Nashville 2 - Hammer and a Song (6 page)

“Can you give me a little time?” I ask.

“To what? Figure out how to break her heart into a hundred pieces instead of a thousand.”

“No—”

“
Yes
, Holden. She loves you. And you probably still love her, too.”

I’d like to deny it outright, tell her she’s wrong. A few days ago, though, I did love her. Or thought I did.

“I don’t want to be the reason you hurt her, Holden. If what you have isn’t real, then it shouldn’t take me to help you figure that out. And if it is real, well, it’s real.”

She stares at me for a few heartbeats, and I know I could sway her. Just by reaching out and pulling her to me. I also know that would make me the biggest kind of jerk. And probably a fool as well. Because she’s right.

CeCe gets back in the Rover, buckles her seat belt.

I walk around and slide in the driver’s side, pulling out onto the street. I hit the Satellite radio button, and music fills the interior. It’s loud, and I like it that way. It keeps what I’m thinking inside of me. Silent. As it should be.

CHAPTER TWENTY

CeCe

It’s after one a.m. when we let ourselves in the door of the apartment.

Hank Junior greets us in his usual way, jumping down from the sofa and trotting to the door to first nudge me with his nose and then Holden. Loyalty keeps him from going to Holden first, even though I suspect, if he had his way, he would.

Ever since we sprang him from the pound, Hank Junior looks at Holden the way he’s always looked at me. Like he knows most of the secrets to the universe.

Patsy’s still more cautious. She waits for Holden to walk over to the couch and rub her under the chin. With this reminder that he’s one of the nice guys, she’s suddenly all wiggles and wags, hopping down to trot into the kitchen after him and Hank Junior.

I hear the refrigerator door open and the rustling of the plastic wrapping that holds the sliced turkey Holden gives Hank Junior and Patsy every night when we get home from the restaurant.

“Holden?”

I jump at the sound of Sarah’s voice from the end of the hall, and reality comes crashing back like a cold ocean wave.

I call for Hank Junior and head for my room, my only regret that I have to pass Sarah on the way. She avoids my eyes on the way to the kitchen, and I step into the bedroom, wait for Hank to pad in behind me and close the door. I flip on the light and spot Thomas sprawled on the floor next to the bed in a sleeping bag.

“Hey,” he says, raising up on one elbow. “Hope you don’t mind me crashing in here.”

“Of course not,” I say. “You take the bed, Thomas. I’ll be fine on the floor.”

“Not necessary. Unless you wanna share it?” he says with a teasing grin.

His hair is all messed up, and there’s a smile in his eyes. It occurs to me then that some girl is going to fall madly in love with him. For a second, I wish it were me. “You would so regret that in the morning,” I say, heading into the bathroom.

“I’m thinking you might be wrong about that.”

“You’re just being nice to me,” I say, putting toothpaste on my toothbrush.

“How you figure?”

“Because I was dumb enough to fall for Holden.”

“Apparently, you’re not aware of your obvious charms, sweetheart,” he says.

I smile. “Thanks. My ego could use the boost right about now.”

“He’s not rejecting you, CeCe. It’s just—”

“Sarah was there first,” I finish for him.

“Yeah. I guess,” he says.

“I get it.”

“Doesn’t make it hurt less though, does it?”

“No, it doesn’t.” I reach for my nightgown where it hangs on a hook behind the door. I push the door closed and slip out of my clothes.

I flick off the bedroom light before making my way to the bed, sliding under the covers, Hank already curled up at the foot.

A car drives by on the street outside the bedroom window, and then the room is silent again.

“Have you ever been in love, Thomas?”

“I thought it was love,” he says.

“It wasn’t?”

“If it doesn’t last, I don’t guess you can call it love.”

“Yeah,” I say.

“Felt good at the time though,” he adds. “And I got a pretty good tune out of it. Holden got tired of seeing me mope around, so he made me write a song with him about her.”

I laugh softly. “What was it called?”

“
Fifty Acres and a Tractor
.”

“Seriously?”

He laughs. “Holden has a way of clarifying the picture.”

At the mention of his name, I picture Sarah and him in the other room. I wonder if he’s making love to her, and the thought is so painful, I squeeze my eyes closed tight to disrupt the image. “Thomas?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I come down there with you?”

“Well, sure. We’ll both the do the sleeping bag thing. Let Hank have the bed.”

I never had a brother. Never imagined what it would feel like to have someone in my life who might have my back the way a brother would. But I’d like to think he would have been like Thomas if I did have one.

I slide out of bed and scoot into the bag beside him. He raises up so I can rest my head on his shoulder. He rubs his thumb across my hair, and I know he’s guessed what I’m thinking about.

“You know it’ll work out how it’s meant to,” he says.

I nod, unable to force any words past the lump in my throat.

“Meanwhile, you got a singing career to work on.”

“And starting tomorrow morning, that’s all I’m going to think about. Forget this love stuff.”

“There you go. It just gets in the way, anyhow.”

Hank starts to snore, and we both laugh.

“I’m glad I met you, Thomas,” I say.

“I’m glad I met you, CeCe,” he agrees.

He gives me a kiss on the top of my head, and we let ourselves fall asleep.

THE KNOCK THAT wakes us up is sharp and a little angry-sounding.

I raise up on one elbow at the same time Thomas does, and we knock heads, both of us muttering a groggy, “Ouch.”

“Yeah?” Thomas barks out.

The door opens a crack, and Holden sticks his head inside. He looks from one of us to the other, his eyes going wide, before he says, “Seriously?”

Thomas rakes a hand over his face, and gives him a glare. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, man. What do you want?”

Holden looks as if he wants to slam the door and rewind these last few moments. “Lauren called, CeCe. She wants us to bring the Rover over to her house.”

“When?” I ask, sleep still at the edges of my voice.

“Now.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can’t you take it without me?”

“She specifically said to make sure you come, too. If we want a job to go to tonight, we probably oughta do as she asks.”

I roll over on my knees, arch my back like a cat and shake loose the threads of fatigue. When I flop back over, Holden is staring at me like I’m the glass of water he’s crossed a desert for.

“I’m going back to sleep,” Thomas says and yanks the sleeping bag over his head, leaving me bare-legged and exposed to Holden’s caught-in-the-headlights stare.

“Okay,” I say. “I’ll be ready in ten minutes.”

He closes the door without responding. I scramble to my feet, yank a t-shirt on over my head and hook a leash to Hank Junior’s collar.

We head outside into the cool morning air, and goosebumps instantly break across my arms. Hank makes short work of his business. I’m ready to go back in when Holden comes out with Patsy.

Awkward doesn’t begin to describe the cloud that instantly decends over the two of us. He walks Patsy over to a spot of grass near Hank and me. He’s dying to ask. I can see it in his face. I have no desire to rid him of his misery, but even so, I say, “You know your best friend better than that, don’t you?”

Red tints his cheeks before he says, “Yeah.”

“Then why would you even think. …”

“Who you sleep with really isn’t any of my business anyway, is it?” he asks, his voice sharp.

“As a matter of fact, no, it isn’t,” I say.

“With Sarah in your bed, I don’t know why you would care who’s in mine.” The words aren’t nearly as neutral sounding as I’d intended them to be.

I don’t wait for him to respond. I hightail it back up the stairs and into the apartment, slapping the door closed behind me. I let the shower water run a little extra cold this morning, more to cool my anger than to wake me up. In a few short minutes, I’m dressed, and waiting outside by the Range Rover, my hair pulled back in a wet ponytail.

When Holden comes out, he’s wearing a lime green shirt that makes him look so darn good I could cry at the realization that I have fallen for a guy I am never going to have.

He walks - strides or stomps might be more accurate - around to the driver’s side, hits the remote and slides in. I get in, too, and we ride the first couple of miles without speaking.

“Coffee?” he says in a neutral voice.

I nod.

He swings into a Starbucks drive-through and orders two tall breakfast blends, remembering to ask for mine the way I like it. The consideration dings my anger, and I feel it leak out of me like helium from a week old balloon.

I hand him money for my coffee. When he ignores me, I drop it in the cupholder and look out the window. We sip in silence.

Holden drives away from the city, and it isn’t long before the urban roads become rural. Enormous houses begin to appear on either side of the road, wide green pastures defined by white board fencing. Horses graze the fields with lazy selectivity, as if food is plentiful and they are merely indulging their host. It’s as beautiful a place as any I’ve ever seen anywhere. I wish the mail boxes had names on them and imagine they would read like Urban, Paisley, Parton, and Keith.

I want to comment on how amazing they are but force myself not to since we seem to be in a contest of who can hold out the silence the longest. But when the GPS on Holden’s phone indicates we should make a right turn onto an asphalt driveway lined by white fencing that stretches out as far as we can see, I can’t help but gasp my delight.

“Incredible!” I say.

“Yeah,” Holden agrees.

A half mile or so, and a house comes into sight. It sits on a high knoll, golf course green grass cascading down to meet the pasture fencing.

“Is this Lauren’s house?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Holden says. “All she told me was the address.”

We pull into the circular driveway, and Holden cuts the engine. The massive wood front door opens, and Case Phillips steps out. Holden and I both glance at each other like tongue-tied teenagers.

He steps out onto the stoop in bare feet and blue jeans, a t-shirt that reads
Country Boys Get the Row Hoed
stretching the width of his impressively honed chest. I’m starstruck, no point in denying it. I was lucky enough to see him in concert on my sixteenth birthday, and my mama had spent a good portion of her week’s paycheck to get us on the third row. I’d sat there in a near trance-like state, listening to him woo every female in the place – including my mama – with the voice that had given him number one single after number one single.

And now I’m sitting here in front of his house. Whoa.

Case waves us out of the vehicle. We open the doors and get out our respective sides.

“Y’all come on in,” he says and disappears back inside the house.

Holden and I look at each other with wide eyes, and I can tell he’s as awed as I am. We bump shoulders going through the front door. Holden steps to one side and then closes it behind us.

There’s music playing from a room ahead of us. Surprisingly, it’s not country. It’s pop with a heavy beat. A giant winding staircase sits to our right. The ceiling is high and open, and oil paintings line the walls that curve around and up.

I feel a little like Alice in Wonderland and have to force myself not to sidle up next to Holden as I would like to. He leads the way through the foyer toward the music, and we end up at the entrance to a very large room lined with bookcases on one wall and four big screen TVs on the opposite one.

There must be a dozen oversize leather chairs with matching ottomans scattered across the room. Sitting in one with her feet tucked up beneath her is Lauren.