9. Nine

Nine

Cass

The next morning, I glance over at my daughter as we step out of the hotel. Cassidy’s wide eyes take in every detail of the city—the people brushing past, the cabs honking down the street. She’s brimming with excitement. It’s her first time in New York City, and I want her to remember this day as something more than a tourist experience. I want her to see the city the way I do—raw, electrifying, and alive.

“This is incredible!” she breathes, craning her neck to take in the buildings towering over us. “I’ve heard about New York, but it’s so much better than I imagined.”

I chuckle, glad to see her so full of life. “Just wait until we hit Central Park. I have a feeling it’ll be your favorite spot.”

Cassidy glances at her mother, who, for the most part, has remained silent. “Mom? Do you like New York?”

Kendrick gives a slight smile. “Yes, I’ve only been here once before, but it has its good points. There’s a lot to love about the city.”

I study Kendrick, searching for a hint of what she’s thinking. “But?” I prod her with a raised brow.

She gives a soft chuckle, “But I think you have to enjoy New York City in small doses.” She gives me an apologetic shrug as if she thinks I’m going to disagree.

Instead, I nod. “Yes, otherwise it would quickly lose its charm.”

Kendrick gives me a look filled with surprise, and then Cassidy pulls our focus to her when she curiously points at something that just caught her attention.

We walk for a while, the early morning air brisk against our faces. Cassidy chatters on about the sights of New York, the band, and my performance, and then, like always, she talks about music, listing the songs she wants to master. I listen, genuinely interested in every word, amazed by her youthful passion and drive. She reminds me of someone—well, two people. Myself and Kendrick. It’s a strange feeling to see bits of both of us in her like we somehow gave our daughter the best of both of us.

At Central Park, she rushes ahead, her awed voice filling the air as she takes in the lush greenery. “Dad, look at this!” She calls out, pointing to a massive fountain.

My heart still swells whenever she calls me ‘dad,’ and I can’t stop the stupid grin that spreads across my face. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing her say it.

We stroll through the park, Cassidy trying to absorb every fresh new experience we come across. My eyes go from Cassidy to Kendrick. She left her hair down today, and the brisk wind has her pushing it behind her ears and out of her eyes constantly.

Kendrick’s wearing snug jeans that hug her slim curves, and her cheeks are flushed with a pretty pink. Her gray eyes are sparkling with enjoyment, just like Cassidy’s. At this moment, she looks young—like the girl I used to know. And I feel my heart give a little tug of emotion. She suddenly turns and catches me staring, and the color deepens on her face when I don’t look away.

A soft laugh slips helplessly from Kendrick’s lips as her eyes rake over me. I’m wearing jeans with holes in the knees, an old sweatshirt, and dark aviator sunglasses, and my long hair is pulled up inside my baseball cap, the brim low, hiding my face.

“What?” I ask her curiously.

“You look… like a tourist,” she finally gets out between laughs.

“I know,” I state with a grin. Leaning forward, I whisper, “That’s the look I was going for.”

Cassidy chimes in, her laughter ringing out, “Then you definitely nailed it. No one will recognize you dressed like that.” She rolls her eyes like a typical pre-teen girl.

The hours slip by as we wander from one spot to the next, and it’s only when we’re halfway through Times Square that Cassidy stops, her gaze caught by a massive billboard of me grinning down at her.

“So many people know your name,” she says, her tone a mix of awe and disbelief. “Is it weird being so famous?”

I laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s… complicated. It’s cool, don’t get me wrong, but it’s not as glamorous as most people think. There are times when it feels lonely. But,” I add, grinning down at her, “today, getting to share all of this with you makes it all worth it.”

Cassidy’s smile widens, and I know right then that I’d trade every lonely night, each crowded venue, interview, and after-party just to have this with her. I want more days like this—simple, grounded, and real.

My eyes dart to Kendrick, and I see a knowing smile on her face. It is as if she knows exactly what I’m thinking.

“Alright, now I have a surprise,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially toward Cassidy.

Before she can say anything, her mother clears her throat. “I think I’ll head on back to the hotel.”

I give Kendrick a frown. “Alone? You don’t have to—“

She cuts me off with, “I know, but I think you and Cassidy should have a few moments… without me. Some father, daughter bonding time.”

“Mom, are you sure?” Cassidy asks.

Kendrick nods softly. “Yes, I’m sure.” She walks over, gives Cassidy a brief hug, and turns to me with a smile. “Have fun, you two.”

With a wave at Kendrick, I grin down at Cassidy, “Now for your surprise.”

Her eyes glow with anticipation as she looks around. “Where is it?”

“Straight ahead.” I lead her to a nearby music shop, a place I’ve been to a few times over the years. The walls are lined with guitars, amps, and everything a musician could dream of. Cassidy’s eyes light up as we step inside, and I watch her wander through the aisles, running her fingers over guitar strings, eyes widening at the array of options in front of her.

“Every musician needs the right instrument,” I say, gesturing toward the rows of guitars. ‘Let’s find the one that feels like yours.”

Her jaw drops, and she looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Wait… you mean… for me?”

“Of course,” I say with a grin. “You need a proper instrument, and I think it’s time you got an upgrade.”

Her eyes go wistful. “It would be nice…,” But then I see her hesitate. “Guitars are so expensive–”

“Cassidy, trust me. I can afford it.”

She suddenly smiles, and her eyes shimmer with hope. “Okay. Will you help me choose?”

“Of course,” I say instantly, “This is from me to you. Go ahead, let’s find one that speaks to you.”

She’s hesitant at first, but as her fingers brush over a sleek, pink electric guitar with a sunburst finish, I can tell she’s found one she likes. “What do you think about this one?” she whispers. “It’s pretty.”

“Yes, it is. But pick it up and strum a few chords. Let’s hear how it sounds,” I advise.

A salesman comes over and assists us by taking down the guitar. I listen as Cassidy strums it. When she glances up at me, we both shake our heads.

I turn toward the salesman and tell him what we’re looking for. He gives me an approving nod and then holds up a finger. “I’ll be right back.”

He returns a short time later carrying a classic-style acoustic guitar, the finish gleaming with a rich patina. “Here, try this. It’s a Martin.”

Turning to Cassidy, I explain, “Martin is one of the oldest guitar brands in existence. They make a great instrument.”

The salesman hands the guitar to Cassidy, who takes it almost reverently. “It’s beautiful,” she says in awe. She tentatively plays a few chords, and the sound of the guitar boasts a deep, powerful sound.

She looks up at me, her eyebrows raised and her eyes hopeful.

I nod. “I think that’s the one for you,” I tell her, my voice thick with emotion as she lets out an excited squeal and hugs me.

“Thanks, Dad!” Her eyes sparkle with pure joy.

A swell of pride washes over me as Cassidy hugs the guitar to her chest and carries it to the register.

Next, we pick out a sturdy case, black on the outside but purple on the inside. When I hand my American Express to the salesman, his eyes go wide. “Here you go, sir, I mean… Mr. Wild.”

“Thanks for your help,” I tell him with a grateful smile and a handshake.

Cassidy clings to her new guitar the entire way back, her smile so wide it practically lights up the sidewalk. It feels good to be able to give her something she loves, something that will help her grow as a musician.

When we arrive back at the penthouse suite, Cassidy races ahead, eager to show Kendrick her gift. I take a moment to gather my thoughts and am ready to explain my choice to Kendrick if she questions it. I know this is probably a bit extravagant, but seeing the joy in Cassidy’s eyes is worth it.

But as we step into the suite, I come face-to-face with an unexpected visitor.

Pixie, a notorious pop star with a mouth as smart as her reputation is glittery, is sprawled across the sofa, her legs draped over the armrest, casually flipping through a magazine. Derrick looks on, seeming uncharacteristically pleased with himself.

“Cass, darlin’!” Pixie purrs, stretching her arms above her head like a cat. “I told Derrick about tonight’s party when I heard you were in town.” Her dark eyes glide to me. “Didn’t think I’d have to hunt you down.”

I fight the urge to groan. Derrick must’ve known this would throw a wrench in things. Pixie and I have a… complicated history. It’s not uncommon for us to share a bed when we’re both in the same city. It’s nothing serious; we both know the score. But seeing Pixie here, sprawled across the sofa like she owns the place, while Kendrick and Cassidy stand awkwardly nearby sends a sharp twist of regret through me. My worlds colliding like this isn’t just awkward—it’s a disaster waiting to happen–and Derrick knows that. He leans against the wall, arms crossed, his smug smile practically daring me to say something.

“You’re Pixie Cane.” Cassidy’s face lights up as she looks at Pixie, clearly impressed.

Kendrick stands off to the side, arms crossed tightly, her jaw set. A storm brews behind her gray eyes, one she’s trying to rein in for Cassidy’s sake.

“Didn’t know we had company,” I say through gritted teeth, throwing Derrick a glare that he ignores, instead looking on with grim satisfaction.

“Oh, I’m not company,” Pixie laughs, tossing her pink-streaked hair over her shoulder as she scans Cassidy with a curious smile. “Who is this? She’s cute. A little young for you, though. Huh?”

Kendrick’s gaze sharpens, and I can feel the tension rising. “Her name is Cassidy,” Kendrick says, her voice steady but edged with steel.

“Cassidy, right.” Pixie smirks, clearly not caring about the correction. She turns back to me, her tone casual. “So, Cass, how about we hit the town tonight? Some of the guys from the label are throwing a party, VIPs only. You won’t want to miss it.”

I glance at Kendrick, who’s doing her best to remain calm, though I can see the fire in her eyes. She’s not just annoyed—she’s angry. I can tell she hates this whole situation, and frankly, I’m starting to feel the same.

“Not tonight, Pixie,” I say firmly. “I’m staying in.”

Pixie raises an eyebrow, laughing like she can’t quite believe what she’s hearing. “You? Staying in? You fucking kidding me?” Her attention suddenly shifts from me to Kendrick, her expression mocking. “So, Derrick mentioned that you’re the new flavor of the month.”

Kendrick’s jaw tightens, but she keeps her expression neutral. For Cassidy’s sake, she doesn’t lash out, but I can see the storm clouds continuing to gather in her eyes, a tempest she’s barely holding back.

I step forward, giving Pixie a warning look that doesn’t faze her. “She’s here with her daughter,” I reply in a clipped voice. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d keep your language in check around her.”

Pixie lets out a snort, rolling her eyes. “Please. The child’s old enough to hear a few words. Probably heard worse from my songs, anyway.”

Cassidy shifts uncomfortably, clutching her new guitar tighter. I feel a surge of protectiveness for her and Kendrick, who is holding herself stiffly. She’s clearly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

“Derrick,” I say tightly, “can you see Pixie out? This… isn’t the time.”

Pixie’s eyes flash with a mix of impatience and irritation, and she stands up with a huff, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Fine, but don’t come crying to me when you get bored, Cass. Never known you not to be up for a little fun.”

She gives me one last look, her smile sharp and laced with defiance, before sweeping out the door with Derrick trailing behind her. As the elevator doors slide shut, the air feels heavier, like the remnants of her presence have seeped into every corner of the room. The silence she leaves behind is anything but empty—awkward, charged, and simmering with unspoken tension that refuses to fade.