37 - Happy(?) Together

Cassidy stood quietly in the doorway of Studio H watching Jon, who was sitting with his legs crossed in one of the desk chairs at the soundboard.  His head was leaned back, his eyes closed and he strummed the same tune she and Obie eavesdropped on earlier today.  They weren’t at an idyllic spot in their “friendship” right now, but the way he mourned the fingerprints he’d left behind – on her – had ripped at her heart.

“Can I talk to you?” she softly drew attention to her presence before approaching him. 

Broad fingers immediately ceased their movement on the strings, but it took a moment for him open his eyes and spin the chair to fully face her. 

“I thought you went to eat with them?”

By them, he meant Obie and David.  After six hours of being unable to meet Jon’s unreasonably perfectionistic demands, they’d both loudly declared it time for dinner break and explicitly disinvited him with the assurance they’d bring back something for him to eat.  Each man had grabbed one of Cassidy’s arms and they’d shuffled her out of the “lion’s den” for her own protection. 

All the way to the car, she had allowed it because she thought maybe Jon could use some time alone.  But then she remembered the sullen despondence on his face that was so much like the man she’d first met, and how he’d found some measure of comfort in her.  In light of the past twenty-four hours, it was possible that he may no longer find her comforting, but she was compelled to stay on the off chance that he might.

Obie and David were climbing into Obie's rental car when she begged off by saying there were calls that she needed to make.  Her excuse was met with initial resistance from David in particular, who insisted that she needed a break.  As well meaning as it was, she had disregarded his opinion and, after requesting that they bring her back a salad, she had then turned on her heel and returned to the studio to find Jon.

“Changed my mind.”

With a nod, he sat up and leaned the battered guitar against the wall before gesturing to the empty chair beside him.  “Sit.”

Accepting the seat he offered, Cassidy noticed that the dimness in here was unkind to the man who had looked tired in full lighting.  The dark shadows cutting across his face ardently emphasized hollowed cheeks, purple under-eye smudges and deep creases in his forehead to illustrate him as a poster child for exhaustion. 

“You sleep at all last night?”

“No.”  He was looking past her, down the hallway or at some random point she didn’t bother trying to identify.

“That when you wrote that song?  The fingerprints one?”

“Yes.”

Cassidy was legitimately pleased to find that he’d accomplished something today because, as David had predicted, the studio had been a complete waste of time.  Jon’s patience was short, his physical exhaustion had taken a toll on his voice, and he and Cassidy just weren’t clicking.  In her opinion, they hadn’t recorded a single thing worth saving.

“It’s pretty.  Sad, but pretty.”

“Mm.”

The memory of their last time in this studio was still rich in her mind.  He’d used the same kind of brief responses that he was using now and she’d thought it was incredibly sexy.  Now it made her feel shut out, because they’d come so far past that.  Until yesterday.

So what did she do?  Confront him until he broke down and told her what was going on in his head?  Told her what had prompted his abrupt change of personality yesterday?  What had prompted him to intentionally lash out at her?

It might not be a bad idea since she truly was clueless, but that kind of badgering might not do anything but infuriate him further.

You want him happy, not a hot mess.

As twisted as it was, it was true.  Cassidy might be curious as to the rhyme or reason for yesterday but, in the grand scheme of things, it was as irrelevant as her injured feelings.  She’d brought that on herself by glamorizing their relationship and would work it out on her own.  For now, she was back to square one with nothing more than a desire to see him smile again.

Offering a warm smile to pave the way, she crossed her legs and let one ruby-clad foot dangle near his denim shin.  “Hey, guess who I ran into on Friday?”

His gaze darted back to her and this time it was awash with confusion.  “Who?”

“Clay Adams,” she relayed conversationally.  “You know, I never did hear what you two were puttin’ your heads together over.  What was that all about, if ya don’t mind my askin’?”

Again, he went back to his random point of focus and was now shaking his head.  “Cassidy, what are you doing?”

“Could you look at me, please, instead of starin’ off into space?”

Bleary eyes locked into hers.  “Okay.”

“Thank you.”  Cassidy uncrossed her legs and crossed them the other way, praying for patience and divine intervention.  “I am makin’ conversation.  I talk; you talk.  We exchange thoughts and experiences.  It’s what friends do.”

“Is that what we are?  Friends?”

 “I find it preferable to believin’ you don’t give a flyin’ fig about me, so yes.  We’re friends.  Now tell me about Clay.  Or Richie, if you prefer.  I hear you contacted him.”

Lord, please don’t go lettin’ this stubborn man cut his nose off to spite his face.  Don’t let him shut me out when he’s confided that I’m the only happiness he’s known lately.  Let him just be happy.  Or even content.  I can make do just fine with content, but I can’t stand to see him miserable.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

What was it about this woman?  He knew that he’d been unjustly cruel to her yesterday, even if it was done as a rash act of self-preservation.  She’d verbally bitch slapped him over it twice, yet refused countless apologies.  Now she was simply ready to sit down and be friends?

“I don’t know what the hell to think about you.”

“I believe men have been sayin’ that very thing about women since Adam and Eve,” she chuckled, leaning forward to pat his knee.  “Don’t think, baby doll, just talk to me about somethin’ that don’t matter so you can get out of your own head.  Life is beautiful.  Make an effort to see it.”

Damn if he didn’t feel the rumble that foretold of another emotional earthquake.    

Ignore the sonofabitch and do like the lady suggested.  Get out of your own head.

“Clay offered to sell me his part of the Titans.”

“That’s good, right?  You want a team?”

Why was he so damn surprised to see that her face alight with genuine delight?  It was a startling contrast to Dorothea’s polite interest when he talked about football teams, and he found it a bit dumbfounding to realize Cassidy was pleased simply because she believed he was. 

It was… nice.

“Oh, I want a team, all right.  I got too excited too soon, though.”  Heavy eyelids fell closed and he shook his head.  “Remember the second night you came to the hotel?”

“You’d had a very bad day, as I recall.”

And sought to take it out on Cassidy, who had then gone out of her way to put his “bad” day in perspective.  The very same night he decided that his want for her had become a need.

You think that’s changed just because you got spooked by your own feelings?  Isn’t she making things seem better just by being your “friend”?  Just talk to her for Christ’s sake.

“You got pulled over that day.” It was one of the things she’d told him to be grateful for – that he hadn’t been pulled over by the police – and he forced curious eyes open to ask, “How come?”

The frown pulling at her mouth was nothing more than a mild annoyance.  “Busted taillight.  He let me off with a warning.”

He’d suspected something minor, but now he knew. 

Pillowing his head against the high chair back and Jon revealed, “I met with Clay and his family – the other owners – that day.  Two aunts own two-thirds of the team and he, his brother and mom split the other third.  Four out of five of those people were fine with the deal.  One of the aunts, Amy, said no and hell no.  Under no circumstances would they sell part of her daddy’s team to a stranger, much less someone whose family wasn’t even here for the Civil War.”

“So much for Southern hospitality.”

Southern hospitality was about as far removed from that woman as Pluto was from the sun.  The moment he walked into that meeting, she’d regarded him like something on the bottom of her shoe and it had gone downhill from there.  Clay hadn’t fared much better, having been treated like an unruly child instead of a grown man who wanted to sell his personal investment.  Jon had been almost as angry on Clay’s behalf as he was his own.

“She was a royal bitch about the whole thing.  I get pissed just remembering it.”

Cassidy uncrossed her legs and twisted to look out the doorway, then turned back to reach for his hand.  Her caution drew his interest, and Jon lifted his head to connect with sapphire eyes brimming compassion and sincerity.   

“I’m still willin’ to help you forget your bad days, baby doll.  Includin’ this one.”

“Why?”  It was a pussy thing to ask and he blamed it on exhaustion, but he couldn’t fathom what might make her say that.  Not now. 

Dainty fingers squeezed his before she allowed them to slip free and Cassidy reclined in her chair to assume a more physically neutral position. 

“You prob’ly remember hearin’ that I care about you.”  She shrugged.  “Might make me a naïve fool, but that didn’t go away because of some misunderstandin’.”

Fuck. 

Fuck. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He cursed because she tempted him.  He cursed because she was an extraordinary woman that shouldn’t be reduced to soothing his neuroses.  He cursed because she could. 

He cursed because he still cared, too.

“I’m too tired to get it up,” he weakly declined.  While it was probably true, Jon offered it because he was half-afraid to have sex with her again. 

“You still got those little blue pills?  One of them would prob’ly do the trick.”

What the hell? How does she know about that?

He’d never used the damn things.  Not once.  The only reason he even had them was…  Well, his recent history had affected many things and Jon hadn’t tested that particular thing out yet when he’d had the first stirrings of his Cassidy craving.  He’d wanted to be prepared if the occasion called for it.

“I apologize for bein’ nosy,” she murmured, clearly reading his displeasure and taking steps to temper it.  “Your shavin’ kit was open that first mornin’ and I happened to see your medicine.”

My medicine.  Including the anti-depressants.  Tremendous. 

“Were you nosy enough to see that there weren’t any missing?”

She batted her eyelashes and unabashedly stated, “Yes.  I also noticed it was filled the day after we met.  That a coincidence?”

“What do you want, Dixie?” he sighed, lack of rest making him grumpier than usual at having to explain himself.  “You want me to say I wanted you the minute I saw you bent over that fucking table at Tully’s?  I did.  And if I got the chance to have you, I was making sure neither of us damn-well left disappointed.”

Her face was nothing but soft affection when she assured him with equally soft words. “Nobody left disappointed, baby doll.  Not one time.”

Christ, he wanted her.  He didn’t want to fuck her, he wanted her – to wrap herself around him while he slept and infuse him with her happy.  He wanted it so bad he could practically taste it.

Why?  So you can be scared shitless again when she pops that cork on your feelings?  Go home and… just go home. 

“I think you’ve had enough today,” Cassidy suggested gently.  “Why don’t you go back to the hotel and crawl in bed?  I’ll offer your apologies to David and Obie, then come by later and join you.”

Fatigue.   Lack of sleep.  Tiredness.  Mental instability.  All of those were inviting the emotions to run loose with a red flag high in the air.  Everything seemed so fucking overwhelming right now that he couldn’t think. 

Jon rubbed at both eyes as they prickled with… exhaustion. 

“I have to head back to Jersey tonight,” he muttered, kicking himself in the ass as he did it.  “Not sure when I’ll be back.”

Jon wasn’t watching her face – couldn’t – so he had no idea whether she was placating him or politely begging him to stay with her when she said, “Honey, you’re too tired.  Get some sleep and go in the morning.”

He was too tired. 

He was so tired that, if he stayed, Jon might do something stupid – something he would end up regretting.   There was no way he could trust himself to stay.

“I have to leave tonight.”