Page 72 of Falls From Grace
She thought of how he’d sent Tucker one gift after they’d split - a lousy bicycle that was about five years too old for him - and then never tried again. He never called. He never… FaceTimed.
“You know what, Cole? You’re absolutely right,” she said. “He isn’t yours.”
That same old fury she remembered flashed on his face, but Savannah had zero interest in playing the part he’d turned up to try to make her play. She wasn’t going to be his fix ever again.
“We’re done here.” She turned her back on him, peering into the mirror to remove her lashes, before he could get started. “Don’t make me call security to throw you out.” She kept a wary eye on him in the reflection, until he flung the door open, bouncing it on its hinges and stormed away, flinging a disgusting word at her in his wake that he was too chickenshit to say while looking her in the eye.
She locked the door behind him, still trembling, but when she raised her head and met her own gaze in the mirror, she felt clear.
The next day, back on the bus, Coral was beyond pissed that Cole had turned up without her being there to “punch him in the dick. Was he high?”
“I don’t think so, but it doesn’t matter. These days he’s just an asshole whether he’s high or not.”
“The man is jealous, baby girl. His solo album turned out average, and his tour? Well, he’s sure as hell not playing stadiums. Turns out he’s nothing real special without you.”
Once, beating Cole so comprehensively would have given her a charge. But Savannah found she truly didn’t care anymore. She couldn’t stop replaying the contrast in her mind between Tucker’s literal blood parent’s total disinterest and Brynn’s ongoing investment in his life. She pulled on her headphones and listened again, to Jane.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Four months into the tour, they took a two-week hiatus. Savannah, Tucker and Lane flew back to Nashville. It was both luxurious and disorientating to find herself back there. Coral had flown to the Bahamas, Travis to Ibiza and Jed and Lucinda to Mexico, but Savannah craved no holiday more than her own peaceful, private home. She rode horses, played with Tucker in the pool, went on long runs through the hills, cooked her own meals and slept in her own bed.
Rosalie came over for lunch after Savannah had called to say she was home. It wasn’t unusual for them to swing between long gaps in contact followed by moments of living in each other’s pockets if Savannah was home in Nashville but still, the second she walked in the door and pulled back from their hug, Rosalie’s eyes narrowed, assessing her.
“What’s up with you?” she asked immediately.
Savannah looked at her flatly before turning and leading the way out to the back patio for a glass of wine. They took their glasses and wound up lounging side by side on the lawn under the dappled shade of the willow tree.
“Huh,” Rosalie said, after Savannah had admitted how incredibly hung up she still found herself on Brynn Marshall, despite every single sensible reason she had not to be. “It sucks for Brynn that you’re so perfect and blameless in every way yourself.” Rosalie smiled, giving her the kind of look that let her know there was a whole movie reel of Savannah’s life happening behind her green eyes.
Savannah let her empty glass slip from her fingers as she lay back on the grass and gazed up into the branches above her head, trying not to think about that for a while.
They had a long lazy lunch, catching up on events at Rosalie’s job, running their joint not-for-profit, leading Savannah to immediately text her accountant to send through what more or less equated to a blank check. She trusted - and had always trusted - Rosalie with her life, after all.
Still, despite all the things she did to try to fill her days, every evening she found she struggled to sleep. She tossed and turned and stared at the ceiling, until eventually she’d quit even trying, instead getting up to play music or bake cookies that the next morning Lane would happily devour.
Some nights she lay in bed and just listened to Brynn serenade her. She couldn’t stop turning the whole thing over in her mind. Brynn was respecting her boundaries. Brynn offered no grand gestures. Brynn had written a beautiful, brutal, deeply loving album about her, but both dedicated it and delivered it without demand or expectation. Brynn was investing in her child, with not even a chance of a pay-off. Brynn was safeguarding her sobriety, not only for herself, but a little bit for Savannah, too.
When Savannah had caught Brynn in her lie, she’d instantly seen it as the lie of an addict. No matter that Brynn was at the time - and apparently remained to this day - sober. She’d automatically linked the lie to Cole and to all of Cole’s many lies, and certain she was about to get emotionally abused all over again, she’d thrown up her walls and banished Brynn before that could happen. What kept Savannah awake at night was this thought: had she been wrong?
I am not Cole, Brynn had told her, fiercely, her chin held high, but had Savannah really truly been able to hear that? Because every one of Brynn’s actions since that night had only proven beyond a doubt that she wasn’t. Savannah lay rigid in bed. What if Brynn was actually what she appeared to be: a good (kind, beautiful, talented) person who’d made a dumb mistake? She thought of Rosalie’s blunt observation. Was it a worse mistake than kissing someone you thought was married? Worse than freaking out and locking out someone who might actually love you, just because you were afraid? Savannah lay there and stared at the ceiling, and stared and stared some more.
At almost exactly the halfway mark of their vacation, Chester called her with the news that their support act had had to pull out of the tour after the lead singer had perforated her appendix. Savannah walked aimlessly as they spoke, ambling through the courtyard.
“That’s a shame,” she said, making a mental note to get her assistant to send extravagant flowers. “They’ve been amazing. But it’s no problem for us, we’ll be able to find a replacement easily enough.”
There was a pause.
“Here’s the thing,” Chester hedged. “I’ve been tasked with telling you - since you’re still not exactly talking to Bryce - that they’ve picked another act to join the tour already.”
“Who?” she snapped. She wasn’t keen on any more meddling by the label at this point in time. She stood still, waiting to hear the response as she stared down into the blue of the swimming pool.
“It’s…well, actually, it’s um…Brynn Marshall,” he told her. Savannah’s head snapped up. She was, for once, quite lost for words. “Savannah? Look, I know, it’s not what you want. The thing is, the label is promoting her, too - her album is selling quite well - and what with the duet, well, to them it’s a match made in heaven.”
Savannah sat down hard on the pool tiles. She could hear Chester coughing slightly with discomfort and trying to gauge just how extreme her response was going to be.
“They’ll want us to sing the duet, won’t they?” she said flatly. Her heart was in knots in her chest at the thought of not only seeing Brynn, but singing together - especially that song.
“Yes,” Chester confirmed.
