nothing like pressure to make your hands shake and your head spin.

  Several hours later, after what was the most romantic wedding I’ve ever seen—which isn’t saying much since I’ve only been to one other wedding in my life—after cleaning up with Brooke and after going home to a Wyattless house, I pull out my laptop and load the pictures onto it. I sit in the middle of my bed, scrolling through more than five hundred pictures. Some of them are clearly awful. The lighting is off or the angle is funky. But others take my breath away. The candid shots are the best, and some of the candid shots of the bride and groom bring tears to my eyes. Or maybe it’s because seeing these two people so much in love makes me think of Wyatt, and thinking of Wyatt these last few days steals my breath in another way.

  I miss him so much, and I can’t keep it bottled up any longer. With my laptop scrolling through one romantic shot after another, I let my tears flow like a river. An hour later, my tears have dried and I’ve finished looking at the wedding pictures. Instead, I start to scroll through old pictures of Wyatt.

  I smile at pictures of him as a teenager, recognizing how his face has turned from boy to man. His eyes are more reflective now, his features more striking, a little harder, and his body—good Lord, his body. He was always hot, but looking at these older photographs, and then the more recent ones, it’s easy to see how his body has thickened and become broader. How he became a man right before my eyes.

  When I close my laptop and lay my head on the pillow, I think about how, in seventeen years, this is our first real falling-out. This is the first time I’ve been staying in the same house as Wyatt when we haven’t been as close as two peas in a pod, and it hurts. Boy, does it ever hurt.

  I hear footsteps on the stairs and I know it’s him. I hear him walk to my door and stop, and for a minute I freeze. I can’t move. A minute later his footsteps trail down the hall, and I hear his bedroom door open, then close, and a tear slips down my cheek.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ~Cassidy~

  IT’S BEEN SIX days since Wyatt and I have spoken more than a grunt or a nod to each other, and Delilah is still staying at Bro
oke’s. Delilah said she needs to be able to work through everything without facing so many reminders of her parents. I guess I understand that. Meanwhile, Brandon has stayed at Wyatt’s house every night since we arrived, and Tristan has basically taken over one of the downstairs bedrooms, staying four of the last six nights. I don’t think Wyatt minds, but it’s hard to tell. He’s cordoned himself off from me, and I hate it. He spends the mornings surfing and works long hours at the bar, but he hasn’t asked me to help him with the books again. I’ve been working a few hours at the café with Brooke, and I really like working with the customers. Brooke’s friend Naomi loved the pictures I took for her wedding, which is a big plus, and I should be elated, but it’s hard to be elated when I miss Wyatt so much.

  Brooke and I talk about everything—except how I really feel about Wyatt. I’m afraid to say it out loud, given his current stay-away-from-me attitude. I hate that things have gone so awry between us, but more than that, I wish I understood why they have. I’m not sure what to do or how to handle things.

  I can’t go home, and I can’t live like this.

  I eye my vibrating phone and scroll through to the incoming text. My heart speeds up, hoping it’s Wyatt.

  Kyle. Darn it. I’ve been thinking about Kyle a lot lately, trying to figure out how I missed his cheating. I’m pissed at him, and I’m pissed at myself. I don’t know how I could have had such bad judgment.

  I toss the phone onto my pillow just as Tristan appears in my doorway. I don’t know how he always seems so casually comfortable, even when I know he and Ian are having trouble. Even though he doesn’t talk about how Ian treats him, anyone can read it in his eyes. That’s the thing about Tristan—he wears his emotions on his sleeve, so even when he’s trying to cover them up, they find a way out. As he sits on the edge of the bed, I recognize worry in his soft gaze, and I hate that I’ve caused it.

  “Hi, hon.” Tristan eyes the phone. “Kyle again?”

  I nod, feeling like a total loser because while I don’t miss Kyle, the guy I dated for two years and gave my virginity to, I miss Wyatt. It feels like I lost a piece of me, and I miss everything about him. His slanty smile, his mischievous eyes. I miss the way he grabs my hand, the weight of his arm over my shoulder. I miss the smell of him, which is stupid, because he just smells like a guy. A really hot guy. No. He smells better than every other guy on earth. He smells uniquely like Wyatt, and I want to hug him and smell him and hear his voice so badly it hurts. Each night while I lie in bed listening for his heavy footsteps to make their way down the hall, I wonder if he misses me, too, and I worry about him. I know he misses Delilah, and I know he blames himself for her leaving, which maybe he should, but still. I know Wyatt well enough to know he feels like he’s failed her. And then there’s the biggest, most gigantic, most painful worry of all, which is also a really selfish one…Is he burying me right along with his parents?

  Tristan picks up my phone. “Do you want me to talk to Kyle and tell him to stop bothering you?”

  Tristan has been so good to me this past week. So has Brandon. I feel like we’ve become even closer friends. I care about them deeply, and in getting to know them better, I worry more about Brandon. When I see him come and go with different lovers, I want to reach out and talk to him about what makes him jump from one person’s bed into the next. And Tristan. When I think of Tristan and Ian, I get angry. Ian doesn’t deserve him.

  I clutch my pillow against my stomach and shake my head. “I’m going to. It’s time. I thought he’d stop texting, but apparently he thinks cheating on someone means you still deserve to be tied to them.”

  Tristan hands me my phone, then pulls his knee up onto the bed and leans back on his palm. His voice goes soft. “Maybe you should take care of the Kyle thing now. One thing off your plate and all that?”

  I look at the phone. “Yeah. I just…What do I say to him? I haven’t wanted to text him, because I feel like he doesn’t deserve to take up a single second of my time. I’m definitely not calling him, either.”

  “Text him and tell him everything you just told me.” Tristan settles his hand over mine with a gentle, reassuring touch. “You can’t move on until you put him behind you. And I have a feeling that you need to move on with Kyle before you can move on with…the rest of your life.”

  His dark eyes roll over mine, and I know he’s searching for an affirmation. I know he’s right, and I also know he’s referencing Wyatt. “What if it just makes Kyle text me more? I don’t want him to show up here and for Wyatt to beat him up again. Wyatt doesn’t need that kind of stress, and I know he won’t let Kyle hurt me anymore.”

  “Listen, Cass. Wyatt’s a big boy. He can handle himself. I think you two are just working through a really tough time. He doesn’t want to fight. That’s not Wyatt. You know that better than anyone. His feelings for you are pouring out of him like sweat. He can’t stop them, but this is Wyatt. He doesn’t know how to deal with them either. And let’s not forget what Wyatt doesn’t want to talk about—the loss of his parents, the bar, and Delilah. I think we both know he’ll figure everything out, and I think we also both know that he feels horrible for fighting.” Tristan pauses, like he’s giving me time to think about what he’s said.

  It doesn’t surprise me to hear Tristan talk about Wyatt’s feelings for me. Tristan is an emotional guy, so this conversation feels natural coming from him, and my whole heart wants to believe he’s right, that Wyatt’s just dealing with these new emotions while he’s drowning in the wake of his parents’ deaths. But I’m so afraid I’m going to lose him forever.

  “What if…? What if the only way he can deal with everything else on his plate is to push me away? I feel him doing it, Tristan. He can’t even look at me right now.” Tears stream down my cheeks, and I don’t try to hide them or wipe them away, because in this house, with these friends, I know it’s okay to be me. And as Tristan wraps me in his arms, I’m so very thankful for him, for everyone here, that it brings more tears.

  “One step at a time, Cass. We’re all so messed up this summer, but we’ll get through it. Wyatt might be putting distance between you two right now, but he’ll come back around.”

  I pull back and swallow my hurt, clinging to the hope that Tristan is right.

  “Thank you, Tristan. You’re so good at this.”

  Tristan laughs. “Only with other people’s relationships, as you’ve seen.” He hands me the phone.

  I’m more than ready to erase Kyle from my life, and I pray that I haven’t lost Wyatt forever. The room goes silent, and I feel like there’s a void around me, even though Tristan is right here. I think I miss my mother. I never miss my mother. I mull over that entirely strange feeling and realize it’s not my mother I miss. It’s Wyatt’s mother. She might have been strict with Wyatt and Delilah, but she was there for them. For all of us. She was present. So present that we never questioned it. We knew she’d have breakfast ready for us, she’d ask about our school day and make sure we had warm jackets in winter. Even me. And she’d done it for so many years in my parents’ absence that I grew to accept it without guilt. And now she’ll never be present again, which makes my stomach sink.

  I feel empty.

  I stare at the phone, and anger fills my chest as I realize how much time I’ve wasted thinking about Kyle.

  Tristan doesn’t hurry me along. He doesn’t pressure me to talk or make a decision, and it makes me hate Ian even more. Brandon is right when he says Ian treats Tristan like he’s expendable, but it didn’t hit me with such a hard impact until just now. Tristan is not expendable. He’s good and loyal, and sweet, and I realize I’m being selfish again. Tristan’s spent several nights here, and I never even asked him if he was okay. What kind of friend have I become?

  “Tristan, why have you been sleeping here?”

  His eyes fill with sadness as he shrugs. “Ian’s going through something.”

  “Why do you stay with him?” I think about how I stayed with Kyle despite how posse
ssive he was.

  “I stay because hearts aren’t as smart as heads.” Tristan nods toward the phone.

  Hearts aren’t as smart as heads. Ain’t that the truth?

  I stare at my phone for a long time before figuring out what I want to say to Kyle. Then I type it in and stare at it for an even longer time.

  Stop texting. It’s over. I think about texting more, telling him he doesn’t deserve me. But he’s not the one who needs to hear the rest—I am. I deserve a man who will always be there. A man who will love me for my faults and my good points. I deserve a guy who loves me with his heart and his head. I deserve a man who will stand up for me, not a man who will do all he can to hurt me. I deserve a man like Wyatt.

  “Army will get past this, Cassidy.”

  I smile at the nickname. “I know. Jesse said he moved right past denial and into anger. Did you know there are five stages of grieving? I Googled it. Bargaining, depression, and acceptance are the next three stages. I’m not sure what bargaining means, but it doesn’t really matter. Wyatt doesn’t like to play by the rules.”

  “No, he doesn’t. But he sure has a handle on the anger part. Cass…” Tristan runs a hand through his hair, like he’s weighing his next words, and when he finally speaks, his tone is stronger, heated. “He was jealous when he hit that guy.”

  He holds my gaze for a long time. I don’t say anything, because it feels strange to hear him validate Wyatt’s feelings. It feels good, but it also feels like something I shouldn’t hold on to. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from Wyatt’s radio silence, it’s that hope is a hurtful thing.

  “I think he’s working past the anger, though.” Tristan’s voice is soft again, like he’s offering this up to tell me that I should hope, that he’s trying.

  My phone vibrates, and we both look at it sitting in my palm like a ticking grenade.

  “Do you know how to block a number?”

  He reaches for the phone, reads the text, and starts pressing buttons, then hands it back a few minutes later.