81 - Five Months, Two Weeks

Just wanted to let you know up front that this is a long chapter - double the length of the usual ones.  Relax and enjoy!  Also, if you're on Facebook, feel free to join us in the Jovi Journals group.  You can be the first to know when my new story starts to post, because there IS a new one already in progress!  Look forward to seeing you!  <3 blush

Thursday, October 8, 2015

Standing at the crowd’s edge, she discreetly observed the well-dressed guests and patrons of the National Civil War Museum as they milled about with hors d’oeuvres and flutes of champagne.  Most of them were nicely attired in what she would call their Sunday best, while others had chosen a more formal look with black ties, diamonds and sparkling gowns. 

Cassidy was somewhere in between with a silk, olive green wrap dress that hugged her figure from knees to shoulders and hung a few inches lower in the back than the front.  Although perhaps not the best choice for an October event, it was sleeveless and left her arms bare of everything except two black leather bracelets.   The bracelet encircling her left wrist was a one-inch band, woven through a series of silver buckles while the one on her left had linguine-sized leather strips threaded through a silver bar.  Both were crafted from the same object – Jon’s belt. 

It had been exactly five months and twelve days since the package from him had arrived, along with the note that was now tucked into her jewelry box.

Dixie,

Brevity:  I didn’t buy the team.  I’m getting divorced. 

Because that’s probably not what you consider the “sexy brevity”, I won’t leave it at that.

The divorce could turn ugly, so the lawyer said it’s best for us to sever all contact until everything’s final in two months to a year.  It sucks and I hate it, but I don’t feel like I can do anything other than comply and hope you’ll be there on the other side.

To entice you, because I know how much you like the feel of my belt wrapped around your wrists, I had it made into these bracelets.  Wear them as a reminder of what you’re waiting for.

I’ll talk to you when I can.

Love,

J

As good as his intentions had been, he wasn’t able to completely sever ties.  In mid-May, he’d borrowed David’s phone to call briefly, letting her know that they were in the studio recording the “Burning Bridges” album she’d helped him to write.  In early August, he’d done the same thing so that he could tell her the album was being released on the fifteenth – her birthday. 

The next call didn’t come until September ninth, and it was his name that appeared on the caller ID.  Instinctively knowing what that meant, she soon confirmed that this was the one she’d been waiting for since April.  His divorce was final.

Cassidy had been on the verge of excitement when he added that the band was in the process of boarding a flight Southeast Asia where he would be for the next three weeks, followed by Israel.  The regret was evident in his voice when apologizing for the lousy timing, but she brushed it away and cheerfully told him to go do his thing.  They’d make up for lost time soon enough, and she’d see him on YouTube in the meantime.

Each of those calls had been a gift in its own way, but not one of them had been used to explain why he didn’t buy the team.  With curiosity eating at her, she finally tracked down Clay Adams to see what he might be able to tell her.  Clay had no more idea than she did and, when she posed the question to David during one of their sporadic conversations, he snorted with disgust and declared, “If you don’t know the answer to that, then I’m sure as fuck not going to be the one to tell you.” 

That left her here, months later, with still no clue as to what prompted Jon’s choice of divorce over a football team and, when she finally came face to face with him again, getting that answer was going to be high on her list of priorities.  Right after she kissed the stuffing out of him – and maybe a little more.

They were in the final stretch toward that moment, with only a few days left until he was expected back in the country, and anticipation was already making her fidgety.  A month ago, she would have said that the call about his finalized divorce was going to be the most highly awaited she would receive.  That had gone by the wayside with the change in circumstances, however.  Of all his calls, the next was going to be the biggest milestone, as it would signify not only the end of a long dry spell but the beginning of – she hoped – something more.

There were times, usually in the dead of night when she couldn’t sleep, that the past five-plus months seemed like an endless eternity and she was grateful for the overfilled days that offset that feeling.  From the time her eyes opened each morning, the hours had flown by until it was time to try and close them again. 

The first major project had been selling her house in Moreland to buy another, bigger place just north of Nashville.  It made for a hectic month of June with packing up her belongings and coaxing her sister to accompany her for a fresh start away from Darrel.   Finally agreeing, Libby and the boys joined in the great move and Cassidy couldn’t be prouder of her little sister. 

They hadn’t even finished settling into the house when Libby applied, and was accepted, to a radiologic technology program at the nearby community college.  She had just completed the first month of classes and was doing well despite the chore of getting the boys acclimated to a new school and working a full-time waitressing job. 

Cassidy wasn’t far behind with her list of accomplishments, feeling like she’d done a little bit of everything – twice – since last seeing Jon.   There had been many discussions and meetings with John Shanks and Obie about the possibility recording a solo album, she had taken a host of vocal and guitar lessons, was recruited by someone at Blackbird to do some backing vocals on a country album and, to keep things balanced, she applied to a doctorate of nursing program.

She'd even gone out to the solitude of the cabin a few times to try her hand at songwriting.  Nothing great had come of it, but it made her feel closer to Jon and had resulted in a couple of rough drafts she'd like for him to hear.

For a paycheck, she was playing bartender most evenings and working a couple of day shifts a week at one of the family clinics.

Lots of options had been explored but, as far as having made any concrete plans for her life… That hadn’t happened.  Completely contradicting what she told Jon the last time they saw one another, Cassidy couldn’t seem to take the first resolute step down any one path and move on with her life.  She was standing still, but not stagnant, waiting for Jon to reappear.

In all respects.

Every time a handsome man flirted with her from the other side of the bar and asked her on a date, she was tempted to take him up on the offer just for some company.  That usually lasted about ten seconds, until she reminded herself it was cruel to lead a man on when she knew good and well that it wouldn’t go anywhere.  Even though love wasn’t mentioned in the times they’d spoken, her heart still belonged to Jon. 

She’d find out soon enough if he still felt the same.

“Hey, Squirt.  You ‘bout ready?”

Gerald Ray had come to join them for the opening of the “Lost and Found Confederate Gold” exhibit, and she thought he looked quite handsome with his freshly trimmed hair, dark suit and tie.  Uncle Stanley was also invited but he refused to be a part of this “disgrace to our forefathers”, which suited her fine.  He was still iffy with when his mental faculties would be in full working order.

She wished Calliope had been able to join in on the brouhaha, but a new semester was underway at Duke, leaving only Libby and the boys, Gerald Ray and herself to represent the family.  Since neither her sister nor her cousin would get up in front of a crowd, Cassidy was elected to say a few words. 

“As I get, I reckon,” she mused, noting that people were beginning to crowd into the floor space between the double curved staircases.  “Can you believe all these folks are here just to see Pappy Sam’s gold?”

Her cousin lifted a hand to squeeze her shoulder reassuringly.  “It’s not the gold; it’s the good lookin’ woman talkin’ about it.”

Now aren’t you glad you kept up with “Cassidy’s” makeup since you went back to bein’ Glory?

Yes, she was.  Not that she’d ever had problems with self-confidence, but the cosmetics gave her a little extra edge and silently reaffirmed that she could be anyone she wanted to be – nurse practitioner, bartender, or a professional musician.  Even if she’d gone with hair color that only had a tint of the previous copper shade, “Cassidy” was still fearlessly alive and well within her.

Another thing that was alive and well was the Cassidy family.  Uncle Stanley had his issues but Gerald Ray had made a monumental effort to mend the rift between the cousins that had developed over the years and she was thankful. 

Grinning up at him, she playfully teased, “You’re a whole lot nicer to me since I handed over Papaw’s shotgun.”

“Easier to be nice when you’re not burnin’ shit down.”  He softened the droll observation with a wink, and she couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Whatever.  Have you seen Libby and the boys?”

“The boys are lookin’ at ‘old guns’.” He pointed toward the exhibit hall on their left but the thick crowd and her diminutive height prevented Cassidy from actually seeing them, and she would have to take his word for it.  “Their mama’s outside.  Ran into her about ten minutes ago and she said somethin’ about needin’ air.”

Her sister had been fighting a cold the last couple of days and she worried that it had taken a turn for the worse.  “I better go check-“

“No.”  Gerald Ray’s massive hands curled around her biceps so that he could turn her toward one of the staircases.  “She’ll be fine and it looks like they’re almost ready for you.  Why don’t you get on up there?”

Kelley Brett, the curator who put together the exhibit, was nodding in her direction and Cassidy acknowledged that her cousin was right.  It was time to make her way up to the microphoned podium positioned on the landing that joined the two curved staircases.  “Go see about Libby, please.  And both of you get yourselves front and center to show a little support.  I’m gonna need to know if I make an ass of myself.”

Inhaling deeply, she began threading her way through the throng of people.  The tapping of her strappy black stilettos against the tile was muted by the buzz of a hundred simultaneous conversations, and the underlying energy found its way into Cassidy’s nervous system, igniting a spark of nervousness.  Slowing her ascent of the wide staircase, she sought the familiar comfort that always held the power to soothe her nerves. 

Good evenin’, Lord.  I’ve been tryin’ real hard not to bother You so much lately, but I’ve got a little bit of a trivial request.  Could You help me not look like a ninny in front of these Yankees?  I’d surely appreciate it.  In Jesus’s name, Amen.

Discreetly exhaling through her smile, she approached Kelley with an extended hand.  The other woman warmly returned her grip and pleasantly inquired, “Are you ready?”

“I believe so.”

Libby had tried to convince her to prepare some prompting notecards, but Cassidy had believed her hands would be shaking too badly to read them.  With her mind now completely blank, she regretted that decision and it was all she could do to keep her smile pinned in place as she came to stand behind the curator and demurely fold her hands in front of her. 

Lord, my request isn’t seemin’ quite so trivial anymore.  There’s a lot of folks out there.

Scanning the crowd, she found that Gerald Ray was right where she’d left him.  It didn’t appear as though he’d heeded her request to check on Libby, because she didn’t see her sister anywhere in the crowd as Kelley stepped up to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you all for joining us here this evening.  About a year ago, I received a call from Mrs. Orfamay Cassidy.  Mrs. Cassidy told me that she had something in her possession that the museum would find of interest but that she wasn’t quite ready to give it up yet.  The final decision to do so was being left up to her granddaughter.  At Mrs. Cassidy’s request, I sent her my business card, unsure whether I would ever hear anything else about this mysterious piece of interest.

“Several months went by, but I did eventually hear more about it.  I received another phone call, this time from Mrs. Cassidy’s granddaughter, indicating that she would like to make the donation on behalf of her recently deceased grandmother. 

“I have to tell you that I thrilled once I found out what the Cassidys had to share.  That ‘something of interest’ represents what historians and scholars alike have been in search of for the past one hundred and fifty years.  As curator for the National Civil War Museum, I’ve done my fair share of searching, never dreaming that this particular historical treasure would appear, unsolicited, on our doorstep. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, thanks to the generosity of the Cassidy family, we are privileged to be able to share with you the lost Confederate gold and the full story behind it.  Please join me in thanking and welcoming Glory Cassidy.”

Cassidy accepted a hug from the curator and stepped up to the podium with a smile that was wide enough to mask her nerves.  She would feel better if Libby were present and accounted for. 

“Thank y’all.  The story of the gold has been part of my family history for as long as I can remember, and the museum has done a beautiful job tellin’ it in their exhibit.  There’s no need for me to rehash it here.  I’d much rather share a bit about our family.

“The Cassidys are patriots.  There has been a member of our family in every war since the one that is responsible for my bein’ here this evenin’.  My father, who was taken from us many years ago, served in the Vietnam War, and I’m willing to say there was no man who had greater pride in his country and heritage.  His daughters were named to represent both – Glory Star, to commemorate the flags of the United States and the South, and Liberty Belle to represent Lady Liberty and, as Daddy always said, her desire to be a Southern belle.”

Laughter tittered throughout the room and, as she smiled into the faces of several patrons, Cassidy caught sight of a familiar strawberry-blonde head at the back of the room.  After taking a quick inventory of her sister’s facial features and countenance, Cassidy realized that Gerald Ray had been right – Libby was fine.  Libby was also animatedly pointing to her left, and Cassidy’s gaze shifted to see why.

When she did, her face split into a grin – a big one.  Huge, in fact.  There may have never been another grin of her life that this wide and buoyant because, standing next to her conspiring little sister was David Bryan, flashing a big thumbs-up and giving her an encouraging nod.  She had told him about the event a couple of months ago and was pleased to see that he had come, but it wasn’t him that prompted the trilling of her heart. 

It was the man beside him, so casually propped against the back wall, and looking like the best thing she’d seen in five months and two weeks, that had her clutching the podium with exhilaration.

Those clutching fingers itched to tidy the messy mop of hair that had gotten a little too long.  Her arms longed to slide under his black sport coat and wrap around his torso as lovingly as the gray silk shirt he wore.  Her lips craved the soft rush of his heated breath.   

And he… wanted to eat? 

Jon was moving his open hand from his chest to his mouth in a repetitive motion that looked an awful like someone feeding himself.  It wasn’t until she registered the eerie quiet of the room that she understood he was telling her to get on with it.  

“Oops,” she said, leaning into the podium and allowing the grin relax just enough to be able to speak.  “Sorry about that.  I just caught sight of a couple long-lost friends in the crowd and my thoughts got interrupted.  As I was sayin’…  Our family is proud to serve and proud of our history.  Passing along our legacy is the ultimate display of that pride.  We’re pleased and honored to be a part of the patchwork of America’s history and to share our little corner of the quilt with y’all.  Thank you.”

God, she looked good, Jon thought as she attempted to extract herself from the museum staff and angle toward the stairs.  The hair was a lighter shade of red and now long enough to sit well below her shoulders, but everything else was just the same – right down to the warmth of the smile caressing a spot deep inside him that only she could reach.

There were times he had questioned himself during their forced separation.  Late at night, he almost convinced himself that he’d simply needed someone when she came along and, as a result, had elevated her to some kind of savior in his mind. 

The impact of that smile told him he hadn’t imagined shit.

Now he could sing “Life is Beautiful” and truly mean it. 

The divorce had been ugly, although not as bad as it could’ve been.  His video evidence had gone a long way toward maintaining equity in the distribution of their marital assets.  Not that Dorothea had forced him to use it, but it was evident that she knew it was looming in the wings.  She pushed him in the settlement and he let her for the most part, but when he put his foot down on something, she had immediately conceded.

The worst part had been the kids.  Having never seen mom and dad fighting or at odds with one another, it was a hard pill for them to swallow – especially the oldest two, who weren’t currently speaking to him.  He and Dorothea hadn’t laid any blame, simply telling their offspring that mom and dad were growing in different directions and should be free to do that.  Despite the disclaimer, Jesse and Steph automatically assumed Jon was at fault, letting him know it in no uncertain terms. 

They would come around sooner or later.  He hoped so, because he thought there would come a day when he wanted them to meet Cassidy. 

He was proud of her.  Talking to her for only a grand total of ten minutes during the last months had been a bitch, but he managed to keep up with her through his friends.  John Shanks had nothing but praise for her voice and work ethic and willingness to learn anything and everything.  Obie was pushing him again to include her in the band.  Dave spoke to her once in a while and would share whatever he found out, including her admission to a doctorate program and this event tonight. 

He’d even talked to Libby a time or two, repeatedly being told that she wished he’d hurry up because she was tired of her sister being a bartender.  When he’d called to ask what time to be here this evening, she’d gone from annoyed with him to thrilled, particularly since Cassidy hadn’t been expecting him for another couple of days.

In the normal scope of his travel life, he shouldn’t be home and fully functioning for at least another couple of days, but he busted his ass to get back into the country and to Harrisburg.  This was a big milestone in her life and Jon hadn’t wanted to miss it.

Arms crossed as he continued to lounge against the wall with David and Libby, he smirked at the dainty little bombshell threading her way through person after person who had “just one question” for her.  When she was within ten feet of him, she finally stopped answering them and politely excused herself to continue on her way.

“Hi,” she drawled breathlessly once she reached them.

“Dixie Chick,” David greeted and swooped in for a hug.  “You almost blew it up there, but you saved your ass with that goddamn blinding smile of yours and supplementary Southern sweetness.  The only other chance you had was bringing your gorgeous sister up there beside you.  The room would’ve been awed at such combined beauty.”

Libby batted her eyes and twittered like a school girl, obviously unfamiliar with Dave’s smooth operator persona.

“Libby, don’t flirt with him,” Cassidy ordered flatly, never breaking eye-contact with Jon.  “He’s crazy, a bullshitter and married.  Be friendly but not flirty.”

“Damn,” he groaned.  “You’re harsh.  And just when I was going to say I can’t remember ever meeting a more breathtakingly lovely pair of sisters.”

One corner of Jon’s mouth tipped up with amusement at the antics that were as familiar to him as his kids’ names.  Following Cassidy’s lead, he didn’t look away from her when he supplied, “You used the same line on sisters in Vancouver, Philly, Seattle and…  Stockholm, I think.”

“Well, motherfucker,” the curly-headed man grumbled, grabbing Libby by the elbow.  “Let’s go someplace and chat, shall we?  Before these two convince you that I’m going to steal your soul or some such shit.”

The pair of them shuffled off, leaving Jon and Cassidy relatively alone at the edge of the museum crowd, where they remained fixated on one another.

“You here lookin’ for your sanity, baby doll?”

That was another thing he’d taken care of that during the last few months.  Madaline had ended up being pretty good at getting inside his head and devising a way to help him put order to the fucked up mess that resided there.  The result was that he had better coping mechanisms and shouldn’t shut down again in the face of overwhelming emotions.

“No,” he told her quietly, instantly noting the slight cloud of confusion that muddied clear blue irises.

“Then what brings you here?”

Nothing other than his obstinate determination could have kept him from uncrossing his arms and folding her into them, but he had an agenda to fulfill. 

All things in due time.  After this never-ending separation, it feels good to just see her and talk to her.

“You.”

“Okay,” she breathed, bringing one hand up to the area exposed by the v-neckline of her dress.  “We’ve established that the brevity still does it for me.  Now elaborate.  Why didn’t you buy the team?”

Not quite ready to divulge that, he nodded toward her wrist, pleased to observe, “You’re wearing one of the bracelets.”

“Both of them.”  She brought the other wrist up for him to see and her arms fell to cross at her waist, aping his casual stance.  “I always do.  Now could you please answer the question?”

With the unexpected visceral reaction in response to her revelation, he really thought about waiting to tell her what she wanted to know.  It was old news to him and would be better told in bed – after they’d spent a day or two rediscovering one another’s bodies.  Regrettably, he could see the stubborn glint in her eye and the corresponding tilt of her chin.  Stubborn O’Hara wasn’t going to let it go without an answer. 

“I wanted you more than a football team.  Without you, it wasn’t worth having.”

“I…”  Beautiful bowed lips parted without further sound and he took it as a good thing that she’d been rendered speechless.  That was an appropriate response to a quasi-romantic confession, wasn’t it?  He’d never known how those things worked.

“Excuse me.”  They both turned their heads to find that a thirty-ish man was barging into their party of two and, according to the badge on his shirt, he was a member of the press.  “I’m Eric Cavanaugh with the Patriot News.  I couldn’t help but notice you back here, Mr. Bon Jovi and was surprised to see that you’re interested in Civil War artifacts.  I’ve never heard that about you before.”

Smothering a sigh, Jon wished for anonymity that he’d never get. 

You still want a football team someday.  If people like you, they’ll pay money to see you and buy your shit, so smile and play nice.

“I can’t say that I have an overt interest in the Civil War, although I do enjoy history.”

“Then what brings you here tonight, if you don’t mind my asking?”

Nodding toward Cassidy, whose unfocused eyes clearly told that she was still thinking about what he’d just said, Jon disclosed, “I met Ms. Cassidy and her sister a few months ago and we became friends.  They invited me.”

“Didn’t you just have a new album release?” Eric prodded.

When he finally got the chance to do what he came here to do, Jon was going to hightail it out of here with his beautiful… Cassidy in tow.  They were going to spend a long night making love and plans, and he didn’t intend to leave her for at least a week.  Glancing down at the watch on his still-crossed arms, he mentally gave the guy thirty more seconds.

“We did, actually, about six weeks ago, on August fifteenth.”  His eyes lit on Cassidy, knowing how small the gesture had been as far as birthday gifts went, but hoping she appreciated it.  He didn’t orchestrate his business around anyone else for any reason and this time he had.  For her.  “It was released as a fan album, meaning we aren’t going to do a world tour.  We’ll save that for the upcoming album coming out next year.  Thanks so much for asking, but Ms. Cassidy and I have some things to catch up on.”

“Uh, sure.  Thank you.”

Thank God Eric hadn’t been the piranha variety reporter.  He’d responded quite nicely to the subtle brush-off and now Jon returned his undivided attention to the woman before him.  It was time to get on with the agenda.

“So, uh,” he broached casually.  “I have this thing in New York tomorrow night.”

“Okay.  What kind of thing is it?”

The slow, squinting nod of her head made it obvious that she assumed he was only passing through town.  Hello and goodbye.

She was wrong.

“It’s the kind of thing I need a date for.  You wanna go with me?”

Eyes that had been little more than slits slowly widened and then went glassy while her teeth sank into her bottom lip. 

Now she got it.

“In the interest of there being no misunderstanding,” she murmured, licking the spot she’d just bitten.  “You’re asking me on a date?  Out in public?”

He smiled at how damn cute she was. “Yes.”

“And I don’t have to act like we’re business acquaintances?”

His smile went a little wider.  “No.”

“Do I have to act like that now?”

He could feel the corner of his eyes crinkling with mirth at her sassy impatience.  “No.”

“Well, hell’s bells,” she drawled with a delicate huff and tugged at his forearm.  “Then give me a damn hug already.”

Letting out a full belly laugh, Jon opened his arms and finally – finally – swept her inside his embrace.  He buried his face in the crook of her neck and selfishly let Cassidy’s happiness fill him the way it had since that very first day.  There was nothing on earth like this feeling and he wanted to hang onto it.

Maybe forever.

God, I don’t know what you and her talk about and I don’t need to.  She seems to put a lot of faith in your little conversations, though, so I’d like to bum a ride on her coattails and ask a favor.  Don’t let me forget to do as much for her as she does for me, would ya?  I’ve been without her long enough.  I don't want to give her a reason to leave me now.  Thanks.  In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit...

The End

80 - Moving On

The Georgia miles were flying by under the wheels of the rickety Jeep as Cassidy belted out a series of tunes ranging from Florence and the Machine to American Authors to Whitney to Queen and, yes, even a little Bon Jovi.  Nothing that was sweet or melancholy, though.  She was sticking strictly to uplifting songs that made her want to wiggle her butt in the seat or tap out a staccato beat on the steering wheel.  Life was beautiful and she was determined to live it. 

It was fortunate, however, that she was listening to the music stored on her phone.  With the windows rolled down and the tunes cranking, she would have completely missed the incoming call that interrupted the chorus of “Complicated”.

She flicked a brief glance toward the screen to find it was the call Jon told her to expect – David.  Cassidy didn’t have much interest in an apology from him, but she didn’t want to ignore the call either.  He’d been awfully kind to her up until that last conversation and was a good friend of Jon’s.  It was only right to see what he had to say.

“Hey, David,” she answered over the speakerphone, rolling up the windows and turning on the lackluster air conditioning to reduce the environmental noise.

“Hey, Dixie Chick.”  He didn’t seem quite as exuberant as usual nor did he seem disgruntled.  He was just… normal.  “Fed Ex says you should have your suitcase.  I was calling to make sure you do.”

“I haven’t been home since early yesterday morning, so I don’t know if it’s there or not.  I’ll find out in a couple of hours.”

“Oh, yeah?  Where ya been?”

This mainstream version of David was surprisingly disturbing.  When you got to know how nuts he was, normal equated to dull. 

“Back in the Nashville area to pick up a couple things.”

“I should’ve known since Jon’s there.  He called me a while ago.”

Deliberately putting aside the annoyance that tried to surface at his “should’ve known” comment, she forced cheeriness into her reply.  “I reckon he should have a football team by now.”

“I have no idea.  We talked before his meeting.  He, uh…  He told me why you did what you did.  Sorry for calling you a bitch.”

Her mouth contorted into a wry smirk at the blunt apology.  She bet there wasn’t a single greeting card with that particular sentiment embellished on it.  Maybe he could start a new line for the socially awkward.

“Water under the bridge,” she brushed off the apology.  “But thank you.”

“Actually…”  His tone was warming a bit and it sounded as if he was about to go into one of his weird philosophical tangents.  “Most women would’ve given up the wife in a heartbeat.  Your reluctance to do so is a little baffling.”

Perhaps most women would have, but she’d never been like most women.  Cassidy attributed that to her grandmother, who had raised her to be right instead of popular.

“If you’re waitin’ for me to explain that, you’ll be waitin’ a while.  I did what I thought was appropriate.  That’s all.”

“Damn,” David huffed.  “You can’t even be a decent bitch.  It’s just not in you, is it?”

Snorting softly, she told him, “I can if I need to be, but it’s not something I enjoy.  As long as my loved ones don’t get crossed, I’m pretty easy to get along with.”

“If he gets what he wants, you’re the one getting crossed in this deal, as far as I’m concerned,” he piously declared.  “Then again, that’s none of my damn business.  You going back to your nursing gig?”

It wasn’t his business, but Cassidy appreciated the thought. 

“I don’t know yet.  If ever there was a chance to change my stars, this is it, and so I’m tryin’ to think about my happiness instead of my comfort zone.”

“Good for you,” he approved.  “If you go for music and want more piano lessons, gimme a shout.  Hey.  Can you act?”

There was the random, off-the-wall man she had come to know.

“Never tried.  Dare I ask why?”

“Eh.  New musical I’m working on.  You’ve got the pipes and the looks.  Thought if you could act, maybe we could slide you in someplace.”

“As interesting as that sounds, don’t you worry about me,” was her laughing reply.  “I’ve got plenty of options to choose from without addin’ actress to the list.”

“If you say so.”

“I do,” she affirmed.  “David, I appreciate you callin’.  Thank you so much.”

“I haven't done shit to thank me for, babe.  As you said, I’m just doing what I thought was appropriate.  Laters.”

Disconnecting the call, Cassidy shook her head and angled the Jeep off the exit ramp toward a rest stop.  She was chalking this one up as another beautiful day in the life of Cassidy.  Now, if she just knew how Jon’s signing went, her day would be complete.

###

“Where the hell have you been?” Dorothea demanded when Jon entered the family room that evening.  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

A little depressed, a little drunk and a whole lot mentally exhausted, Jon couldn’t even muster up enough irritation to snap back at her.  It was all he could do to plop down in one of the arm chairs, letting the back cushion cradle his head as he offered a bland, “I got ‘em.”

He just hadn’t given a fuck about them.

He had been preoccupied with other things, and his wife’s rhetorical questions about where he was and why he’d left without her didn’t take priority.  It wasn’t like she hadn’t known his plans. 

Now, however, this had to take priority.  He’d rather have an elective root canal, but it was time to get this done and over with.

“And yet you still didn’t bother to respond?”  Dorothea’s hand pushed through her hair as she glowered at him from the corner of the sofa. 

“Obviously not.” 

It wasn’t that he was trying to be an asshole, but she was asking inane questions.  They both knew he hadn’t answered her.  Why beat a dead horse?

When her face pinched with annoyance, he knew she was going to flog the shit out of that horse.  “I’m going to assume you were in Nashville.”

Poor damn horse.

“You knew I was going down there to buy a football team,” he sighed.  Couldn’t they move onto new territory?

“It doesn’t take two days-“

“Stop,” he commanded with an upheld hand.  If he was waiting on her to move things forward, it was going to be a long fucking night.   “Let’s cut to the chase here, shall we?  You’re pissed that I went to Nashville without you.  Okay, fine, whatever.  I’m more interested in what you were doing when I left.  Glad to see you got your phone back, by the way.”

That threw her for a loop.  The annoyed pucker relaxed into surprise for just a split second before indignation took up residence on her face.  “I was in the city, which is precisely why you snuck away when you did."

“I didn’t fucking sneak away,” he mocked.  “I got the call and had to go.  Sorry I didn’t wanna hang around and wait for you to finish fucking the guy in SoHo.”

He was reliant upon Tony’s word for the accuracy of that little bombshell since he’d opted not to watch the footage.   Nobody needed graphic images to signify the end of their marriage and he decided it would be better for his mental health to refrain.  The knowledge that it happened was enough and, judging by the slackness of her jaw, he’d say his brother’s word was as good as gold.

She sure as hell wasn’t expecting to have the tables turned on her, but she didn’t stay stunned for long before launching her own attack. 

“Yet I’m supposed to sit around and wait for you to finish fucking Cassidy before you can drag your ass home.”

No.  This was not an option.  She could give him whatever ration of shit she deemed necessary because he probably deserved it and more, but he wasn’t going to tolerate her belittlement of Cassidy.

“Don’t,” he warned, sitting up straight and pointing a finger in her direction.  “You don’t know a goddamn thing about her, so leave her out of this.”

“Oh, really?”  Cue the Queen of England haughtiness as she crossed her arms.  “I know she’s a thief and an arsonist.  You’re keeping classy company nowadays, Jon.”

“Jesus Christ,” he marveled, shaking his head.  “You really did turn her over to the cops.  I thought there had to be some kind of mistake.”

“The mistake here is yours, not mine.”  Both bare feet hit the floor and she closed the distance between the couch and chair to loom over him.  “You fuck her at David’s house, then have the nerve to come crawl into my bed?  That’s vile, nasty and disgusting.”

He had actually taken a shower before getting in bed with her.  Not that he was going to use that as a line of defense, but it was true nonetheless. 

“How did you know where she was?”

“It didn’t take a super sleuth,” she scoffed.  “I didn’t believe you were going to David’s, so I tracked your phone.  Since you did go to his house, when she sent that text the next morning, it wasn’t hard to put together.”

That’s what he got for not changing the passcode on his phone.   That’s what he got for using their anniversary for every fucking four-digit passcode he had.  First thing tomorrow he was changing them all.

“Un-fucking-believable.”

“What’s un-fucking-believable…”  She leaned over to stab him in the shoulder with her index finger.  “…is that you think she gives a damn about you.  When did you become so gullible?”

Jon pushed to his feet to change the landscape.  Now he towered over her instead of vice-versa.  “I told you to goddamn well leave her out of this!  You were fucking around before I even knew she existed.”

“You don’t know that.”

“The fuck I don’t!” he shouted, his temper finally exceeding his fatigue.  “There’s HD motherfucking video of you and him in my goddamn bed on Mercer Street!  Bring up her name one more time and I’ll plaster that shit all over CNN.”

For the first time, she looked uncertain.  Her eyes still snapped with anger, but she silently folded her arms and pursed her lips up at him.

“Now.”  With Cassidy out of this discussion, he could continue more calmly and was able to lower his voice by several decibels.  “I want to know if you threatened to kill my football deal.”

Her chin went haughtily up in the air. “I’d have to bring up her name to answer that.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he growled, spinning to pace to the far end of the room and then whirling back around to face her.  “Jesus, Dorothea!  You know how much I wanted an NFL team.  How long I’ve wanted one!  Do you hate me so damn much that you’d sabotage it for spite?”

Biting her lip, she looked away toward the darkened windows before bringing her eyes back to his.  “I agreed to stay so you could have that stupid team.”

“No,” he immediately contradicted.  “You stayed because I threatened to make a divorce ugly.  Good news on that front, though.  I’ll have the papers filed tomorrow.”

After leaving the lawyer’s office in Nashville, the first thing he had done was reach for his phone to call Cassidy, compelled to share the epiphany he’d had about Titan ownership being meaningless without her.  Then he mentally played out how that conversation would go.  When reaching the end, he was still married, she was still a dirty little secret and they were still an illicit affair.

So he hadn’t called.

Instead, he contacted his lawyer to find out what was involved in getting a divorce.  No action had been taken as of yet, but he’d gotten the rundown based on his specific “circumstances”, or a case of dual adultery – one with proof and one without.  As long as Dorothea couldn’t prove anything, he would give her what was fair without getting gouged.  If she got proof, things could get messy.

In the interest of preventing that proof from materializing, his guy had heavily discouraged any contact with Cassidy until after the divorce hearing.  If Jon’s phone records were summoned as part of the proceedings and found to include regular and recurring contact with her, further incriminated by length of call and contents of text messages, et cetera, et cetera…

Well, he was fucked right in the heart of his bank account.

Hence, the depressed part of his evening.  Not only had he not called Cassidy, he wouldn’t be calling her for a best-case-scenario of two months.  Depending on how things went, it could drag out for up to a goddamn year. 

There was no reasonable expectation that she would wait a year for him to get his shit together, and that’s why he was going to heed the lawyer’s advice about contact.  The cleaner he could keep his nose in this deal, the faster it would move.  All he could hope to do was make it up to her when it was over.

In the meantime, there was an artisan jewelry store that caught his eye on the way to the Nashville airport.  He hoped his gift would remind her that he could be worth the wait.   

Jon provided very specific ideas on what he wanted, consulting with the woman in the shop for a good thirty minutes before the two of them came to a consensus on what would work best.  After requesting the shipping address from Libby and supplying it to the shop, he continued on to the airport.  There, he climbed on his charter back to New Jersey and drank most of a bottle of wine along the way, accounting for his slight drunkenness when he arrived home.

The argumentative set of Dorothea's features had him wishing for a fresh bottle.

“She convinced you to choose her over that team,” she scoffed with incredulity.  “Twenty-six years of marriage and you’re going to throw it away for some trashy woman with a prison record.”

Closing his eyes, he began counting to ten, knowing that Cassidy had never – not one frigging time – asked him to choose anything other than happiness. 

He made it as far as five before his lids flew open so that he could look his wife in the eyes while coldly stating, “Call your fucking attorney because I’m through talking.  You might wanna remember that it’s up to you whether this is quick and painless or long and ugly.  For your sake and the kids’, I hope you go with quick and painless.”

79 - Signing Day

Cassidy was singing to herself as she locked up the cabin and slipped the key in her pocket.  Earlier, when Jon had left, her song selection was melancholy and depressing, but she’d moved on in the half hour since then.

The smallest gold chest was in the Jeep, the letter from her grandmother was in her back pocket and Jon was in her heart – where he always would be.  Regardless of the outcome of this situation, she wouldn’t regret the precious experience of loving him and being loved by him.  At her age, she’d begun to have serious reservations about whether she’d ever find love.  It might hurt like the very devil if he opted for a future that didn’t include her, but she’d still take “loved and lost” over “never loved at all”.

“Right now, it’s time to focus on your future, Glory Star,” she murmured to herself while pushing aside the weeds and branches from the path.  “You take care of you, just like you always have.  Everything else will fall into place.”

She was confident of that.  Jon would come back to her or he wouldn’t but, either way, she’d still be a capable, independent woman who stood on her own two feet.  There was no reliance on anyone but herself, and whether she flourished or floundered was up to her. 

Cassidy planned to flourish.

Sliding behind the steering wheel, she plopped her purse into the passenger’s seat.  The key had just found its way to the ignition when her phone rang and she slipped it from the little zipper pocket on the outside of her little backpack to see Jon’s name.

“He sure didn’t waste any time usin’ my new number,” she chuckled quietly before answering with a pleasant, “Hello.”

“Hey.” 

And that was all.  She waited through a full thirty seconds of silence before asking, “Aren’t you supposed to be buyin’ a football team about now?”

“Not yet.  Where are you?”

She didn’t like the way he sounded.  His voice was so dull.  So… lifeless. 

“Gettin’ ready to leave the cabin.  What’s wrong, baby doll?”

“Nothing I’m willing to discuss,” he intoned flatly.  “I just wanted to talk to you for a minute.  Tell me again what you have planned today.”

“Jon-“

“No,” he interrupted, obviously recognizing the stubbornness in the way she said his name.  “I need you to talk to me, Cassidy.  Be you.”

Lord, I don’t know what’s goin’ on, but would You mind helpin’ him out a little?  Or help me to help him?  I’d appreciate it.  In Jesus’s name…

“Okay, honey.  If that’s what you want,” she succumbed agreeably, not knowing what else to do.  “When I get home, I’m gonna take Uncle Stanley’s share of the gold to Gerald Ray, since Uncle Stanley’s still in the hospital.  Libby took hers with her when she left yesterday evenin’.  I…  I thought I’d call Obie, too.  Check and see if he still thinks I might be suited to singin’ professionally and what he might suggest to move that forward.  Dependin’ on what he says, I’ll call the clinic about my old job and maybe see what it would take to get my nursin’ license in Tennessee or New Jersey.  Just so I’d know.”

A soft exhalation of air found its way through the phone line, but Jon remained silent beyond that.

“Are you gonna say anything at all?  Because, while I respect your privacy, you know you’ll feel better once it’s outta your head.”

“This is not a subject you want to be part of,” he succinctly assured her before changing the topic.  “When you talk to Obie, tell him to send your tracks to John Shanks.  I’ll give Shanks a call later and let him know they’re coming.  Oh, and you might be hearing from Dave.  Said he owes you an apology or something.”

At least he was starting to sound more like himself now, so Cassidy wouldn’t push any more.  She slumped comfortably down in the driver’s seat, willing to let him talk as long as he wanted.  “You know that commentary wasn’t me hintin’ around for you to pull some strings?”

“Yes.”

No explanation, no justification.  Just Jon doing what Jon did and making no apologies for it. 

“Okay,” she relented.  “Thanks.”

She should be relieved that he laughed, but it was so utterly without humor that it only made her want to sigh again.  “Dixie, I’m the one who should thank you.  I haven’t done a fucking thing for you since the day we met yet, for some reason, you fell in love with me anyway.”

“You might see it that way, but I consider it huge that you let me inside you when no one else was welcome.” 

The silence this time was shorter.  “My brother thinks you’re hot, by the way.”

“Oh yeah?”  A slow grin claimed Cassidy’s mouth.  “Which one?  You have two, right?  The body guard and the video guy?”

“Video guy.  Tony.  Matt’s the body guard and probably thinks you’re hot, too.”

“Are either of them single?” she coquettishly teased, knowing the answer wouldn’t matter.  They were probably perfectly nice and handsome guys, but their brother was it for her.

“No.”  Jon obviously didn’t find her teasing as witty as she did.  “And now you’ll never meet them.”

Cassidy laughed out loud at his cantankerousness.  “Whatever you say, baby doll.”

“I say I’ve got ten minutes to meet Clay.  I’ll talk to you in a day or two.”

There was no opportunity for response before the line went dead, leaving her smiling bemusedly through the front windshield.  She hoped he’d tell her what that was all about one of these days but, in the meantime, she’d make herself content that he’d ended the call happier than he’d begun it. 

###

Jon strode confidently into the lawyer’s office, feeling a hell of a lot more like himself than he had thirty minutes ago.  Nobody in this room would ever guess how close he’d been to having a fucking meltdown in the Taco Bell parking lot.  Nobody would ever know that besides him, just like he was the only one who knew what kept it at bay – or, rather, who kept it at bay. 

It had taken about thirty seconds of Cassidy’s voice to avert that catastrophic moment.  Thirty seconds of that gentle Southern drawl to get his head on straight and remind him that it didn’t matter what Dorothea had or had not done to violate the sanctity of marriage.  Whatever it was, he was equally guilty. 

This was about keeping the playing field level and preventing a divorce lawyer from robbing him blind.  He had a guarantee against that now, and he’d use it as necessary to achieve his objective – the objective that was literally within arms’ reach.

“Clay,” Jon stuck out his hand with a smile for the man he’d come to think of as a friend.  “Sorry I’m a little late.”

“No problem at all.”  Rising from his seat at the conference table, the younger man returned the handshake and reintroduced the people around the table. “Jon, you remember my mother, my brother Kenny, my aunts Susie and Amy, and our lawyer, Mike.”

He went dutifully around the table doling out handshakes and social commentary as appropriate until he felt enough was enough.  Then Jon tugged at the hem of the black t-shirt that was becoming his uniform as of late and slid into an empty chair.  

“So are we all on the same page today?” he inquired pleasantly, clasping his hands together on the cherry surface of the conference table.  “Is the Adams family ready to pass the Titan torch?”

The aunts didn’t look all that thrilled as they politely smiled and nodded, but Clay’s immediate family offered a bit more enthusiasm with their agreement.  It looked like they were finally going to pull the trigger.

“Then let’s do it.”

The lawyer jockeyed paperwork from a portfolio with a frown.  Shuffling through, he found a particular page and ran his finger down to the center of it. 

“I’m sorry.  This seems to be the older version of the agreement, before the last changes you requested yesterday, Mr. Bon Jovi.”  He pushed his seat back and scooped up the sheaf of papers.  “If you’ll excuse me, I can get this fixed in short order.  I’ll be right back.”

Jon couldn’t say that he was impressed.  With the size of this deal, the lawyer ought to have his shit together, but what was Jon going to do about it?  He simply nodded, smiled and made small talk with the Adamses.

“Jon,” Clay inquired, leaning across the table toward him.  “How’s Cassidy doin’?  Can I expect to hear her on the radio soon?”

His smile slipped just a little with the change of topic.  “Last I heard, she was weighing her options.  I’m not sure exactly what her plans are as of yet.  I don’t think she even knows.”

“I would think that bein’ a singer would be a whole lot more lucrative than bein’ a bartender.”

That was right.  Clay had no idea about the real Cassidy, and Jon offered him just a little insight because he couldn’t stand that someone thought her nothing more than a cute barmaid. 

“Her skillset is actually much wider than that,” he disclosed pleasantly.  “She’s a registered nurse, among other things, and bartending was just a side-gig to pass the time during her most recent adventure.  I think she’s on her way back home to Georgia now.”

The younger man leaned forward on his arms with a smile.  “Well, I’ll be damned.  I knew she wasn’t the typical bartender, especially for a place like Tully’s.”

Typical was a word that should never be used when describing Cassidy, and Jon squelched the impulse to say just that.  She was a unique and special individual that was entitled to an equally distinctive life.  If she wanted to sing, he’d place whatever calls necessary to make it reality.  He owed her that, if nothing else. 

He owed her much more than that. 

Women had a tendency to paint Jon as some kind of Prince Charming who would ride in on a white charger, sweep them off their feet and transform their mundane lives into something extraordinary.  He wasn’t that guy, and Cassidy had never expected him to be.  Hell, she was the one atop the white horse, swooping in to save him.

His Jersey pride should be rebelling at that visual, but it only inspired another wave of gratitude.  

This personally historic event was the direct result of an early spring day, when he’d been unwillingly dragged on a road trip to a little, run-down bar in Pasquo, Tennessee.  A place he hadn’t wanted to go to hear a woman sing – a woman whom he discovered sang like an angel, with an ass to match.  A woman who sprayed him with Coke, coaxed him out of his protective sunglasses and introduced him to Clay Adams.

Without her, he wouldn't be sitting at this table today on the brink of achieving his dream.  Without her, Clay Adams would be nothing more than another random name without significant meaning.  Without her, he would still be twiddling his thumbs and waiting for an opportunity that may not materialize for another dozen years.

That spring day was a significant turning point in his life – on so many levels – and he would never think of it without fondness.   

All because of her.

“She’s something else,” Jon murmured as the lawyer swept back into the room with a new sheaf of papers. 

“Sorry about that, y’all,” he apologized, coming to stand beside Jon and line up three of the pages on the table in front of him.  “We’ve got everything all sorted now.  These are the signature pages, and we’ll start with you, Mr. Bon Jovi.”

Accepting the pen, Jon’s eyes fixed on the documents before him. 

This was it.  He was only signatures away from being a middle-class NFL owner and claiming custody of the Titans.  The thrill of victory, the agony of defeat and the locker room shenanigans that accompanied both would be his.  Dashing off three mindless autographs would permit him to take possession of the owner’s box at LP Field.

He could visualize it now.  Celebrating a Titans win snatched from the jaws of defeat in the last seconds of the game.  Winning the division.  Making the playoffs.  Going to the Superbowl.

The trouble was that, in each of those scenarios, it was Cassidy by his side in the owner’s box.  It was her smile that he saw and she was the one wrapped in his celebratory hug. 

Dorothea hadn’t helped make this dream happen.  It was Cassidy beside him every step of the way, supporting and encouraging him – making difficult choices to ensure that this moment came to pass. 

“A person doesn’t reach your level of success without understanding the importance of priorities, Jon.”

He swore silently at the voice of Madaline, that damn therapist Dorothea had forced upon him.  Acting as his conscience, she refused to be silent. 

“It’s not easy to choose what will be most beneficial in the long run over what’s merely an exciting and temporary diversion.”

The one thing he vividly recalled from his visit to the therapist’s office was questioning when his happiness would deserve to become a priority, and now he knew.  More importantly, he understood where his true happiness lie.

A football team could never feed his soul the way Cassidy did. 

She was Jon’s priority.   Everything else was just stuff.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he submitted regretfully, laying the pen down on the table and making individual eye contact with each person around him.  “It pains me to do this, but I’m afraid that I have to decline this opportunity.  I’m very sorry.”

78 - Round Trip Ticket

“I love you,” Cassidy whispered while holding him a fierce hug.  “No matter what.”

Holding her just as tightly, Jon dropped his face into the crook of her neck and murmured, “It’s not goodbye, Dixie.  It’s just ‘see ya later’.”

“Of course it is, silly man.”  Delicate limbs were reluctantly peeled from his torso, and the petite beauty retreated two steps with a smile big enough to detract from rapidly blinking eyelids.  “I just felt like tellin’ ya.”

“Yeah?”  Jon caught the front of her shirt before she backpedaled too far.  “You’re not worried that I’m gonna walk down that path and out of your life?”

“Well, I wasn’t until you said that.”  The perfect bow of her mouth was twisted with displeasure.  “You can’t just say ‘I love you’ and go do what you’ve gotta do?  It has to turn maudlin to make you happy?”

A spring of affection bubbled up inside of him, flowing through his veins with the effervescence of champagne.  He did love her, more than anyone would believe possible after such a short time.  Her stubborn little chin jutting out while sassy fists perched on her hips captivated him as surely as a bikini on her sweet little body would. 

Jon’s loose fist came up so that his thumb could glide over one porcelain cheek.  It would only be a short time before he devised a way to make this work, and they would likely see one another again in a few days.  He’d only been teasing with his comment, but he wasn’t teasing anymore.

“I love you, Dix,” he declared earnestly, giving her the actual words for only the second time and going a step further.  “You’re what makes me happy.”

Leaning into the easy caress, her lashes drifted closed for a prolonged moment before she quietly approved, “That’s better.  Thank you.  Now get outta here.”

After one more bone-crushing hug and a soul-searing kiss that would have to last them both through the uncertainty of the coming days, Jon pushed his way down the path toward his rental car.  Behind him, he almost thought he heard a gentle crooning of the song she sang that first day at Tully’s, “I Will Always Love You”, but maybe it was his imagination.  In any case, he didn’t acknowledge it because that truly would be maudlin.

He was finding it harder than expected to walk away from her this late Thursday morning.  That was likely due to his lack of enthusiasm at facing what lay ahead of him, but it didn’t diminish the pall of gloom nipping at his heels.  When this thing was settled and over, he would feel better.

If I only knew how to settle it, I’d be in business.

The trunk lid on the mid-size sedan clicked open in response to his thumb on the key fob, and Jon tossed his duffel inside before slamming it shut.  He circled to the driver’s door with unrest gnawing at his stomach. 

In one hour, he wouldn’t be sitting behind the steering wheel of this car and guiding it down the dirt road toward the highway.  He would be at a table with the Adams family where contracts for the biggest purchase of his life would be laid out, awaiting signatures.  On the surface, his dream was on the verge of becoming reality.

Only he knew that signing those papers wouldn’t be the end. 

When he got home tonight and looked into his wife’s face…  When he weighed nearly twenty-six years of marriage and the elation of being an NFL owner against what he might see in her eyes…

“Siri.  Call Lema.”

He needed someone that would listen to him think out loud, and the only someone who had an inkling of understanding about this cluster fuck was his old friend.

“Hey, man.  What’s up?”

The car nosed onto the freeway ramp and Jon pushed the accelerator, knowing he had thirty minutes to spill his guts and receive whatever unconventional wisdom David might have to offer.  It wasn’t going to be enough time unless he cut through all the niceties and got right to the point.

“I’m on my way to buy a football team that I might have to turn around and sell tomorrow because Dorothea is the one who turned Cassidy in and I’m not sure I can stay married to the woman who threatened to purposely kill my football deal if Cassidy didn’t disappear.”

“Ah.  Just another day at the office, then.”

Despite himself, Jon couldn’t withhold the chuckle that escaped.  Jesus, his friend was crazy, but who else could have listened to all that and not think Jon had completely lost his mind?

“Something like that,” he laughed.  “I’m looking for advice on how to keep it all.  Psychotic suggestions are welcome, as long as they stay mostly on this side of legal.”

“So you don’t want to set fire to your house to keep Dot from getting it?  Oh.  No, wait,” he interrupted himself thoughtfully.  “That’s an earlier scene in this love story, and repetition isn’t a good way to keep the readers hooked.”

Mile markers were flying by too fast for Jon to passively endure the other man’s peculiar ramblings.  He’d be twice as patient with them next time, he promised himself.

“Tick tock, Lema.  I’m twenty minutes outside Nashville and would like to have a game plan before I sign my children’s inheritance away.”

“Yeah, yeah.  I need one piece of clarification here, though.  She threatened to kill your football deal if Cassidy didn’t disappear?  What’s that all about?  Because your girlfriend’s on my shit list right now for using and losing you.  Are you still together?”

That was a story Jon might be interested in hearing when he had more time.  The road sign indicated that his exit was only twelve miles away.  “Reader’s Digest version is that Cassidy said she wanted to break it off.  When I finally got in her face and pushed back, she told me she’d only done it because Dorothea was going to screw over my football deal if Cassidy continued to be a presence in my life.”

“I see.”  There was a pause that seemed interminably long.  “I guess I owe her an apology then.”

“I’m thrilled she’s off your shit list,” Jon sighed.  “But call her after you tell me what the fuck your chaotic mind comes up with as a solution to my problem.”

“Right.  Uhh…  So you need all your assets to make this football thing a go?  Divorce is not an option in any way, shape or form?”

If he could make that work, it would’ve been done already and he wouldn’t be regretting the flushed antidepressants right now. 

“I need it all,” he confirmed, as much as he hated it.  “Marriage and football are one and the same in this scenario.”

“But you don’t want to get rid of the muse.”

“Correct.”

“Well,” David sighed heavily.  “All I can say is I hope you have something to blackmail the little missus with.  And if she’s going to let Cassidy live in the guest house, the minimum requirement is live footage of her fucking somebody in your bed.  Preferably with you asleep on the other side.”

Motherfucker.  He was screwed.  There was no blackmail material.

“Goddammit.”

“I’ll take that as a no?”

“That’s a no.”

Everything was completely silent as he braked the car at the end of the freeway exit.  Somewhere, there was a shoe waiting to drop and he hoped it didn’t land on his head and kill him.

“You’re absolutely sure?” Dave pressed.  “Wasn’t she out of town a couple weeks ago?  Any chance she rendezvoused with somebody then?”

He’d suspected it at the time, but he had no proof.  Jon didn’t even know where in the Poconos she’d gone.

Unless...

Maybe she hadn’t gone to the Poconos.

Maybe she’d inexplicably been in SoHo - just like she was yesterday.  What were the chances?  

You’re grasping at straws.  You realize that, right?

Yes, he realized it, but desperate times called for desperate measures and all that shit.  It wouldn’t hurt to check it out.

“Maybe,” he told his friend and whipped the car into a Taco Bell parking lot.  “I’ll call you back later.  Thanks, man.” 

Jon reached over to tap the red button that would end the call and immediately instructed, “Siri, call Tony.”

A few months ago, while his brother was on this East Coast for Christmas with the family, Jon had him replace some malfunctioning security cameras in the SoHo place.  While he was in there, Tony had offered to upgrade the system for him with some fancy tech gadgetry that Jon had no interest or use for at the time.  He did, however, recall hearing something about archiving the footage online.

“Hey, big brother.  Long time no talk.  What’s goin’ on?”

“Tony, I’m strapped for time, so I need you to do something for me.  No questions asked.” 

As his brothers always did, and always had done for him, Tony immediately stepped up.  “Name it.”

“Dorothea was in the apartment sometime after noon yesterday.  Check the security footage and see if there’s anything out of the ordinary and, if there is, look at the weekend after Easter.  Starting Friday night through Sunday night.”

“Consider it done,” his brother reassured with confidence.  “Shouldn’t take too long but, if you can give me an idea of what I’m looking for, it will speed things up.”

For some anonymous security guy on the payroll, Jon would’ve told him point-blank to just check the fucking video and stop asking questions.  For his brother, however…

“Dorothea fucking around on me.”

“O-kay.”

“Not a word to anyone.”  The caution was needless, but he was compelled to offer it just the same.

“No shit,” Tony drawled, and Jon could hear him tapping and clicking on the computer that had undoubtedly been nearby.  “Hey.  The internet says you’re having an affair with some redhead.  Good lookin’ broad.  Who is she?”

There were a number of ways to answer that question.  The woman he loved, his mistress, his muse, the woman his wife narced out to the cops, Obie’s protégé, an aspiring vocalist or any of another half-dozen descriptive tags would do the trick, but Jon didn’t feel like inviting more questions.  That left him neutrally offering, “Her name’s Cassidy.”

“Well, if they’re gonna stick you with somebody, at least she’s hot.”

She was more than hot.  Cassidy’s looks didn’t begin to touch the woman she was.  Loyal, honest, funny, sweet, thoughtful, loving, considerate, wise, smart, independent, feisty, stubborn…  All those still weren’t enough to describe the woman who had restored his battered heart and soul.

“Got anything yet?”

The amused chuckle was plainly audible, even all the way from his brother’s house in California.  “The fact that she’s not a subject for discussion tells me the rags might have gotten this one-  Uh-oh.”

“Uh-oh?”  Jon sat up in the driver’s seat, bringing his wrists to drape over the steering wheel.  “What’s 'uh-oh'?”

“Uh.  I found what you were looking for.”

He didn’t know whether to be happy or sad that his suspicions had just been proven right.  “Details.”

“Yesterday about one o’clock,” Tony fired off without inflection.  “There’s a guy feeling her up in the foyer and clothes are starting to drop.”

“Do you know the guy?”

“Never seen him before.  Fast forwarding…”

He supposed it was good that Tony didn’t know the guy.  Maybe that meant he wouldn’t know the guy.  He’d really rather not know the guy. 

“Yeah, bro.  I’ve got exactly what you were looking for in the master bedroom.”

The churning sensation in his stomach was making Jon a little sick.  To know that he could watch his wife fucking another man…  To know that, no matter how ill it made him, he was going to watch her fuck him…

“I know you’ve told me how to access that, but email me the instructions again and check the other days I asked about.”

“Yeah.”  Tony’s smoker’s cough rattled briefly in Jon’s ear.  “You okay?  I get the feeling you were expecting it, but still...”

Jon had told Cassidy his head was fucked up.  She had fucked it up a little more, but not necessarily in a bad way.  Then the complicated nature of their relationship had tossed in its two-cents.  Now, though?  Now, he knew the true meaning of fucked up.

Right now he wanted to breathe a sigh of relief that he had the “blackmail” material that would enable him to have his football team.  Also right now, his old, scarred heart was taking another brutal hit.  It would’ve been easier if he hated her but, because they’d been close up until the last few days, he was torn between laughter and tears.

Was he supposed to rejoice or get angry?  Should he get drunk in celebration or misery?  Maybe laugh angrily while drowning his sorrows in a case of wine and toasting good fortune?

Or… 

Did he sit here blindly staring at a taco advertisement while he went completely numb and unfeeling?  Because that’s what was happening, and the realization was so depressingly familiar that Jon’s head bounced against the headrest in defeat.

His ticket to restored mental health was evidently a round trip one and, after a nice visit to the land of normalcy, he was now being dispatched back to his point of origin.

Depression, last stop.  Everybody out.

“No, I’m not okay.”