Night Shifts Black (13 page)

“Who?”

“Orin Cantea?
Rhinehearst Media?”

I continue to stare at
him. “Does that mean he freeloads on other people’s couches?”

“Freeloads?” Casey
laughs. “The guy is a gazillionaire.”

“Good. So he has people
that can come get him.”

Casey shakes his head
in disbelief. “Nothing fazes you does it. Or is it, no one?”

It’s my turn to shrug.
“Probably both. I’m beat, but not ready to sleep. Want to watch a movie or are
you ready to crash?”

Casey considers my offer
and stares down at our “guest.”

“What about him?”

I grunt and scan the
living room. “Think we can move him over there so we can have the good couch?”

He nods. “Probably.
You get his feet. I’ll get the top half.”

Day
Eighteen.

I’m not sure what time it is when I wake up,
but I don’t remember anything about the movie last night, which means I lasted
all of five seconds once Casey and I got comfortable. I feel warm, though, and
am surprised by the blanket tucked around me. I blink and instinctively glance
toward the other end of the couch where Casey is still passed out.

Rising from the couch,
I grab the blanket and return the favor, tucking it around him as best I can
without disturbing him. Then I scan the room in disgust. It’s a complete
disaster. There’s no way I’m leaving this mess in its entirety for housekeeping,
although I’m still way too groggy to start the cleanup process. I shuffle
toward the guest room and notice as I pass that our new friend Orin Cantea is
gone. That comes as a relief.

A grimace covers my
face as I stare into the mirror in the guest bathroom. My makeup has smudged
under my eyes and my hair is a mess. I need a shower badly and am grateful I’d
thought to bring supplies this time. I remember leaving my bag by the door
where Casey accosted me, and retrieve it as quietly as possible. I almost laugh
at my instinctive relief that it’s still there. As if any of the guests at last
night’s party would have been interested in the belongings of a poor girl from
Shelteron, PA. Still, not my smartest move.

I return to the guest
room and this time opt for a shower in the real bathroom, curious how it
compares to the ostentatious display on the other side of the wall. The warm
water works wonders on my tired body and mind as I close my eyes and let it
wrap me in a comforting embrace. A barrage of thoughts and memories keep trying
to break through my serenity, but I manage to block most of them. I don’t want
to think right now. I don’t want to worry about Luke, or try to process this
strange and abrupt shift in my attitude toward Casey. I don’t want to think
about people like Orin Cantea or entitled supermodels. I don’t even want to
consider the pleasure of good champagne and fancy appetizers. For a few brief
moments, I just want to be warm and calm.

I enjoy the peace for
as long as I can, but after a while the heat from the water starts to transform
from soothing to uncomfortable. I know it’s time to get out and face the
confusion waiting for me beyond this stall, and turn off the water. I stand still
for a moment, enjoying the chill on my wet body after the hot shower. It
energizes me, and I reluctantly reach for a towel.

Casey is awake when I
emerge from the guest room, and I hate how he can look exactly like he did last
night with no effort whatsoever. Men have no idea how easy they have it.

“Morning. I had some
food sent up if you’re hungry,” he says, motioning to the spread in front of
him on the island counter. Last night’s bar is this morning’s breakfast table. Rock
star living at its best.

I join him and take
the stool beside him.

“You sleep ok?” he
asks through a mouthful of something.

I smile, still not
sure I’m ready to confront him yet. Will my confusing feelings still linger this
morning without the aid of alcohol and crisis? He definitely looks more like a
normal guy, and less like a superhero, this morning with his messy hair,
scrambled eggs, and lack of heroic feats. But the playful light is still in his
eyes, and that damn goofy grin is still a second away from making me smile
whether I’m in the mood or not. He also got us food.

“I think so. You?”

He shrugs and swallows
some of his coffee. “I guess. What’d you think of the movie?” he teases, and I
roll my eyes.

“Have you checked on
Luke yet?” I ask, suddenly feeling guilty for not doing that myself.

“Yeah. He’s fine. He’s
awake, actually. Working up the energy for a shower.”

I nod. “Good. Thanks.
I should have done that before my own. Sorry.”

Casey shrugs again and
turns back to his eggs. “You’re not his mother or his nurse. Your life doesn’t
have to revolve around taking care of him.”

“Says the guy who
literally had to wash his puke off last night.”

He gives me a wry
look. “You know what I mean. I think it’s great that you’re looking out for
him, but you can’t be consumed by it. You can’t let it define you or you’ll start
to internalize his issues and judge yourself for things you can’t control.”

He quiets, and I study
him carefully. The way his eyes shift as he focuses back on his breakfast, the
distracted movement of his fork over the plate.

“You’ve been there,” I
guess, and he glances at me sharply.

“There’s only so much
you can do, Callie. You can’t force someone to heal no matter how much you care
about them. Not if they don’t want to.”

I swallow and look
away, struck by his words. Casey and I have even more in common than I’d
thought, and I’m suddenly able to understand his protectiveness. He’s already
been down the path I’m going. Maybe he’d stayed away for so long because he’d
finally accepted reality, the hard truth that Luke’s pain could not be his or
it would destroy him, too. Then a new thought strikes me as I consider last
night, Casey’s compassion, his presence here even now. Did I draw him back in?
Is he here to protect Luke or me?

The thought warms and
concerns me at the same time. It’s crazy. It has to be. There’s no way this
famous celebrity who could have everything and everyone he wants would give a
damn about some random nobody from Smalltown, USA trying to help his friend. No
way.

“Hey, so hear me out.
We wrapped up our tour last week and I was thinking of crashing here for a
while and seeing what we can do about Luke. Maybe between the two of us we can
make some progress?”

I stare at him,
speechless. He can’t possibly know what had just been going through my head,
but it gives me chills. I’m even more unsettled about how much I want that, how
relieved I feel at the thought of having him around. A strange thought,
considering I’d been jealous of anyone else in Luke’s life a week ago. How
quickly things change.

I try to stay casual.
“Yeah, I mean, if he’s up for it. I guess it would be fine to have you around
more.”

He laughs. “Thanks?”
and I’m afraid I’m blushing again. I don’t know how he manages to make me so
relaxed and nervous at the same time.

“Sorry, I didn’t
mean…I meant…” I grunt in frustration.

“You meant, ‘why Casey
Barrett, I am simply tickled at the thought of seeing your sunshine-lemonade
face every day!’”

“Hey!” I cry, giving
him a mock glare. “I do
not
talk like
that!”

“True. Except when
we’re on our motorbikes,” he smirks, and I reach over for a good smack on the
arm.

He laughs and cowers.
“Ok, ok. Sorry.”

“And anyway, so what
if every other thing out of my mouth isn’t about ‘effing the establishment.’”

His eyes widen in
shocked amusement, and I can’t stop the grin that escapes my lips.

“’Effing the
establishment?’ Oh my god, you can’t even curse in your mock quotes!”

“What? So that’s a
thing? Making fun of someone for their lack of cursing?”

He laughs and shakes
his head. “Please, please do me one favor, though. Call it ‘foul language,’ not
cursing. I just need to hear it once!”

I hit him again. “And
also, I like that you were more concerned that I didn’t use the word ‘fuck’
than the fact that I basically called you a stereotypical anarchist rocker.”

“You just said it,” he
snickers.

“Said what?”

“Fuck.”

I stare at him in
exasperation. “Seriously? What, are you eight-years-old, all of the sudden?”

He laughs and shrugs.
“I’m just pointing out that the universe didn’t explode. I doubt any old ladies
even died from it.”

I roll my eyes and grunt.
“So that’s twice now,” I return with a smug look.

“Twice what?”

“Twice that you’ve
skipped over the part about raging against ‘The Man.’ Is that your thing or
what?”

He grins. “I don’t
know. Maybe it is. Maybe not. How much will it bug you if I don’t respond?”

“Alright, that’s it,”
I cry, jumping off my chair.

“What are you doing?”
he asks in surprise.

“I want to hear your
music.”

“What? Like, right
now?”

“Yes, right now.” I
pick up my phone and start searching. It’s not hard to find, as I was sure it
wouldn’t be. “What should I start with? Oh wait, I know. I remember one of them
from Luke.”

I type in “Argyle” and
“Night Shifts Black.” Apparently, this is a much older song, which makes sense
based on the story that went with it, but must still be pretty popular because
I find several versions of it.

“What are you looking
for?”

I give him a
mischievous look, but pull away so he can’t see what I’m doing. I click the
link and set the phone on the counter.

As soon as the song
starts, Casey glances at me in shock, the amusement fading from his eyes. My
own mood shifts at the change, and I regret it, although I’m not sure how I
would have known.

“That’s the one song
Luke talked about?” he asks. He doesn’t seem angry, just surprised, maybe
concerned.

I shrug. “In passing.
It wasn’t in reference to the song itself, but something about guitars and
tuning? It just happened to be the only one I remembered.”

Casey seems to relax,
and it’s my turn to be surprised. He forces a smile. “Yeah, the guys like to
tune down half a step so they can play it open.”

I have no idea what
that means, but I don’t want to remind him his whole world is a mystery to me.

“Who wrote this one?”
I ask, and for some reason I’m prepared for his look this time. It only lasts a
second before he glances away.

“All of us, like
everything,” he replies cryptically.

“Ok, then who had the
original idea for it?”

Now I have his
attention and meet his gaze with a steady look, daring him to brush me off
again. I know it’s not fair. I never would have forced a response from Luke and
would have backtracked the second I realized I’d approached a controversial
topic. Actually, no, I wouldn’t have even asked the question in the first place.
But somehow I know Casey is different. He can handle hard questions, even if he
doesn’t want to.

“What do you think of
it?” he asks, deflecting again anyway.

I sigh and let him off
the hook. “Honestly, it kind of sucks,” I say. “I’m more of a country girl.”

His face falls for a
second, and then the grin breaks when mine does.

“Liar,” he replies, and
I laugh.

“Yeah. I’m kidding.
Actually, I like it a lot. Not what I was expecting.”

“Really? What were you
expecting?”

I shrug. “I don’t
know, the way you guys talk, I thought it would just be lots of incoherent screaming
and banging.”

He laughs. “There’s some
of that.”

I nod with a smile.
“Yeah, but it’s beautiful, too, in a way. I love the strings in the chorus.
Right there! That part you can hear under Luke’s voice.” I quiet. “Wow. He’s
really good. Like, really, really good.”

Casey seems amused
again. “Shocking, huh? Bands generally prefer frontmen who can sing.”

I roll my eyes. “That’s
not what I mean. I just never heard him doing his thing before, that’s all.
Well, that I recognized anyway. I never truly listened. It’s like learning
something new about him.”

“Yeah, this is a pretty
old one, too. That’s why I was surprised Luke brought it up.”

“He was talking about
the time your gear got stolen from the motel parking lot.”

Casey grunts and sits
back. “Oh yeah. That sucked big time. We were all broke to begin with, and of
course, those bastards took off with most of my stuff.”

“Luke said they took
the stuff they recognized.”

Casey nods. “Yes, and
apparently drums and symbols are pretty obvious even in their cases.”

“Well, thankfully
you’ve recovered.”

“Interesting choice.”

Casey and I are both
startled by the new voice, and turn to see Luke shuffling toward us, disheveled
but alert.

“You couldn’t at least
play our good stuff for her?”

“She picked it,” Casey
defends.

“I like it,” I say.
“Besides we were actually reminiscing about your gear getting stolen.”

 
“Please tell me your reminiscing includes
coffee,” Luke mumbles.

“Here, dude,” Casey
says, passing him the carafe. “There’s food, too.”

Luke grimaces and pours
a cup. “Let’s go with coffee first.”

We’re quiet for a
moment and the song finishes, forcing the silence even louder. None of us knows
how to begin. Especially, since we’re not sure which Luke we have with us at
the moment.