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At least that’s what she’d told herself at first.
A few days before the article went live, she’d been rereading it for the umpteenth time, hurting so much she was tempted to take Cash out of the article altogether and focus only on Elite Records and the other Sutherland brothers.
But that would do a disservice to his fans, who deserved to know the man behind the music. So, Presley put her own hurt feelings in the rearview, and poured her heart into the article.
She knew he believed what he’d said about not deserving her forgiveness, but the truth was she was tired of holding onto that grudge—of bearing the oppressive weight of it.
He’d made a mistake. So had she, for similar reasons and far more recently. He’d forgiven her without a second thought. And she hadn’t been able to blame her recent bout of selfishness on being a clueless college kid.
But she wasn’t the same hearts-in-her-eyes girl she used to be. She’d taken a chance, and had chased her dreams and her heart. Why should she have to choose between them? He’d told her the truth recently, and damn the consequences. She would do the same.
So she wrote the truth about Cash Sutherland. She revealed him for the loving, giving man he was. People didn’t need to know who had inspired “Lightning” to understand the sacrifices he’d made for those he loved.
He’d been punishing himself, but also protecting Presley by sending her home to Florida. So focused on doing the right thing for her, he hadn’t noticed she didn’t need his protection. What she needed, what she deserved, was his heart.
Her article would give him a chance to change his mind.
If he didn’t realize what he’d lost this time, then she would book a flight to Viral Pop’s London office and she wouldn’t look back. She’d traverse the globe. Visit Tokyo. Live in San Francisco for a while. The moon, if the company managed to wrangle an office at Elon Musk’s space station. She’d go unhappily, but she’d go knowing she’d left nothing on the table. She’d go knowing she’d said everything. Even if Cash had been the one to sing it first.
Inside the Beaumont Hotel, she pulled off her sunglasses and stepped into the fancy bathroom.
“Déjà vu all over again,” she told her reflection in the sitting room. Then she pulled out the bag she’d brought with her so she could freshen up after her long drive from Tallahassee to Tennessee.
Her phone buzzed in her hand and she looked down to see a text from Gavin. There was one word on the screen: Here.
She said a little prayer and then shut herself into a stall to change. She was going to ride the elevator straight up to the Cheshire bar and give Cash one final chance not to blow it.
Then, for better or worse, she’d have her answer.
“What’ll it be?” Luke asked as Cash sat on a barstool.
“What are you doing back there?” Cash asked as Gavin sat next to him.
“I like to play bartender on occasion. Revisit my roots. Whiskey?”
“Make his a double,” Gavin said.
Luke smiled and poured three doubles, one for each of them.
Hand wrapped around his glass, Cash stared down at his drink for a long moment before Luke pointed out, “You look like something the cat ate, barfed up, ate again and then barfed up again.”
Gavin chuckled.
“How go the rewrites?” Luke asked Cash.
“You have any snorkeling gear?” Gavin asked Luke.
Cash grumbled a string of creative swear words as Gavin explained why snorkeling gear was needed. Luke laughed.
Everyone seemed damned amused by Cash being a sorry sack. He swallowed a mouthful of whiskey. Day drinking was definitely a better idea than writing.
“Will’s not going to let you rewrite that song,” Luke said. “He’d sooner die.”
“That can be arranged.” Cash downed the rest of his drink like a shot. Luke did the same and refilled their glasses.
Gavin chugged his and shoved his glass across the bar.
“I know why I’m here,” Cash informed Luke.
