“Sweet Second? Yes. I love it, Cass, it’s a winner. And I really enjoyed working on it with you.”
I’d written the lyrics one night when I was going through a bout of serious Josh withdrawal. It was about our second chance at love, our second chance as a family. Our second chance at everything. Later on, I’d sat down with Shawn and we’d started composing the music.
“I liked it too. It’s the first time I’ve ever shared my music with another musician. It’s kind of intimate.” I fidgeted on my seat and took another sip of my Coke.
“Just like sex.” Shawn nudged me with his feet under the table. It didn’t help with the heat creeping across my cheeks. “I’d like to do that again with you. Writing a song, I mean, because sex ain’t gonna happen. I got that message loud and clear.”
My eyes met his head on. “No. It’s never gonna happen.”
We settled into an uneasy silence. The rest of the guys were still sleeping off the booze from the night before. Last night must have been pretty wild, but I’d invested in the best earplugs.
“I want to sing Sweet Second with you tonight. On stage.”
Woo-hoo! That was bumping up my ranking in the show big time. I was still the girl who was filling in for the guy who broke his leg. The one in the opening act and the sometimes-back-up. The Libs—and Shawn—were the hot ticket
“What are the other guys going to say? That’s not gonna fly with Geoff.” Geoff was in a bit of a power struggle with Shawn. .
Shawn took several sips of his coffee. I gulped down some more Coke. “We’re breaking up.”
“What?”
“It’s been festering for a while now. I’ve been offered a record deal. Will called me a couple of days ago to tell me. But it’s for a solo album.”
“Eek. You broke the news last night, hence the heavy boozing.”
“Hence the heavy boozing and the shouting and arguing.”
Grateful nod to my earplugs. “Congratulations.” I leaned over the table and squeezed his hand. “I’m happy for you. I’m sorry for the other guys, of course, but happy for you. Who did you sign with?”
Something shot across Shawn’s gaze. Gratitude? He gave me the name of the record company and I was speechless. He couldn’t get any bigger than that.
“Will you go up on stage with me tonight? We can use it as a trial run.”
“A trial run for what?”
“For tomorrow and Will. He’ll be in Vegas. I’ve told him you’re awesome and he liked what he heard back in Kansas City. I want to push Sweet Second with the studio. Hopefully we can try it as a duet.”
My Coke went down the wrong way and made me cough. And cough and cough. Damn, not the right time to look like I wasn’t quite right in my head.
“Sorry.” I put my hand on my chest to get the freak show inside me back under control. “That—That would be beyond my wildest dreams.”
“Calm down. I’m not at the stage when I can tell the studio what I want. But I’d love that song to be on the album. And if possible, you as well.”
I blessed that night back in Oxford when Sam had strong-armed me into singing as a warm-up for The Libs. It might have been one of those moments you looked back on later in life and say in a wise, old, croaking voice, ‘That’s when things started to happen. That’s when my life changed.’
“I’d love to sing Sweet Second with you tonight.” It was the best song I’d ever written, a bit too pop-rock, granted, but still my best one. I felt all antsy about going on stage to share it with the world. Anticipation crept from my stomach to my heart and all the way on up into my head. It got all fuzzy up there.
In the back of the bus, my cell beeped. And now I was antsier, but for different reasons.
“Go and check it. That husband of yours won’t survive long without hearing the husky sound of your voice.” Shawn put his hand over his heart as if in pain. I was already half-way down the corridor when he added, “Say ‘hey’ and ‘thanks’ from me.”
“Thanks? For what?”
“If he hadn’t screwed up in the past, I wouldn’t have one of my best songs today.”
I shuffled from side to side on my feet. Shawn had guessed Sweet Second was kind of auto-biographical. Duh, what else did I expect? The song was about two people getting married in high school, then losing each other, and finally getting back together.
“He didn’t screw up. I did.”
I reached my bed and crawled inside to hide. Curtain drawn, I checked my cell. My fingertips were tingling in anticipation. I needed to read his words.
Josh (7:34): Checking connections from Dulles to Phoenix. I HAVE to see you. Another day without you and I’ll be ready for the men in white coats.”
The gigantic smile that broke across my face must have been Joker-like. Second chances tasted real sweet. What was he going to say though about my next baby-step toward fame?
Except it wasn’t a baby-step anymore.
CHAPTER 10
Josh
There’d been Cassie’s flight to D.C. last week that had been delayed by three hours. Today, my flight to Phoenix had been unceremoniously cancelled. No reason given. Just fucking cancelled. I’d managed to book myself onto another flight later in the day. I’d make it, but only for her gig. I’d wanted to take her for dinner or something, but it wasn’t going to happen now. She was the warm-up act so I might not even be there in time to see her.
Luckily they were staying overnight at a hotel in Phoenix. A Phoenix hotel wasn’t where I wanted our second ‘first time’ to take place, but at least I’d have a few hours alone with Cass in my arms. It wasn’t much, but I’d take anything I could get at this stage. Beggars can’t be choosers and all that.
I didn’t pay attention to life outside the cab I’d managed to highjack at the airport. By the time we’d made it to the concert venue I’d stopped checking my watch as well. There was no need to. If I struck it lucky, the gig wouldn’t be over yet.
I handed a note to the driver. “Man, wait for your change,” he shouted after me, but I was already half-way out the door.
“Keep it.” I rushed inside the building.
I’d sworn to her that I’d be there to watch her sing, as I’d only seen her perform twice before. The first time at a fair near Steep Hill light years ago. The second time was back in Oxford. Not my best memory, but it had nothing to do with Cassie’s singing, and everything to do with finding out that I was a father. To a five-year-old boy named Lucas.
I hadn’t felt chipper that night.
The pounding in my head increased with each step I took closer the entrance. To get backstage I’d have to squeeze through the crowd. Inside it was as hot as the Arizona Desert. The Libs were working the crowd real hard. Music wasn’t really my thing—football was—but even I couldn’t help feel the electricity wiring through the room. And it was all because of Shawn.
The guy was good. Real good. I’d reached the front row and, instead of going backstage, kept watching the show.
Shawn had charisma. I’m sure chicks called it sex-appeal. The guy was meant to be on stage, either to play music or to deliver speeches to crowds. If he didn’t make it in music, he could go straight into politics. That realization didn’t settle well with me. That rock-god had shared Cassie’s living quarters for the last month and there were another two weeks to go. Thinking about this could make me crazy. So I decided not to think about it.
I readjusted the shoulder strap of my overnight bag, then started marching towards the passage that led backstage. It was easy enough to identify: a massive guy—the bouncer type—stood in front of it, arms crossed, face passive. I was about to show him my pass when Shawn drawled my wife’s name into the mike.