21. Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Kinsey was living her absolute best life. She loved the road - had always loved the road - and this time it wasn't just some random band she played in, but her band, the one she'd live and die by. Cassidy sat beside her on the bus, the two of them alternating between dreaming and scheming, bursting out song ideas and just being quiet together, lost in their own thoughts. She'd never felt closer to another human in her life.

Cassidy had - with her big blue eyes serious - warned her that Coral had told her none of it would be glamorous. Kinsey still tried not to laugh when she thought about it. The last time she'd toured she'd shared a grimy van with three dudes, the four of them taking turns driving, all sleeping in the back, sleeping bags tucked in around their gear, the windows cracked against the smell of sleeping bodies. In comparison, Coral Sanchez traveled in style, even on her side projects.

There was an actual tour bus, one with a driver. Sometimes they drove through the night, sure, but most times there were actual motels to stay in. They teamed up to cut costs, Cassidy and Kinsey sharing a room, tucked up like Bert and Ernie in twin beds and competing as to who got first shower before the water ran cold. She managed, eventually, to get used to the sight of Cassidy in her underwear as they rushed around getting ready for another day on the road, though it still somehow felt necessary to avert her eyes as if she'd never seen a woman's half-clothed body in her life.

And then, most nights, there was a show to play. Compared with Coral's main gig as Savannah Grace's drummer, Honeybaked played small venues - around one or two thousand per show - but cumulatively it was the biggest exposure they'd ever had.

"Is it weird?" Cassidy asked her one night as they got ready in their tiny dim dressing room. "That we play under my name? Would you rather we made our band official with like, an actual band name? I mean, it's very obviously not just me."

Kinsey thought for a minute.

"Nah," she said. "We already have some recognition going under your name. Besides, you have a great name. Very alliterative."

Cassidy smiled. "Are you sure though? I just know that it gives me a lot more credit than I'm owed. Like we are a band, you're not like, in Cassidy Carver's band."

Kinsey shrugged.

"As long as you don't forget it," she teased her. "Hey how come you and Savannah have different last names? Is Grace a stage name or something?"

"Nope. Grace is our mom's name. We've got different dads," Cassidy told her, going back to putting her mascara on in the mirror.

"Huh. You look so similar, I'd never have guessed."

"Ugh," said Cassidy, as if she was faintly insulted. "Should I dye my hair or something, do you think?"

"What? No." Kinsey may have answered slightly too quickly. Cassidy was so fucking pretty it felt like a travesty to even consider changing her appearance. Cassidy raised her eyebrows and Kinsey added defensively, "I have to spend a lot of time looking at your damn face. Don't touch a thing."

Cassidy lowered her eyelashes and smirked at her via the mirror. Kinsey rolled her eyes and looked away. This was right up against the weird line they sometimes skirted, where Cassidy absolutely knew Kinsey found her hot and she seemed to like it. There was an added edge to it now though, with Lane maybe out of the picture and the two of them spending all their days and nights together. It was more than a little confusing.

"What's happening with that woman you were seeing?" Cassidy asked her. Apparently it was a little confusing for Cassidy too. Kinsey swallowed.

"It's over," she said, a small wedge of pain flaring in her chest. "I wanted more than she could give me. I still want more. It sucks."

"I'm sorry," Cassidy turned around, touching the back of Kinsey's hand. "She's completely crazy, if that helps at all."

Kinsey sighed.

"Well," she said, "so's Lane."

Her words hung in the air for a beat, until a the knock on the door saved them. Ten minutes to show time.

On stage that night, Cassidy seemed to sparkle a little bit brighter, as if thoroughly aware of all the eyes on her body, not all of them coming from the front of the stage.

Later on the tour bus, Kinsey lay awake on the tiny cramped bunk bed. The shudder and sway of the bus on the highway kept her staring at the ceiling, while Cassidy slept on, just above her. What if … Kinsey let herself imagine it, just once. Her and Cassidy, giving in to the energy between them: kissing her, taking her to bed, their creative energy now fueled by sex as well as friendship. The two of them, a band but so much more. It felt dangerous to contemplate, but sometimes, like tonight, almost inevitable, that maybe one of these nights they might end up crossing a line that Kinsey wasn't sure they should.

When Kinsey finally fell asleep, she dreamed of Rosalie. When she awoke she couldn't quite grasp the edges of it, just a hazy memory of those eyes on her face, those lips on her skin, her voice soft in her ear, saying something she badly wanted to hear, but she wasn't sure what.

The dream carried her through her day, an added wistfulness as she daydreamed out the window, remembering what was and thinking of what could have been. The Cassidy daydream was one thing, fueled by unresolved sexual tension and non-stop proximity. The Rosalie daydream however, felt naggingly real. She could still taste the idea of it: Rosalie beautiful and sleepy-eyed in the morning, clutching a coffee in Kinsey's bedsheets; Rosalie there as she got off the tour bus, impatient to take her back home to her bed; Rosalie as Kinsey surprised her at work, so cute and uncomfortable in case anyone saw her as she stole a quick kiss. It was still hard to realize none of it was ever going to happen.

And meanwhile, Cassidy was right there.

That afternoon they unlocked the door of their motel room to find there was only one bed.

"Oh," said Cassidy, hesitating and Kinsey fought the urge to clap her hand over her own eyes and groan. She pretended not to notice, pushing past Cassidy to fling her bag down as always, unpacking just enough to get her through that night.

On stage that evening, Kinsey found herself thinking about it far more than she should. One bed. She smashed her drums harder. Both of them recently unattached and a little bit miserable about it. Kinsey imagined how good it would feel, in the moment, to melt into another warm body. And oh god, what a body… she watched Cassidy shining under the spotlight, her pretty voice belting out lyrics Kinsey had written, her back arching, the crowd loving her. Oh shit.

During the cab ride back they were quiet, conversation dying as they gazed out opposite windows at the passing street. Kinsey thought of Lane, their face radiating pain as they asked her not to fuck their girlfriend as soon as she had the chance. She thought of Rosalie, the kiss that felt like a goodbye and the conflict in her eyes. She thought of the phone number she still kept, not saved in her phone but scrunched down in the front pocket of her suitcase, Savannah's emphatic underlining like she was telling her not to give up.

Sliding into bed, Cassidy forwent her usual long baggy t-shirt, in favor of a small white tank top that hid absolutely nothing and a pair of panties. Kinsey listened to her friend breathe as she switched off the light, plunging them both into darkness. Her heart pounded in her ears and her mouth went dry. She swallowed.

"Goodnight, Cassie," she said, her voice firm as she turned her back, and clutching her pillow hard in her arms, she - eventually - went to sleep.