“Maybe you’re asking too much of yourself too soon,” he says. “CeCe, we were all victims and, I don’t know, I’ve done a little reading about things like this and ways to put it behind you to a point where it’s okay to let yourself feel safe again.”
“I don’t feel safe,” I say quickly. “And I don’t think I ever will. Do you?” I add.
He looks off somewhere behind me, and it’s several moments before he answers.
“I’ve been having some crazy dreams, stuff that doesn’t really make sense once I wake up and try to figure out what it was all about. My heart is racing. I’m sweating as if I’ve just run ten miles. I guess that’s my subconscious telling me that I haven’t totally put it behind me, but maybe that’s how my brain is trying to process it. I don’t know.”
“If Thomas is having trouble dealing with it,” I say, “he won’t admit as much to me.”
“Each of us is different,” Holden says. “People have to come to terms with things in different ways.”
He slowly pulls me back to him and wraps me up in his arms again. I close my eyes and breathe in his scent. It feels so good to be held like this by him. I wish that we never had to move past this thought, this moment, that we could simply infuse each other with love and caring until we were both completely strong again, no nightmares, no panic attacks, no sadness.
When he pulls away to look down at me, I know he’s going to kiss me. I want him to with every cell in my body. My need for him is as basic and elemental as the need for food, air, water.
I don’t stop him, and his kiss has forgotten none of its hunger. It’s a powerful thing, the knowledge that I have in me the ability to feed that hunger, but then he is the only one who can do the same for me. I will myself to shut off the nagging fear in my mind and simply become lost in everything Holden makes me feel. I just want to remember what this felt like when I didn’t see it through the lens of guilt, and it was just so clear to me that we had been lucky enough to find something special in each other.
I loop my hands around his neck and take what he is giving. I undo the first three buttons of his shirt and slip my hands inside, just to feel the warmth of his skin. It seeps through my palms, up my arms and along my shoulders to drop down into the core of me.
“CeCe,” he says. “Dear God, I have missed you so much.”
“And I’ve missed you,” I say.
He pulls my t-shirt from the back of my jeans and slides his hands around my waist. We kiss until I can’t think for wanting him. He drops onto one knee and lifts the side of my shirt, his gaze finding the three-inch scar just above my belt. He stares at it and then leans in and presses his lips to it with gentle care. I clasp the back of his head with my hand and wonder why I haven’t allowed myself the comfort only he can give me.
We stay like this for a long time, absorbing one another.
When he stands, he looks down into my eyes and rubs his thumb across my cheek. He leans in and kisses me as if I am priceless to him. I finish unbuttoning his shirt and start to slide it from his shoulders when Hank Junior whines, jumps down off the couch and trots to the door.
I start to pull away to see what has his attention, but Holden won’t let me. He’s kissing me again, and I’m lost to anything but following his lead.
“Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
I step back from Holden as if I have just been shocked by an electric current. He and I both stare at Thomas who is standing in the doorway with a girl under each arm, one blonde, one brunette, both in short tight skirts, one in stilettos and the other wearing cowboy boots.
“Looks like you finally got your act together,” Thomas says, each of the words slurred at the end. The girl in the stilettos takes a wobbly step forward, pointing at me.
“You’re CeCe MacKenzie. Oh my gosh, I love your voice.” Her gaze sways to Holden with astonished recognition. “And you’re Holden. I just read about you two in Star Struck.” Her expression goes from delight to stricken sadness.
“It’s so awful, what happened with you two. You had like this perfect love and then you,” she says, looking at me, “being so broken up about Beck Philips that you blame yourself.”
Holden steps in front of me, making a physical shield between the girl and me. I can’t see her now but I hear her say, “Does this mean you two are back together? Oh my gosh, that’s so cool! Misty, that means we witnessed it firsthand.”
“Seriously, Thomas?” Holden says.
I step out from behind Holden just as Thomas reels the two girls back into his own unsteady embrace.
“You’ve been drinking,” Holden says.
“Hey, I am legal, you know,” Thomas says with an amused laugh. “Last time I checked, anyway.”
“Well, you might be legal,” Holden agrees, “but you’re drunk.”
“So?”
He stares hard at us both for a long moment. “You two think you’re the only ones around here trying to figure out all this crap. Well you’re not, and these two young ladies have graciously offered to make me feel better.” He starts corralling them toward the hallway that leads to the bedroom. “And I’ve decided to let them.”
Holden follows him, grabbing the back of Thomas’s shirt. “Hold up there, buddy.”
His response is as instantaneous as it is unexpected. He turns around swinging, his balled up fist connecting with the center of Holden’s abdomen. I hear the air leave Holden’s lungs in a single whoosh. Thomas staggers backwards, both girls falling away from him like drunken tinker toys.
“Damn, Holden. I didn’t mean-” Thomas starts to apologize.
But Holden is a torpedo barreling toward him, head down. He connects with Thomas, shoulder to stomach, and they both go down in the hallway. I scream for them to stop while Thomas’s Barbie dolls stare at the two of them fighting, like they’ve been given VIP seats at a prizefight.
I run at them, trying to wedge myself in between their shoulders, screaming for them to stop, but my efforts are all but laughable. They’re rolling back and forth on the floor. Hank and Patsy, aroused from their sleep, are standing next to them, barking out fearful yelps.
“Stop it! You’re going to kill each other!”
When it’s clear that my words are having no effect, I run to the kitchen, grab a plastic pitcher from the counter and fill it with cold water. The tap is so slow I’m about to scream by the time it gets to the top. I head to the living room as fast as I can go without sloshing out all of the water and then aim the contents at their heads. The water has the desired effect. They roll apart, yelling.
“What the heck, CeCe?” Thomas throws out.
“You two acting like toddlers,” I say. “That’s what.”
Holden and Thomas sit breathing hard and glaring at each other.
“Do I have to get another pitcher?”
“No!” they erupt in unison.
The Barbie dolls are giggling now. I actually hear one of them whisper, “Do you think we can sell this to Star Struck?”
“I got pictures on my phone,” the other one says.
“Out!”
I don’t even recognize my own voice, but I am charging the two like a mother lion protecting her cubs. They stare at me as if I have just hurled something at them in Greek, and they have no idea what I’ve said.
“Leave! Now. Go, out, and don’t come back!”
Both girls right their miniskirts, looking immensely hurt. In another phase of my life, I would have felt guilty. In this current one, I merely feel justified. The one in stilettos yanks at the knob, saying over her shoulder in a pitiful voice, “But we don’t have a car. How will we get home?”
“I’ll call you a cab,” I say. “Just wait out front.”
“Well, all right then,” she says, miffed. I slam the door behind them and then turn to look at Holden and Thomas, who are still sitting on the floor dragging air into their lungs. Patsy is licking Thomas’s cheek. Hank Junior licks Holden’s. I want to tell them not to wast
e their sympathy because any suffering Holden and Thomas are enduring, they fully deserve.
I walk in the kitchen and call a taxi, then go outside the apartment and stand at the railing until I see it pull up. I watch the two girls get inside. When I go back in, Holden and Thomas look a little less enraged at one another, their expressions mirroring something closer to shame when they both look up at me.
“CeCe,” they both start at the same time.
But I stop them, holding up a hand and saying, “Y’all work it out, I’m going to bed. Come on, Hank.” He gets up and trots after me. Patsy follows, too. I close the door behind us and turn the lock.
♪
53
Holden
Thomas drops onto the floor, one arm over his eyes. He groans and says, “Where’d you learn to punch like that, man?”
I lean back against the couch, wincing with the movement.
“Probably from you. You’re the only friend I have who picks fights.”
He removes his arm from his eyes and glares at me. “Me? You’re the one who started it.”
“So you think I should have just let you go on and have your drunken therapy session with those two-”
“Those two what?” Thomas interrupts.
“Ladies you would regret spending time with tomorrow,” I say in an attempt at diplomacy.
“You’re a jerk, you know that?” he says.
“Yeah, and if we hadn’t brought you to your senses, they’d probably have a picture of you hanging naked from a light fixture in tomorrow evening’s Star Struck.”
“Maybe we could use it for the new album cover,” he says with a sarcastic grin.
“Thanks, but I’ll pass,” I say.
We sit there, not saying anything until I finally ask, “So why’d you go out and get wasted tonight?”
Thomas shrugs. “I didn’t plan it.”
“Well, it’s not your typical game plan.”
“Nope.”
“Is it about going in the studio tomorrow?”
He doesn’t answer for a good bit, and when he does his voice is far off, like something he’s been thinking about for a while.
“I don’t know. I guess I’m wondering whether I bought my own ‘we need to rise above this’ speech.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just whether we deserve for anything good to be happening to us.”
“You want me to repeat what you said to me?”
“Hell, no.”
“We can cancel it.”
“Yeah, if we wanna get sued by the label.”
“With everything that’s happened, you really think they’d do that?” I ask.
“I really think they would,” he says. “Money’s money. We were an investment that hasn’t paid off yet.”
“We can make a crappy record, and they’d be kicking us off the label.”
“We could, but what’s that gonna prove other than we can suck if we want to?”
“Nothing,” I say.
We’re quiet for a bit, and then he asks, “Do you think we’re wrong to do it?”
“I think right now it feels like we are, but I don’t really think we can trust our perspective as evidenced by your choice in company tonight,” I say with a half-smile.
“Speaking of company,” Thomas says, “What the heck was that we walked in on?”
“I have no idea.”
“She’s a mess, isn’t she?”
“Yeah,” I agree.
“Do you think she’ll go through with it tomorrow?”
I shake my head, “I really don’t know. I think it could go either way.”
“We’ve got good songs.”
“You think?”
“I know.”
“CeCe said anything to you about them?” I ask, hearing the uncertainty in my own question.
Thomas shakes his head. “Why?”
“She’s just not owning them.”
“Yeah,” Thomas agrees.
“You sure the songs don’t suck?”
“No, man. They rock,” he says.
“Are we just wasting everybody’s time by going in the studio tomorrow?”
“That,” Thomas says, getting to his feet and swaying a little under the alcohol’s remaining influence, “remains to be seen.”
♪
THE NEXT MORNING, the three of us pile into Thomas’s truck at just after eight. We’re supposed to be at the studio at eight-thirty, and even though we’re pushing our luck on time, Thomas insists on a Starbucks infusion. He maneuvers his big truck through the drive-through, and we each get a large coffee. Nobody opts for food, and I can only guess it’s because we’re all equally anxious about the morning ahead.
CeCe has yet to say a word to either of us other than an initial good morning. She sits in the middle of the seat between us, sipping at her coffee and looking straight ahead.
I fortify myself with a few sips as well before saying, “If we’re not up for this today, I mean, if we’re not ready for this, I think we should just go in there and tell them that.”
Both CeCe and Thomas take so long to acknowledge that I’ve said anything, I start to wonder if they even heard me.
Driving with one hand, Thomas props his coffee cup on his knee, looking straight ahead. “Are we all ready for this?” he asks.
“You mean am I ready, right?” CeCe says, her voice low and void of emotion.
I consider not saying the truth, but it feels like the truth is pretty much the only hand we have left to play.
“You’re punching the clock,” I say quietly, “but your heart’s not in it.”
She draws in a deep breath, bites her lower lip and then breathes out again. “Is that what you think, Thomas?”
“Sorry, babe,” Thomas says, “but yeah.”
I stare out the window, forcing myself not to look at her. I hate hurting her. I know what we’ve said hurts. “You’ve never been about dialing it in, CeCe. That’s not who you are. We need to go in there this morning and give it everything we’ve got. Do what they hired us to do. Or we don’t go in at all. We go at it lukewarm, we’re not doing anybody any favors. Not them, not us.”
I feel her stiffen next to me, but then just as quickly, she sinks back against the seat, anger losing its foothold.
“You’re right,” she admits in a low voice. “I just don’t know if I can do it.”
“Do you want to do it?” Thomas asks softly.
We’re on the interstate, tractor-trailers whizzing by on either side of us. We’re approaching the exit when she says, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess I do.”
“Then we’ve got your back,” Thomas says. “Right, Holden?”
“Always,” I say.
She nods once, biting her lower lip, and then saying, “What if I let you both down?”
“You won’t.” I reach for her hand and lace my fingers through hers.
She squeezes hard, as if I alone am the anchor that will keep her afloat today.
For the first time in months, it feels like we have a shot at life finding its way back to some kind of normal. It won’t be the old normal. I know better, but a new normal that’s yet to be defined.
Thomas hits the blinker, and we take the ramp that will get us over to Music Row.
CeCe glances at me. I let myself fully meet her gaze.
“The songs are good, Holden,” she says. “They’re really good.”
And I wonder if she has any idea that a number one song wouldn’t mean as much to me as hearing those words from her.
♪
54
CeCe
The launch party for the record takes place on the one-year anniversary of the shooting. Holden, Thomas and I all voiced our objections to the label. To me, it feels opportunistic and disrespectful, but their angle is a different one, and that’s the one they chose to go with.
Good wins in the end. Bad guys get their due. And life goes on.
It’s true that if there’s a message in the mu
sic, this would be it, and although I want to believe it, I just don’t know if I do.
A Hummer limo picks us up at six p.m. to drive us to an estate outside the city where the launch party is being held. It’s the former home of one of country music’s earliest stars, and we’ve been told it’s an incredible place.
The label had actually sent an image consultant over earlier in the week to take us shopping for the clothes we would wear tonight and give us pointers on ways to polish – her word not mine – our appearances.
We’re in the back of the limousine and on the way when Thomas says, “So this is us. Spit shine time.”
“I guess,” Holden says. He looks at me, and even in the dim light of the car, the color of his eyes deepens.
“You look beautiful, CeCe,” he says.
“Yeah, you do,” Thomas agrees.
“Thanks,” I say, keeping my voice light and looking down at my hands. “You two look pretty great yourselves.”
We’re quiet for a couple of minutes while the car rolls on, sleek and plush beyond anything I could possibly feel deserving of.
“Anybody else feel like we’re standing on the edge of a cliff about to jump off?” Thomas asks, breaking the silence.
“Yeah,” Holden says. “I do.”
“They’re making some crazy predictions about this record,” Thomas says.
“Isn’t it all just guessing?” I ask.
“I agree,” Holden says, “except that by now I think we know they don’t do much investing in guesses.”
“Well, with the album going live at midnight,” Thomas says, “We’ll know pretty soon whether they were right or wrong.”
I glance out the window at the city’s skyscrapers retreating into the distance.
“If y’all could go back,” I say, “to the moment you started dreaming this dream of coming here and making it in music. Would you still go after it if you knew how the dream would end up coming true?”
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