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Chapter Thirty-Six
Cassie
When I was a kid, I thought it was weird when adults said they slept like the dead.
Today, I get it.
I didn't just sleep. I stopped existing for a few hours. I was that tired.
Now, with the indigo sky and the moonlight streaming through the sheer curtains, I'm out of place. The way I am after an all-nighter or an international flight.
It's evening, but it feels like morning.
And I really have to pee.
I race to the bathroom, go through my post-sleep routine, go in search of fulfillment for my other needs. Food and Damon.
I don't think about our deal, about the possible news, until I hear music.
Damon, sitting on the piano. He's playing something I don't recognize. A song of his maybe.
I rush down the stairs.
He rises to meet me. "Did you see the news?"
I shake my head.
He pulls something from his pocket—my cell phone—and he places it in my palm.
It's right there. A text from Dad. We're up to eight songs on Bryce's album. And Lisa wants to work with me exclusively.
Everything I wanted when I started this.
I would have killed for this result.
And I feel good, I do. Victorious.
But there's something else in the air. Something off.
Damon isn't happy.
"What's wrong?" I ask.
He frowns. "Cass—"
I know what he's going to say before he says it.
"I'm sorry. I love you, but—"
"Can we stop on I love you for a minute?" The words fill my ears, my heart, my soul. He loves me. Something I wanted so badly, so long ago. It should feel like victory too.
It does. In a certain way.
It feels good and bad.
Even though he's breaking up with me, I say it back. "I love you too."
His smile is sad. "It's too intoxicating right now. I'm losing myself in it. I want to dissolve in it. But I—"
"Need to put recovery first," I say.
"Yeah."
"Okay." My smile is sad too. "I understand. I'm proud of you, really. For these songs. And for standing up for that. It sucks, but I'm proud of you. And I… I'm going to go before I fall apart, okay." I take his hand. And I kiss him like it's the last time.
Maybe it is.
There's an urgency in that. I want to absorb as much of him as I can. It is intoxicating. I could lose myself in it. So much of me wants to lose myself in it.
But I've practiced holding firm. I've learned how to do this.
He hasn't.
I pull back with a sigh. "Goodbye, Damon." There are a lot of things to figure out, but I can't do it right now. I'm too tired. And I can't put my feelings on him. Not now.
So I get in my car, and I drive home, and I climb into my childhood room, and I fall apart there.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Damon
Two hours later, Dad strolls through the front door with a handful of Congratulations balloons and a bottle of sparkling cider.
I try to ignore the distraction to finish the song I'm playing on the piano. He watches with a smile. With an expression I don't see often: Pride.
It's all coming at me today.
Is it the accomplishment or because I did the right thing?
Both, maybe.
He waits for me to stand. "New song?"
I nod.
"Already on a new project?" he asks.
"Something for myself."
"It's bittersweet."
It is, yeah.
"I'm guessing someone beat me to the punch. Since you don't look surprised." He doesn't add or happy. Maybe he already knows I ended things with Cassie. Maybe her dad noticed her crying and told my dad.
Or maybe he respects where I am.
He wants me to have space.
Dad holds up the sparkling cider. "Want a glass?"
I nod. "You know where they are."
He chuckles and shakes his head kids today in that classic Dad way.
For the first time in a long time, I'm glad to see him. I can't remember the last time I wanted to see him.
I've been holding on to so much anger for so long. It's exactly like Cassie said about hating her ex.
It's exhausting.
Dad grabs glasses in the kitchen, brings them to the table, unscrews the top. "You gotta give the edge to champagne. This is barely phallic." He chuckles as he fills the flutes. "Who sent the news?"
"Cassie's dad."
"Tom beat me to the punch? I guess that's like him." He releases the balloons and picks up the glass. "Where is Cassie?"
"We're taking a break."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
"Are you?" I ask.
"I'm sorry it hurts you, yeah, Damon. But I'm glad. It's too early."
"It is, yeah."
Shock spreads over his face. He looks to the thermostat. "Somebody better check the temperature, because I think hell has frozen over."
"Are you calling your own house hell? Come on, Dad, I thought it was, 'if you're going to be sarcastic, at least be clever.'"
He smiles. "I'm too surprised. My son agrees with me. This is a first." He motions to the other glass.
