Page 21 of Saving Graces
Kinsey looked at Hailey from under her lashes and Cassidy nearly snorted. Honestly it was hard to tell sometimes when Kinsey was flirting deliberately, or when it was just who she was.
“Mutually assured success?” Kinsey said.
“That’s it.” Hailey curved in a sly smile. “I won’t let you fail, because I refuse to fail.”
It was a good argument, especially when she presented them with a comprehensive six month plan she’d already worked out. And now, here they were, walking on stage as an opening act for another band Hailey represented, with an audience of two-thousand. Eliza and Franklin were playing every gig with them now, but Kinsey was hesitant to make anyone other than her and Cassidy official, a position Cassidy supported, for now. Both were nice people and great musicians, but there was something more than that between her and Kinsey.
She didn’t entirely understand it, but she knew she didn’t want anyone else interrupting their dynamic. They were friends, of course, but when they wrote songs together as they increasingly were starting to do, there was an intensity there that felt private. It wasn’t romantic or sexual, at least it wasn’t on Cassidy’s side, but it was slightly confusing. She craved it, the time they spent together in Kinsey’s apartment, instruments in hand, voices in harmony, ideas flowing, songs being created. It felt almost as fulfilling and exciting as sex in its own way. And, if she were entirely honest with herself, it was kind of a turn-on.
Was that weird? Cassidy didn’t know who to ask. Before she and Lane had gotten together, Cassidy had been adamant: it was music she wanted to focus on, not romance. Somehow, the romance had come first, and now, incredibly, she had both. It was delicious and surprising and it seemed somehow, like maybe she was going to get to have everything she’d ever wanted in her life. What scared her though, was what would happen if she ever had to pick between them.
It wasn’t entirely an abstract worry. Lane was supportive and proud, and Kinsey respected their relationship too. But between the two of them Cassidy was spending a lot of time in each of their spaces. She and Kinsey wrote, rehearsed, played gigs, talked and dreamed together five or six days a week. Then, even though Cassidy technically still kept her own room in her sister’s house, every night she was wrapped around Lane; their chemistry and desire for each other only seemed to be getting stronger. Sometimes it felt like a sexual obsession, something Cassidy would never have dreamed she’d have felt just a year ago.
And more than that, there were just so many feelings. She’d catch sight of Lane, throwing her tiny niece Emmeline up in the air and making the baby giggle, or see their eyes light up as she walked toward them in the bar after a gig and it would feel like her heart was about to explode.
So what would happen if the band truly took off? She’d spent enough time around Savannah and Brynn to understand the relationship pressures of touring. Brynn was about to start touring her new album in a couple of months and the negotiations at home were intense. Sure, they had two children in the mix, but that was yet another factor for Cassidy too. Where Emmeline and Tucker went, so went Lane. It wasn’t just Cassidy who could end up on the road. The idea of being without them made her chest tight. But the idea of chasing another person instead of her own dreams was abhorrent to Cassidy too.
The short version of all that? If it came down to Lane or the band, she had no idea what she’d pick.
The tension in her heart didn’t let up as they walked out on stage in front of their biggest audience yet, but somehow, getting swept up in her feelings worked. So many of their songs were about Lane, when it came down to it. She hadn’t set out to do it that way, but between them there was so much material. The months of unfulfilled lust, the longing, the angst…then the delicious shock of being chosen, the intensity of finally being wrapped up in their arms, the romance of it, the sex…well, it was all the well-worn themes of musical gold. On stage that night she felt every second of it, acutely, sparkling within her like the desperately fragile magic that it was.
She came off stage and there, immediately, was Kinsey.
“What the fuck Cassidy?” Her eyes shone. “What the fuck are you doing? Where is this coming from? You were incredible!” Her bandmate, collaborator and co-conspirator pulled her into a ferocious hug. They’d never hugged before and it felt weird, but also, kind of fucking wonderful, the whole package of Kinsey - her musical brain, her work making Cassidy’s work glow - all pressed up in an actual live body with their arms around her.
Then, there was Lane, waiting in the wings. Kinsey released her and Cassidy was in their arms, strong, secure, full of protection and love, the scent of their skin and the promise of hungry fulfillment later. Cassidy felt weak-kneed with how good it was.
“Babe,” the word was half-breath, tickling her ear slightly and making her shiver, “oh my god.” It wasn’t like Lane to be speechless, but she saw it all there, in their eyes. There was adoration, there was lust, there was pride, and, she saw now, a hint of fear. She realized then that Lane knew too, what success for her might mean for them, and she didn’t know how to make it any better.
The next day, Cassidy got a phone call.
She was out in the fields behind the house, brushing down her favorite of Savannah’s beautiful horses, Jasper, the chestnut gelding who had mutually adopted Cassidy as his official human of choice. She’d taken him out for a couple of hours, up into the forest track, telling him all about her dreams and anxieties. He always made her feel better.
As she turned to walk down the path toward the house, her phone rang. The number was unfamiliar and she almost ignored it.
“Hello?” she said, her tone short, already ready to hang up.
“Cassidy.” the response was just as sharp, the accent German. “I saw your show last night.”
Cassidy stumbled on the path.
“Greta?”
“I think it’s time you recorded something, don’t you?”
“I…”
“Get a studio space, and I’ll produce.”
Cassidy lost the power of speech. Her mouth hung open and not one single sound came out.
Greta was the most sought after producer in Nashville. She produced Savannah Grace. Anyone, who was really, truly anyone, as long as they were in the absolute top tier, they all had Greta to thank for their success. Brynn - who’d already signed a major record deal and had released a widely critically acclaimed album - had described herself as the lowest profile artist that Greta condescended to work with. It had been through watching her sister-in-law work her ass off to please Greta that Cassidy had met her, sitting in silence in the sound room with her, learning everything she could. She was terrifying and exacting and, according to Brynn, the whole reason Brynn’s impending second album was shaping up to be an incredible commercial hit.
“Greta,” Cassidy said, leaning on the nearby fence to steady the dizzy sensation in her belly. For Greta to produce an unknown, unsigned artist was like the President turning up to babysit your child. “What studio space?” she said stupidly, as if Greta McCafferty was going to do her admin for her.
Greta huffed.
“Wherever. Somewhere good. Put it on Savannah’s tab.”
