Her hands fall to her thighs. “I can’t believe I just said that. That’s so selfish. It’s only music after all.”
“I understand why you feel that way.” I grab her hand back because I need the contact. “But I also know you better than anyone else. You won’t go after your dream if you feel guilty. You’ll never recover from… you know.” I can’t say the ‘A’ word. “We’ll never recover from it.”
She doesn’t answer, but her eyes agree, and she comes and nestles against me.
I sigh in relief. At least we’ve moved away from the cliff. I don’t look at the world through rose-tinted glasses, though. Whatever happens from now on, our lives will never be the same again.
twelve
Oxford ~ Present.
Cassie.
I finished filling the chest of drawers in the bedroom I sub-let. Not that I needed much space for the content of my duffel bag. I hadn’t planned to stay in Oxford for more than a couple of days, but now I was stuck here for… another week? Maybe more.
I stared around the room, the double mattress set directly on the floor, the sad curtains pulled over the window, the worn-out carpet… It made my room in Steep Hill look like a freakin’ boudoir. But beggars can’t be choosers. I had a roof over my head and a job that should cover my expenses until I flew back to Kansas City.
And after that? With or without Josh, I had to find a way to get Lucas back. But I couldn’t help hoping… hoping Josh would not let his son down. Maybe we’d all go and live in D.C. I’d find a job there to cover our expenses, because as much as I needed Josh’s social standing to apply for adoption, like hell I was going to depend on him financially. Neither would our son.
My stomach rumbled. I’d skipped dinner and was starving with nothing in the fridge I could lay claim to. I checked the contents of my pockets and extracted two one-pound coins. Surely they would cover the cost of some instant noodles.
Sam hadn’t yet come back from his shift at the Turf. It was Sunday night, a quiet night there, and extra help wasn’t needed. I left my room and headed downstairs to the kitchen and the tiny living room. Upstairs, there was a bathroom and two more bedrooms in addition to mine: Sam’s, on the other side of the landing, and Lola’s, the third roommate, next to mine.
The TV was on and I found her spread out across the sofa. Lola was Australian and worked as a D.J. in one of Oxford’s nightclubs. I’d never met anyone pierced in so many places and inked on pretty much every available inch of skin.
Now Steep Hill’s social scene hadn’t exactly been edgy. So maybe Lola was just an average twenty-five-year-old from anywhere else in the world.
“Hey,” I didn’t want to bother her while she watched TV but I was really starving.
Lola slowly dragged her gaze away from the screen. “What’s up?”
“I didn’t have time to buy anything to eat. Can I borrow one of the packets of noodles I saw in the kitchen cupboard? I’ll pay for it.” I took the coins out of my pocket.
“Help yourself. They’re Sam’s.”
“Maybe I should wait for him to come back.”
A half-smile curled at the corner of her mouth. “With the puppy eyes he’s been looking at you with, he won’t mind if you help yourself to a packet of his noodles.”
“Oh.” I shuffled on my feet, not knowing how to answer. So I just said, “I’ll leave him a note.”
“Do that.” Lola’s attention was already back on reality TV.
So I moved toward the kitchen but I caught sight of something out of the corner of my eye. “Is that your guitar?”
Once one of the TV contestants had finished her latest tantrum, Lola answered, “Yep.”
It was so tempting. The night, make it the last week, had been utter shit, and I hadn’t played since before Gran had… since she had passed away. “Could I borrow it?”
This time Lola paid full attention to me, her pierced eyebrows squished together. “You play?”
I nodded.
“Don’t look like the type.”
Well, un-pierced, un-tattooed girls could also play the guitar. And more. “I write my own songs,” I boasted.
“What kind?” she sat up on the threadbare sofa.
“Country and folk.” I loved talking music, and it always picked up my mood.
Lola leaned back against a cushion. “Not really my style.” Her interest had gone in a puff. “But do what you love, you know.”
What was wrong with Country or folk? Not cool enough obviously. I prayed to the ghost of Patsy Cline to show up at the foot of Lola’s bed and sing Crazy loud enough to wake the echo. When I was thirteen, I’d found one of her albums in Gran’s basement, and it was bye-bye rock n’ roll for me. Bonnie Raitt and Joni Mitchell, these were my idols. Their music was my music.
I was no sweet country soprano. But not cool enough for Lola obviously. I bit my lower lip, grabbed her guitar and escaped to the kitchen for an artificially-flavored moment of comfort.
Soon I sat at the kitchen table, noodles in a bowl, the guitar cradled under my arm. The rough feel of the strings under my fingers welcomed me home. There was no way I could let myself sing… not with Lola in the next room. We wouldn’t want to shake up her state of total coolness. Instead I hummed the last few pieces I’d composed before Gran took a turn for the worse.
“Nice voice.”
How long had Sam been standing there, leaning against the doorframe? No idea. It felt a little spooky so I put down the guitar against the foot of my chair and got back to my noodles.
“I stole some from your reserve. Lola said it was okay,” since apparently he looked at me with puppy eyes, “but I left one pound on the kitchen counter anyway.” Josh’s whole gold-digger attack kind of weighed on my conscience.
“Don’t bother.”
He grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down opposite me. “You love playing, don’t you?”
“Country and folk. Is that cool enough for you?”
“Of course.”
I stopped staring at my noodles to steal a glance at him. He simply looked at me. Not really with puppy eyes, but still clearly enjoying the sight. My cheeks heated up, and I cleared my throat. Call me vain, but it was still nice to get some male attention.
And Sam wasn’t your average-looking guy. His shoulders were broad with well-defined muscles. I guessed his abs would be all sixteen-pack under his tight T-shirt, and his Native-American roots gave him the look of a warrior. A very sexy one. No, there wasn’t anything average in Sam Blackhawk. The only problem? He was no Josh.
Sam leaned against the back of his seat and spread his legs so that his feet filled the narrow space between mine and the wall. He kept staring at me, so I shuffled on my seat and focused back on my noodles.
“So why are you really here, Cassie O’Malley?”
The knot of noodles I’d just swallowed got stuck mid-throat. I shut my eyes trying to force it down. Sam handed me the glass of water I’d filled earlier and a couple of gulps solved the problem.
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
I was about to return to my noodles, but he kept going, “Are you coming after that clean-cut dude? The one who blew you off last night?”
My fingers tightened around my fork and I lowered my chin. “Josh didn’t blow me off.”
Interest lit up Sam’s eyes and I felt totally exposed. By denying the obvious, I’d shown the hurt inside me. I cleared my throat again.
“Josh and I, we go back a long way. We were best friends, and more…”
“How old is the “more”?”
“High school.”
“Did you stay in touch during college?”
I shook my head and Sam lifted his eyebrows. “You’ve been holding a torch for the same guy all this time.” He chuckled. “Kind of obsessive.”
“I’m not stalking him if that’s what you mean.” And, anyway, why the hell did I care what Sam thought? Still, I kept on rambling. “We have some unfinished business, and I have to resolve it bef
ore I can move on.”
Yep, that sounded all nice and mature.
“What kind of business?”
Shit, the guy was like a dog with a bone. I straightened up. “Listen, I’m very grateful for your help. I do need the money and a place to stay, but this is my life.”
Sam gave in with a nod. “Sorry.” I accepted his apology with a smile and was about to re-attack my noodles when he continued, “I saw you upset last night after you talked to him outside and…” He shifted position on his seat as if he wasn’t comfortable anymore. “And I didn’t like it.”
He took a long swig of his beer, his eyes now set on anything but me.
Maybe it was Sam’s turn to reveal a little too much. I should leave it while I had the upper hand, but the truth was: I was dead lonely. As much as it sucked to admit it to myself, I was so on my own. Woodie was my only friend and, at this time, he would be at church. I couldn’t afford the phone call anyway.
“Josh and I… We’re married.”
Sam was about to take another sip of his beer but the top of the bottle stopped inches from his mouth. His eyes widened. “You’re shitting me.”
“Lots of people get married to their high-school sweetheart.”
“Sure. I wouldn’t have figured you to be one of them. You look…very free.”
Free. I was anything but free.
“Josh wants a divorce. He got engaged to that tall girl who was with him last night. That’s why I’m here.”
“You came all the way to sign the divorce papers?”
“I came to tell him... something,” I said. I could have explained about Lucas, but it just didn’t feel right. Not yet.
For once, Sam shut up. He focused on his beer and, by default, I focused on my now-cold noodles. When I was finished, I stood and went to the sink to clean my plate and cutlery. I had to get back to my room and escape the silence. I grabbed the guitar from the floor to take it back to the living room.
“Goodnight,” I whispered when I passed Sam, but he grabbed my free hand.
“Can you sing something for me?”
I winced and glanced towards the exit. “It’s late and I really need to…”
“To pay for the noodles.” He smiled at me. “Please.”
I couldn’t hear any TV-like sounds, so I assumed Lola had gone to bed or to work. “Okay.” I sat back on my chair, nestled the guitar under one arm and crossed one leg over the other. “Anything you like in particular?”
“Something personal.”
I couldn’t dive down too personal tonight, or I’d break. I looked for a middle ground. “There’s this song I wrote about home… you know, loving it, hating it. That kind of stuff.”
“I can relate to that.”
I felt a little guilty. I was so wrapped up in my own drama that I hadn’t thought about Sam or what had brought him to England, whether he missed home or where “home” was for him.
I closed my eyes to get into the zone, calling on the lyrics and the notes stored somewhere in the music box inside my head. The song didn’t have a title, but it brought me back to Steep Hill, to our small farm and the view I had from my bedroom over the barn. I’d wanted to get away from it. So much. But, tonight, I missed it badly. I missed how familiar and safe it felt. So much safer than here for sure. The music and the singing softened the bruises Josh had left all over my heart, and it hurt me to stop.
But I did and we stayed like that in silence.
“I haven’t been home in so long.” Sam shrugged. “I’m not even sure I can call it that anymore.”
His voice was hollow. It was time for me to get my head out of my butt and show interest in someone other than myself.
“So why are you really here, Sam Blackhawk?” I asked him back.
He still didn’t look at me. “Family. My sister studies here.”
A pang of jealousy knocked at my heart. I was an only child, but I’d always dreamt of a sibling. In many ways, Josh had filled that role, too.
“How long have you been here in Oxford?” General, I know, but I wasn’t good at grilling people.
“A month.”
“And before that, where were you?”
“On the road.” He let out a heavy breath. “I’ve been on the road for a long time. Too long.”
I didn’t know if I should push on with another question.
“You look worn out, Kitten. Go to bed. We’ll be working late tomorrow night.”
He’d said the words as if he cared, so it didn’t sound like a dismissal. I nodded and stood up with the guitar.
“Thanks for the noodles. Is my debt paid off now?” I teased him before I stepped out of the kitchen.
“We’re good.”
I nodded and turned away.
“You know what, Kitten?” I stopped and looked back over my shoulder. “You looked so much happier when you were singing than with that Josh of yours. Maybe he isn’t your future… maybe music is.”
His words hit me. Sam was wrong. Nashville was something I’d have to grieve. Music wasn’t my future anymore. Lucas was. Maybe he had always been.
thirteen
It’d been two days since the debacle at the Oxford Union. And no news from Josh.
I’d kept busy at the Turf, putting in an extra shift to make some more money. Anything I could save on top of my expenses would make me feel good about myself, make me believe that I was doing something useful. Something useful for Lucas.
So why was I standing in front of the Ashmolean Museum, where Eleanor had asked me to meet her? I wasn’t totally sure. I wasn’t dumb enough to think Josh had to choose between Eleanor and me. Josh didn’t look at me that way anymore.
I entered the museum. It wasn’t my first time in that kind of place. Pregnant, I’d spent a few afternoons in the Nelson-Atkins Museum of Art, back in Kansas City. At the time, I’d hoped a bit of culture would make up for the senior year I’d missed. It didn’t, but the place was free and it’d kept my mind from whirling. At least for a few hours each time.
The Ashmolean was something different altogether. If I’d been in Oxford as a tourist, I’d probably have spent many hours here, sucking up a little bit of the culture of the place. But I wasn’t a tourist, so I headed toward the elevator.
Only the elevator was taking its own sweet time, and my nerves made me shuffle on my feet. The stairs would knock off the jitters. I made it to the top floor in record time but out of breath… and as totally nervous as I’d been downstairs. Plus I’d broken into a sweat. I flattened my cold palms over my cheeks to refresh them while I looked at the place in front of me.
The restaurant had a panoramic view, which I should have enjoyed, only my eyes were too busy hunting for Eleanor. And there she was, all absorbed in her smart phone, typing with the tips of her elegant fingers. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder, like the perfect backdrop for her perfect profile.
My heart filled with guilt. This girl might be a spoiled princess, but I had a pretty good “mean” detector, and Eleanor was scoring low.
Agreeing to meet her was manipulative at best. The self-loathing was unexpected and made me want to overdose on antacids. I took a step back and checked the fire exit and staircase behind it. But it was too late. Eleanor waved at me with that sunny, beaming smile of hers. I grimaced a smile back at her. My hand moved in a clumsy wave and I psyched myself up to walk toward her. She welcomed me with her trademarked light hug and flowery perfume, which, by the way, wasn’t as sickening as I’d thought before. It was fresh and discreet.
“Thanks for accepting my invitation.” She gestured for me to take the seat opposite her. We settled down and a waiter came to pour some water into our glasses. He asked what we’d like to drink and I stuck to tap water. Eleanor ordered a glass of white wine.
“I feel so guilty for the other night,” she said, her right hand over her heart.
The water I’d been drinking went down the wrong way. I coughed and covered my mouth with a napkin. When I could talk agai
n, my cheeks were hot and my eyes moist.
Eleanor looked concerned.
“What do you feel guilty about?” I’d been the one who’d bailed from her dinner invitation.
“Josh told me about your grandmother, about the fact she raised you after your mother passed away. I pushed you to come to that debate. I’d been babbling away all night and hadn’t seen that you were upset and tired.”
So that was the excuse Josh had come up with to explain me bailing out.
“Don’t worry about it. It isn’t your fault.”
“I always do that.” There was a blush creeping into her cheeks, over her nose. “When I’m around Josh, I tend to focus only on him. And I become quite insensitive.”
“I understand. No apology needed.”
The same waiter interrupted us to hand out the menus, and we both got busy going through them. The prices would have made me cough again if I’d been the one in charge of the check. I wasn’t, but I chose the cheapest option on the menu anyway.
We gave our order, but when the waiter was gone, he left us with an awkward silence. Twice Eleanor pushed her hair back over her shoulders. I twisted the corner of my napkin. Yes, awkward, and I dreaded what might come next.
“Josh tells me you were more than high school friends.”
My chest caved in. I shouldn’t have come. I shouldn’t. “What do you mean?”
“You grew up together. Spent your childhood creating mischief…”
If I weren’t seated, my knees would have buckled. She didn’t know. Josh hadn’t told her anything. Did he expect me to do his dirty work and break the news to his fiancée? Or maybe he thought I’d just fade away.
“Josh doesn’t know I’m meeting you, by the way.”
I leaned forward and slid my chair closer. “Why not?”
“I wasn’t sure he’d want me to talk to you behind his back… to talk to you about him.” I didn’t answer, so she continued. “He’s at Rhodes House right now.” She wrinkled her nose. “Studying. He’s always studying.”
This was very close to a complaint. Was the girl confiding in me? Sweet Lord, I wasn’t the shoulder she should cry on, or the ear to talk to, or whatever girls did when they talked about their boyfriends. My toes curled in my boots.
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