6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

S hawn stood at the bar, smiling at Garrett, who was sliding him a freshly poured stout across the countertop. I wasn't sure why he had chosen to make his way to the bar rather than have Garrett bring his next drink to the table, but I didn't care—and I don't think my facial expression showed that I was in the mood for conversation, either. Shawn took a sip, the foam from the head frothing his upper lip, and as he began to lick it away, he caught my eye and attempted to subdue his flinch.

"Ah— hey," he tentatively greeted me, glancing to Garrett on his left and the table on his right where the remainder of our group sat. "What's wrong?"

"Finish your beer."

His brow furrowed. "Do I ask questions now, or—"

"Shawn!"

My interrupting chastise of his name nearly came out in a snarl, and he replied:

"Got it, got it— yes, sir. "

He began to chug, and I turned to see Luke giving me a quizzical expression. Claire looked to him, to me, and tilted her head in curiosity. Zoey and Liam were, thankfully, lost in their own conversation.

"What's up, Jay?" Luke inquired.

"Work emergency, we have to go," I lied. "Long story, catch you up later—I don't have any cash. Think all these can go on a tab for me?"

"I got you. I'll keep track for later," Garrett spoke from behind, and Luke threw him a thankful wave. I again twisted back to Garrett, and he clarified, "Double Basil, Double Jack, two stouts?"

"The Jack was Cassie's," I replied.

His brow pinched together. "You took it from her, though?"

"She steals my drinks all the time, and I still pay for those," I remarked. "It's a thing—she takes my drink, she buys my next one."

Garrett glanced upward. "So…flip the cards, you're buying the second Jack I brought her? Which is the same thing?"

"I, ah…" I had intended to leave before Cassie managed to exit the bathroom, and the ticking clock in my mind had drowned out any remains of my common sense. "I don't—I don't know, just put them all on there. "

"All? You want to buy all of her drinks?"

"I don't care, Garrett— yes. Sure."

"Mmkay," he replied. "You got it." Shawn set his empty glass down, panting for breath for a moment before covering his mouth as he belched, and Garrett remarked, "I do not envy you…feels like you downed a milkshake, huh?"

"Yes, yes—sorry, Brooks," I spoke up before Shawn could respond, turning him toward the exit and murmuring in his ear, "Leaving now."

He waved weakly toward the table. "Nice to meet you guys."

Luke and Claire returned his wave, but Zoey and Liam looked up in confusion.

She voiced, "Why are you—"

"Work emergency," I repeated, for she clearly hadn't heard me previously.

"Can't you just…do your math later?" Liam asked with a tilt of his head that made him look particularly dog-like.

"What…" Shawn's steps slowed. "Wait, what do you think we do for a living? We don't just—"

"Not the time, Brooks," I rushed out. "Missing files, lost reports, important clients— quick! Before we get fired." I pushed him ahead of me, calling over my shoulder, "Later, guys!" and we raced toward the exit .

The bell rang, the chilly air hit our faces, and the moment that the thudding sound of wood-on-wood was behind us, Shawn griped:

"Fuck you, man—do you have any idea how hard it is to chug a stout? My stomach's gonna explode."

All I did was grumble back an, "Mhm."

"Why, exactly, are we lying about having to rush off to work?" he asked as we took quick steps back to the apartment complex. "The hell happened? You came outta there like you saw a damn ghost."

"I fucked up," I murmured, a vice continuing to tighten around my sternum.

"What? What'd you do?"

I pressed both hands to my eyes and groaned, "Oh, I fucked up."

"Jay."

"I…may have insinuated that I have feelings."

Shawn's eyebrows flew up. "What? I—when did you two even talk?"

"She caught me in the men's—she was pissed."

"Sneaky, Cas," he muttered. "She said she was going to the bathroom, too. Super casual—convincing. Even I didn't think anything of it." Shawn rubbed his hands together briskly. "Mmkay, elaborate."

"Elaborate? "

In a scolding tone, he said, "Dammit, Jay! I want dialogue. I want feeling. I want detail."

"I'm not gonna recount the entire conversation, Brooks."

"Well, give me something here!"

I recalled the expression Cassie had on her face when I told her I had been holding my feelings back—realization with slow-blinking, warm, brown eyes—and I told him:

"I…think she feels it, too? Or, I don't know, feels something for me."

Shawn let out a whoop, and I smacked his upper arm.

He whined, "Oh, come on—"

I retorted, "This is not a celebration."

"What are you talkin' about?" he shot back. "Yeah, it is!"

"I can't go there with Cassie," I reminded him. "I've told you this."

He snickered. "Why, 'cause it feels taboo?"

"Yes," I replied. "Exactly that."

"Whatever, man," he laughed disbelievingly. "She's into you, you're into her—I say you two crazy kids should give it a shot and not just torture yourselves. Life's too short, man."

I whined to the sky, "Brooks—"

"Nah, I'm not hearing your defense. I'm team Camie."

"Camie?" I repeated .

"Jas?" Shawn attempted a second amalgamation of our names. "Ooh—Jassie. I'm team Jassie."

"You did not just give us a name," I complained. "We don't need a name; we aren't a thing; I'm not going there."

Shawn shrugged, and his joking disposition waned as he said, "Or you do. Go there, I mean. Give it a shot—sounds like it's not only your choice now. It's hers, too. That's on you for spilling the beans."

The grip on my chest constricted further, and I sighed, for he may have been right.

I woke twice. The first instance was, I assumed, at two o'clock in the morning as per usual. I wouldn't know—I didn't check. What I did know was that I had dreamed of Cassie— of course— and a good chunk of my brain had deferred back to behaving like a caveman. A horny caveman who has no morals. The metaphorical line having already been crossed, the Neanderthal, which is normally buried in my mind, took control of the show…and I grabbed my dick and beat it like it owed me money.

I'm a sick fuck. I get it .

That being said, with no mess to clean due to the handy-dandy tissue box beside my bed, I did manage to sleep soundly afterward.

Until I woke for the second time, that is. Minutes before my alarm was ripe to go off at six o'clock, I opened my eyes to hear my phone vibrating with a vicious rattle against my bedside table. It was a quick, double-buzz that was meant to alert me of missed text messages, and I reached blindly to feel for it. Three pats later, I secured it in my palm, and I felt my face scrunch in confusion at what was displayed on the screen. It was several text messages, and the number was unknown.

12:15 A.M.: You ducking ditched me

12:15 A.M.: Ducking

12:15 A.M.: DUCKING

12:16 A.M.: Goddamn auto-correct. You get the point. You have my number now. Call me so we can talk, you ducking idiot.

There's Cassie.

There was no question that it was her, though she hadn't even stated how she had gotten my phone number. I could see her, flustered and rapidly typing, perhaps cursing aloud to herself…and the thought of her reacting that way because of me made me smile. It shouldn't have, but it did. So, I contemplated my next actions as I readied myself for my work day.

I showered; I wondered how she asked for my number and from whom. I dried off; I thought about whether or not she was still at the bar whilst texting me at midnight. I dressed; I tried to picture how outwardly pissed she was when she realized that I had left with Shawn. I got in my car; I questioned if she had gotten home safe.

With the phone attached to the stand on the right of my steering wheel, I shook my head and tapped the phone number that I had recently added to my contacts under the name Cassie. I periodically glanced at the screen as it rang, the sound loud through my car's speaker. As the time of the call hit the fifteen-second mark, I began to mentally put together a script of what I would leave for a voicemail, and then, she answered.

"Hello?"

Her throat sounded scratchy, and I sighed out, "Hi. "

"Oh," she returned, clearly surprised. "Oh, fuck." A rustling sound emitted through the speaker, and considering the sound of her voice, I questioned whether the noise was made by her bedding. "Um…hi, Jay."

"I woke you, didn't I?"

"Yuh huh."

I could practically hear her blinking the sleep out of her eyes.

"You can call me later if you—"

"No, no. I, um…I'm good," she replied.

"Okay." The line was silent, my response seemed like it hung in the air, and I spoke again, "You texted me."

Cassie groaned. "That's hazy."

"Hazy? Why?"

"Well, there were several hours after you performed a disappearing act in which I…drank."

The puzzle pieces clicked together, and I asked, "You're hungover?"

"Mhm…let's, er—bypass the text messages. Bypass last night."

It was an odd sensation, the combination of relief and disappointment…the emotions that I typically found to be polar opposites were now washing over me in unison, and I struggled to focus on the first, for I shouldn't have been disappointed. I laughed as if the action would force my former feeling to prevail over the latter, and though it sounded convincing, it did nothing of the sort.

"Bypass," I noted. "Got it. How much did you drink?"

"Unknown," she quipped bitterly. "I could check my receipt from the bar, but someone told Garrett they were paying for all of my drinks."

"Ah," I pressed my lips together tightly, remembering my stammering to the bartender as I moved for a quick escape. "Right. I think Garrett misunderstood that one."

"Did he, now?"

"Mhm…I'll send you a bill." Her returning throaty laugh at my sarcastic remark—which I had no intention of following through on—made me smile. I asked, "You make it home?"

"Ah, no," she returned. "Crashed at Liam's. Driving would have been a poor choice."

Though I knew she couldn't see me, I nodded. Comfort at her decisions from the night prior aside, nerves settled into the pit of my stomach at her admission. I thought back to how Cassie had greeted me, trying to remember if she had used my name. If so, Liam and Zoey would most likely be curious as to why I was calling.

I tentatively began to ask, "Are, uh…Liam and Zoey—"

"They're still asleep," she interjected, the reason for my questioning clear in her tone .

My unease dwindled down to nearly nothing, and I muttered, "Mmkay."

"So, I was thinking—you owe me."

I responded slowly, "Sure, I do."

"Luke and Claire made me aware that you could be of service to me," she noted casually.

A smirk pulled at my lips. "Is that right?"

"Which is why I have your number," she told me. "I have a bench."

"A bench?"

"Er— swing. I bought a bench-swing thing that I want to hang on my front porch."

"At this time of year?" I asked mockingly, "Are you going to sit on the bench when it's snowing?"

"I don't know! I wanted one ever since I moved in…never found the right one, and now that I did, I bought it on a whim." Cassie continued, "It's supposed to be nice out today…and there's a storm coming in by tomorrow."

"And you need help hanging it?" I assumed.

"Hanging it," she stated offhandedly. "Building it—"

"It's not built?"

"I've done half of it already! It's just kinda a two-man job to get it hung, and it won't take long to throw the rest of it together with two people. Liam said he's busy with class, so he's no help."

It wasn't at the forefront of my mind, but I did know that Liam was currently in school, studying to become a teacher for young children.

"Right…and it's supposed to snow tomorrow?"

"Mhm. Has to be today…or weeks from now, probably." Cassie whispered dramatically, "I'd much rather it be today."

"Cassie," I spoke her name in a soft laugh. "I'm working today."

"I'm aware that you're a typical guy with a nine-to-five job. I'm not working tonight—just come over after." Cassie added in a sing-song tone, "You owe me…"

I chuckled, her upbeat mood a rapid shift from our recent interactions that settled on me like a warm blanket, and I once again was inundated with an emotion that I felt the need to suppress. This time, instead of feeling the need to bottle up the feeling of disappointment at Cassie's unwillingness to discuss her late-night text messages, I was wrestling with what I could only discern as excitement. Excitement for potentially spending one-on-one time with Cassie.

It was…dumb. Silly. Juvenile, even, because I knew. I knew this could potentially lead me toward a path that I shouldn't venture down. That aside, the haze of excitement made me blind, and there was little time before I was replying:

"Twist my arm, Cas—I'll help you."

My Thursday at my place of employment was boring. Aside from the occasional dive into Tommy's work stats, which was rapidly becoming a daily activity, the numbers just…numbered. I sidestepped any of Brooks' inquisitions, the data I had to dive into, for whatever reason, was simpler than it typically was, and the hours dragged by. At exactly 4:45 P.M., I was entirely done waiting…and I figured that shaving fifteen minutes off of my shift would do no harm.

I drove with no music on, for my head was already abuzz. I cursed myself for that, and instead of careening down an expectant path that would lead me to rather ungentlemanly thoughts, I attempted to focus on the fact that Cassie had pointedly asked to bypass what had happened the night before. It was for the best, really. I told myself that on repeat as I made my way to her house, anyway, and by the time I arrived, I forced myself to believe that those words had stuck.

I strolled to her patio, walked up the few steps, and stopped in my tracks the moment that I saw Cassie's bench-swing thing, which was situated to my right .

Cream-colored and entirely wooden, save for the grey seat padding that rested against the siding of her house, it was half-built. Cassie had insinuated this already, but what she didn't describe were the approximately 1,001 steps that were remaining to complete putting it together. There were plentiful thin, wood slats making up the seat connecting on the left to an armrest, but the right was entirely disassembled. The slim panels were resting on the patio along with several pieces of similarly colored wood beside it, which I assumed were designated for the second armrest. A clear plastic bag with separate compartments for various screws, nuts, and corresponding Allen wrenches laid at my feet, and I bent down to pick it up with my eyebrows raised. It appeared that Cassie had cut open several of the sections to use the hardware within—much of it was left still unopened, but the areas that she had cut with scissors were entirely empty. It was then that I noticed a handful of large screws and wooden dowels scattered along the porch.

I glanced around me to ensure that none of them had skittered elsewhere, and the front door swung open. Cassie leaned herself against the doorframe. Her dark hair in a messy bun, she was dressed in a looser-fitting pair of jeans and a heather grey long-sleeve shirt.

She crossed her arms over her chest and smiled. "Hi."

I pointed at the pile of wood to my right. "Um…oh my God? When you said it was half-built, I didn't think you meant literally…or maybe that you meant it literally, but I didn't think it was entirely a do-it-yourself operation."

"Is that a problem?"

"Cassie," I laughed disbelievingly. "This is gonna take a while."

"Well, thank goodness you're dressed for manual labor, then," she joked, eyeing me up and down.

I held my hands out to the side and looked down at my appearance—khaki slacks and brown loafers with a button-down shirt most definitely did not scream carpenter. My glasses, which I had nearly forgotten I was wearing, slid down my nose, and I grasped them by the stems to place them on top of my head.

I looked back to Cassie, who appeared to be thoroughly amused, and replied, "Yeah, I didn't anticipate having to woodwork. Thanks for the heads up."

She rolled her eyes. "It's not like you're, I dunno, sawing anything—it's just a few screws."

I chortled. "This is not just a few screws…and you spilled half of them on the ground! Are you missing pieces? This is the least organized operation I've ever seen."

Her head bobbled from side to side, considering my sentiment, and instead of answering my question, she simply offered, "I'll buy you pizza?"

"Thought I owed you," I noted wryly.

"Olive branch," she whispered with a smirk. "Are you a pepperoni guy?"

I repeated her action from before, tipping my head to the right and then the left and scrunching up my nose before saying, "Eh… sure."

The pizza was delivered and sat waiting for us on Cassie's kitchen table, but we remained outside. Pleasantly enough, in the time past, we had discussed what I do for work while we sat on the floor of the patio, putting together the second half of the bench. Cassie would hand me a screw, dowel, Allen wrench, or whatever else was necessary, and she would ask me a question. They ranged from, "You're a financial analyst, right?" to, "Do you like it?" and the rattled off combination of, "So, it's just looking at reports? Spreadsheets and stock activity? Do you get a lot of variety with what you see?" There were several more questions—all of which were followed with me answering her while holding whatever item she had given me in my hand. I'd wrap up my response, she'd nod and smile, and I would return my attention to the bench. Once the sun was beginning to set in the autumn sky and the chill in the air was growing brisker and brisker, I had legitimately lost count of the questions regarding my job, and I asked:

"Damn, Cas…did you think this was an interview?"

She laughed, glancing to the patio. "No, no."

"I mean, if it were an interview, it's going well," I mocked. "I'm like five seconds away from asking you about your salary requirements."

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow and jokingly asked, "You gonna hire me?"

A corner of my lip pulled up. "I, unfortunately, don't have that power…are you job hunting now?"

I had said it sarcastically, but she appeared to give the notion genuine thought.

"Nah, I'm good where I am," she paused. "For a while, at least. Few years, I dunno."

My head cocked to the side. "Are you… actually interested in my job? It's pretty bland subject matter for most people—I figured you were just trying to find something to talk about."

Or taking an interest in me.

I ushered the thought away as soon as it had occurred.

"Actually interested. Took some community college accounting classes."

I smiled. "Oh. "

Cassie looked at me pointedly. "Do you think just because I'm a stripper, I'm completely uneducated?"

"Of course not," I replied as quickly as I could. "I'm aware that you're a smart girl, Cas."

Her subtle reaction spoke volumes. She was already glowing due to the time of day, the vivid pinks and oranges of sundown casting an ethereal hue across her tanned face, but when she registered my words, she appeared to light up from within. Her eyes pinched at the corners, her cheeks swelled as she seemed to be attempting to contain a broad grin, and I was certain that I saw her bite her lower lip as she cast her eyes to the ground. It was more than enough to give me the urge to say the words all over again. Instead, I looked down at the screw in my hand, placed it in the allotted pre-drilled hole that would secure the final slat of the bench seat to the armrest, and twisted my fingers to ensure it stayed in place.

Cassie silently extended her hand toward me to give me the appropriate Allen wrench, and I took it from her without even glancing her way.

"So," I began to slowly crank the screw into place, "do you just enjoy dancing for a living, then?"

"It's not so bad," she returned. "Schedule's been a little chaotic lately, but it'll come around."

"Chaotic? How? "

"Some of the girls went MIA."

"MIA?"

"Missing in action?" she explained the acronym with an uptick of her voice.

"I know what MIA means," I chuckled. "I mean, why?"

She casually replied, "I dunno. They're all flighty—it's not an uncommon occurrence for new dancers to miss a shift or skip off. Employee turnaround is… high in this industry."

I nodded. "Gotcha."

"Anyway. All our shifts got moved around…like I said…chaotic, but it'll come around. They'll hire more girls."

I asked, "So…you don't want to do anything with what you've studied?" Cassie hesitated, and I added quickly, "And I mean that in the least judgmental way possible."

I glanced to see her raised brow lower at my latter sentence.

"I would. Whatever an associate's degree in business administration could get me would pay far less than my current job, though."

"Right, right," I murmured. "Finished with school, then?"

She didn't respond immediately, and when I shifted my focus to her, she shrugged .

"Tried to get into a four-year school at first. Shit's expensive. May go back for more classes, I'm not sure."

The wood squeaked as I continued to tighten the screw, and I nodded. "Is that why you decided on the associate's instead of a bachelor's degree? The cost?"

Her happiness waned. "Ah, no. I couldn't get into any of the universities near me." I felt my forehead pinch in confusion, and she clarified, "Back in North Carolina. South of Wilmington."

I was well aware that she and Liam had grown up in North Carolina, coincidentally near where Claire and Zoey had lived—though they had never crossed paths with Liam or Cassie until they all resided in Salem. I was aware that he had moved here when he was eighteen and that Claire and Zoey had come along over a year ago. And though I had less intel about her, I was aware that Cassie was new here, having arrived sometime in the early summer of this year.

"I know where you're from," I replied. "You couldn't get in?" Cassie shook her head, and I questioned, "Can I ask why?" Her lips pursed together, and I quickly stated, "You can say no, I just—"

"I didn't graduate high school. I got my GED, but it threw a wrench in any acceptances since I didn't have a diploma or any significant high school experience. "

I stopped cranking the Allen wrench. "Oh. You dropped out?"

"Flunked my freshman year," she corrected. "Twice. Then, I dropped out. Worked a bit as a waitress after I turned sixteen, started studying, and sat for the GED once I was old enough."

Her gaze was now stuck on mine, slightly hardened as if she were bracing herself for my rebuttal or, perhaps, waiting for me to inevitably question her intelligence. I did nothing of the sort, mentally or otherwise. I just nodded, extended my hand with the wrench, and she took it from me.

Without any inquisition from me, Cassie said, "Turns out, starting high school is a real bitch when your mom dies at the beginning of the semester."

I inhaled sharply through my nostrils, and my heart slammed against my ribcage for a single beat.

Fuck. How did I not know that?

"Shit…" I gently spoke, "Cassie, I'm—"

"You're sorry; you didn't know; you would have never asked about it otherwise to save me the discomfort?" She flashed me the smallest of smiles. "I know. You're good; don't be sorry."

My chest was heavy, and my mind was a blur with questions. Questions that I shouldn't voice aloud—most certainly not now and perhaps not ever. The first was to ask how her mother died. If she was sick and the illness had taken such a toll over the years that her body had simply quit, or if it was sudden with the trauma debilitating and lightning quick. The second was an inquiry regarding her father because one of the first things that I had learned about Cassie was that he was abusive. I had pushed the memory out of my mind, but I was there months ago when Cassie had seen Liam with a bloodied face—I had absorbed the information when she had incorrectly assumed that the damage was done by their father, Carter. The knowledge of his abuse weighed especially heavy on me now, as I wondered where Cassie had continued to live as a young teenager following her mother's death.

There were several other questions that paled in comparison, but those were the two that struck me the most. Because they were unspeakable at the moment, I replied quietly:

"I still am."

Cassie nodded. "Can we rewind a bit?"

Her voice was uncharacteristically meek.

"Of course."

She coughed as if to clear her throat. "Um—bench? "

"Just have to tighten a few screws, and it's ready to hang," I replied with as much enthusiasm as seemed appropriate, which wasn't much.

She briefly flashed me a grin that appeared to be of appreciation. "Let's do this, then."