Chapter Twenty-Two

The last couple of months had slowly created somewhat of a necessary thaw between Cassidy and Lane. There was no flirting, no lingering gazes, no hot meeting of mouths or fingers slipping beneath clothing; there wasn't even real conversation, exactly. But somehow, phrases like can you hold this baby a sec, and I think Savannah's asleep became questions like, do you need some help and are you doing okay? Eventually they morphed slightly further, into almost social interactions like can I get you a coffee and,

"What are you watching?"

Cassidy looked up from where she was curled up on the couch in front of the television. It was early afternoon and the rest of the family were upstairs, spending time together in relative peace and calm. Cassidy finally felt okay enough about the state of her sister to actually relax, though she figured she'd stay close by, just in case. With the exhaustion of the last few months of her life leaving her a little emotionally drained, she'd sunk down into the couch cushions to let her imagination drift.

"Dark Victory," she replied. "It's a Bette Davis marathon." Lane drifted closer.

"You like classic cinema?" they asked. Cassidy examined their face for signs they were mocking her - the backwoods, uneducated country girl - but they looked more intrigued than anything else, which after the last few months of mutually ignoring each other, made her chest tighten slightly.

"Well, yeah," was all she could give them. To her surprise, Lane sank down on the other end of the couch, their eyes glued to the black-and-white screen.

"What's happening?" they asked after a couple of minutes. They had been looking adorably confused, a little furrow between their soft brows, which Cassidy knew despite trying her hardest not to look at them at all.

"She's this party girl, and she's dying, but everyone is trying to hide that from her," she explained. "She finds out, though, and has to figure out how to live what's left of her life."

"Huh."

They watched the film together in silence, Lane slowly starting to sprawl out, Cassidy eventually slipping sideways to lie down, her head on her arms, pretending not to cry as the darkness descended on Bette, who was both completely amazing and chewing the scenery wildly. As the credits rolled and the music soared, she waited for Lane to leave, but they didn't.

The next film started, but Cassidy was only semi-conscious of it, lulled on the way to sleep by the gently hypnotic sounds of 1930s dialogue and the comforting proximity of Lane's presence. She dozed into a soft cozy dream in which she told Lane that it was, in fact, a super young Marlon Brando they reminded her of sometimes, and Lane reached out and gently stroked her hair just once.

It might have been minutes later, or maybe hours, when the soaring score of Now, Voyager punctured her subconscious. Her eyelashes flickered briefly to see the screen and she realized she was now practically snuggled against Lane's side, the top of her head pressed against their firm thigh. She closed her eyes again, hoping that by pretending to still sleep, she might actually fall asleep again, thus avoiding both the embarrassment and the loss of their warmth.

She was just about dozing again when she heard Brynn's voice sounding soft and amused from behind them.

"Watch out," she murmured. "If she's anything like her sister, you're definitely about to get drooled on."

"Hey!" Savannah chastised her, but there was a teasing warmth back in her voice that made Cassidy feel immensely happy somewhere under the fog.

Suddenly, Tucker flung themself into the middle of the couch, excited for a cuddle pile with two of his favorite humans. Cassidy, no longer able to feign or hope for sleep, pushed herself upright so her nephew could snuggle in with her, the little boy already demanding a channel change. She knew her face was probably flushed and creased and she carefully avoided Lane's eyes until later, after Brynn had arrived with popcorn, tugging her wife down beside her and wrapping her arm around her shoulders, and the whole family - minus Emmeline who was actually asleep in her bassinet for once - bunkered down for a movie night.

Cassidy flicked her eyes over, just once, and caught Lane looking at her. Their gaze darted away almost immediately, but in the one second their eyes met, Cassidy saw a softness that made her chest ache.

A week after that, it was Cassidy's birthday. It was a subdued affair, and yet simultaneously the best birthday she could ever remember.

Coral was the only other guest. Together with the family, they all ate dinner outside in the warm evening air, Savannah at the head of the table with some actual color back in her cheeks, Emmeline fast asleep against Brynn's chest in a baby wrap. Everyone sipped champagne, except Tucker and Brynn, even Annabelle giving her a silent approving toast from her own glass as she moved back and forth from the kitchen.

There were gifts from people that actually knew her, people that actually cared what she would want. Brynn gave her a state-of-the-art record player and a pair of high-tech headphones. Coral gave her a designer tote bag. Lane gave her a little leather notebook with her name tooled onto the side; it was the twin of the collection upstairs in the music room that housed Savannah's songwriting journeys. They'd flicked their eyes towards her, looking almost shy, and Cassidy had gulped, nearly swallowing her tongue instead of saying thank you. And Savannah gave her a guitar. It was a beautiful acoustic, more expensive than probably anything she'd ever touched before, with a pickup to plug into a speaker for live performing.

"For when you're ready," her sister said, meeting her eyes. Cassidy managed not to burst into tears, but only just.

There was an elaborate cake, with an exact twenty-four candles to blow out. She looked around at her still fragile sister, at her strong, loving sister-in-law, at Coral smiling encouragingly, and at Lane, their eye contact steady for once. She had no idea what to wish for.

The following day, Cassidy went for a horse ride alone. She had snuck rides often enough that it no longer felt like bending the rules. She knew the trails, she knew the horse, and she also knew there was no one around with the mental space or inclination to worry about her anymore. She and Jasper climbed into the forest, meandered through the trees, forded a small stream and cantered across the open spaces. All the way, she talked to him.

It helped, almost as much as her sessions with Dani, the counselor Rosalie had referred her to, though Jasper didn't talk back to her nearly as much, or make her confront the lifelong patterns and assumptions she'd always held as inevitable.

To Jasper, she could also talk freely about Lane, without caring that she definitely sounded like a crazy person.

"It's stupid, I know," she told the horse. "It's been months since we stopped, I don't know…. seeing each other,but it's still hard being around them. I still over-analyse every single thing they do. Like…how dare they give me a birthday gift that fucking…sweet? Are they trying to be friends now? After everything?"

What she couldn't admit, even to Jasper, was the way her stupid heart had leapt in her chest at just the briefest instant of somewhat ambiguous eye contact from Lane. Their golden brown eyes had barely even flickered and she had felt a terrible, impossible hope flare inside her, lying awake that night trying not to think about them, but unable to think of anything else.

She turned Jasper for home with a sigh. She thought again of the evening Lane hadn't moved away, letting Cassidy practically cuddle them on the couch in her sleep. She thought of them finally taking her side against her sister's. And she thought of that look in their eyes, what she could swear she'd seen in them - warmth, softness, heat - of Rosalie telling her she thought Lane was worth the pursuit.

She returned Jasper to his paddock and wandered back up the field track, lost in her thoughts. She imagined trying. She thought of how vulnerable she would have to be, to straight up tell Lane, I still think of you all the time.

She found her eyes darting toward the guesthouse as she passed by. She wavered. Could she do it?

She heard the slam of a car door from where she stood, and suddenly Mia came into view, her soft green hair bouncing on her shoulders. Cassidy blinked, hoping to see Aria follow her. She didn't. Mia approached the guest house and knocked on the door. Lane opened it and Cassidy saw the moment that Mia leaned in and kissed them hello right on the mouth, before she walked inside and the door closed behind them both.

Cassidy sat in her window seat, her head on her knees, gazing almost unseeingly outside. Was it spying? It wasn't. She was just hanging out in her own bedroom, that was all, which just happened to include the guesthouse door in her line of view. There was nothing to see. The door didn't open again. Eventually, as darkness grew, a light flicked on somewhere inside. Hours passed.

She felt too sad and empty to even cry. The feeling was almost sickness as she imagined what might be happening in there right now. Lane's mouth on Mia's. Her hands on their body. A bed that held them both. Cassidy buried her face in her arms. She felt desperate, trapped in her own skin, no idea how to deal with the feelings crashing over her.

Then, almost as if the idea came from outside of her, she reached down and picked up the little leather songbook Lane had given her, cracking open the pages for the first time. The moment she touched pen to paper, the words just flowed.