Night Shifts Black(23)

Casey shrugs. "That's Orin Cantea."

"Who?"

"Orin Cantea? Rhinehearst Media?"

I continue to stare at him. "Does that mean he freeloads on other people's couches?"

"Freeloads?" Casey laughs. "The guy is a gazillionaire."

"Good. So he has people that can come get him."

Casey shakes his head in disbelief. "Nothing fazes you does it. Or is it, no one?"

It's my turn to shrug. "Probably both. I'm beat, but not ready to sleep. Want to watch a movie or are you ready to crash?"

Casey considers my offer and stares down at our "guest."

"What about him?"

I grunt and scan the living room. "Think we can move him over there so we can have the good couch?"

He nods. "Probably. You get his feet. I'll get the top half."





Day Eighteen.





I'm not sure what time it is when I wake up, but I don't remember anything about the movie last night, which means I lasted all of five seconds once Casey and I got comfortable. I feel warm, though, and am surprised by the blanket tucked around me. I blink and instinctively glance toward the other end of the couch where Casey is still passed out.

Rising from the couch, I grab the blanket and return the favor, tucking it around him as best I can without disturbing him. Then I scan the room in disgust. It's a complete disaster. There's no way I'm leaving this mess in its entirety for housekeeping, although I'm still way too groggy to start the cleanup process. I shuffle toward the guest room and notice as I pass that our new friend Orin Cantea is gone. That comes as a relief.

A grimace covers my face as I stare into the mirror in the guest bathroom. My makeup has smudged under my eyes and my hair is a mess. I need a shower badly and am grateful I'd thought to bring supplies this time. I remember leaving my bag by the door where Casey accosted me, and retrieve it as quietly as possible. I almost laugh at my instinctive relief that it's still there. As if any of the guests at last night's party would have been interested in the belongings of a poor girl from Shelteron, PA. Still, not my smartest move.

I return to the guest room and this time opt for a shower in the real bathroom, curious how it compares to the ostentatious display on the other side of the wall. The warm water works wonders on my tired body and mind as I close my eyes and let it wrap me in a comforting embrace. A barrage of thoughts and memories keep trying to break through my serenity, but I manage to block most of them. I don't want to think right now. I don't want to worry about Luke, or try to process this strange and abrupt shift in my attitude toward Casey. I don't want to think about people like Orin Cantea or entitled supermodels. I don't even want to consider the pleasure of good champagne and fancy appetizers. For a few brief moments, I just want to be warm and calm.

I enjoy the peace for as long as I can, but after a while the heat from the water starts to transform from soothing to uncomfortable. I know it's time to get out and face the confusion waiting for me beyond this stall, and turn off the water. I stand still for a moment, enjoying the chill on my wet body after the hot shower. It energizes me, and I reluctantly reach for a towel.

Casey is awake when I emerge from the guest room, and I hate how he can look exactly like he did last night with no effort whatsoever. Men have no idea how easy they have it.

"Morning. I had some food sent up if you're hungry," he says, motioning to the spread in front of him on the island counter. Last night's bar is this morning's breakfast table. Rock star living at its best.



       
         
       
        

I join him and take the stool beside him.

"You sleep ok?" he asks through a mouthful of something.

I smile, still not sure I'm ready to confront him yet. Will my confusing feelings still linger this morning without the aid of alcohol and crisis? He definitely looks more like a normal guy, and less like a superhero, this morning with his messy hair, scrambled eggs, and lack of heroic feats. But the playful light is still in his eyes, and that damn goofy grin is still a second away from making me smile whether I'm in the mood or not. He also got us food.

"I think so. You?"

He shrugs and swallows some of his coffee. "I guess. What'd you think of the movie?" he teases, and I roll my eyes.

"Have you checked on Luke yet?" I ask, suddenly feeling guilty for not doing that myself.

"Yeah. He's fine. He's awake, actually. Working up the energy for a shower."

I nod. "Good. Thanks. I should have done that before my own. Sorry."

Casey shrugs again and turns back to his eggs. "You're not his mother or his nurse. Your life doesn't have to revolve around taking care of him."

"Says the guy who literally had to wash his puke off last night."

He gives me a wry look. "You know what I mean. I think it's great that you're looking out for him, but you can't be consumed by it. You can't let it define you or you'll start to internalize his issues and judge yourself for things you can't control."

He quiets, and I study him carefully. The way his eyes shift as he focuses back on his breakfast, the distracted movement of his fork over the plate.

"You've been there," I guess, and he glances at me sharply.

"There's only so much you can do, Callie. You can't force someone to heal no matter how much you care about them. Not if they don't want to."

I swallow and look away, struck by his words. Casey and I have even more in common than I'd thought, and I'm suddenly able to understand his protectiveness. He's already been down the path I'm going. Maybe he'd stayed away for so long because he'd finally accepted reality, the hard truth that Luke's pain could not be his or it would destroy him, too. Then a new thought strikes me as I consider last night, Casey's compassion, his presence here even now. Did I draw him back in? Is he here to protect Luke or me?

The thought warms and concerns me at the same time. It's crazy. It has to be. There's no way this famous celebrity who could have everything and everyone he wants would give a damn about some random nobody from Smalltown, USA trying to help his friend. No way.

"Hey, so hear me out. We wrapped up our tour last week and I was thinking of crashing here for a while and seeing what we can do about Luke. Maybe between the two of us we can make some progress?" 

I stare at him, speechless. He can't possibly know what had just been going through my head, but it gives me chills. I'm even more unsettled about how much I want that, how relieved I feel at the thought of having him around. A strange thought, considering I'd been jealous of anyone else in Luke's life a week ago. How quickly things change.

I try to stay casual. "Yeah, I mean, if he's up for it. I guess it would be fine to have you around more."

He laughs. "Thanks?" and I'm afraid I'm blushing again. I don't know how he manages to make me so relaxed and nervous at the same time.

"Sorry, I didn't mean … I meant … " I grunt in frustration.

"You meant, 'why Casey Barrett, I am simply tickled at the thought of seeing your sunshine-lemonade face every day!'"

"Hey!" I cry, giving him a mock glare. "I do not talk like that!"

"True. Except when we're on our motorbikes," he smirks, and I reach over for a good smack on the arm.

He laughs and cowers. "Ok, ok. Sorry."

"And anyway, so what if every other thing out of my mouth isn't about 'effing the establishment.'"

His eyes widen in shocked amusement, and I can't stop the grin that escapes my lips.

"'Effing the establishment?' Oh my god, you can't even curse in your mock quotes!"

"What? So that's a thing? Making fun of someone for their lack of cursing?"

He laughs and shakes his head. "Please, please do me one favor, though. Call it 'foul language,' not cursing. I just need to hear it once!"

I hit him again. "And also, I like that you were more concerned that I didn't use the word 'fuck' than the fact that I basically called you a stereotypical anarchist rocker."

"You just said it," he snickers.

"Said what?"

"Fuck."

I stare at him in exasperation. "Seriously? What, are you eight-years-old, all of the sudden?"

He laughs and shrugs. "I'm just pointing out that the universe didn't explode. I doubt any old ladies even died from it."

I roll my eyes and grunt. "So that's twice now," I return with a smug look.

"Twice what?"

"Twice that you've skipped over the part about raging against 'The Man.' Is that your thing or what?"

He grins. "I don't know. Maybe it is. Maybe not. How much will it bug you if I don't respond?"

"Alright, that's it," I cry, jumping off my chair.

"What are you doing?" he asks in surprise.

"I want to hear your music."

"What? Like, right now?"

"Yes, right now." I pick up my phone and start searching. It's not hard to find, as I was sure it wouldn't be. "What should I start with? Oh wait, I know. I remember one of them from Luke."

I type in "Argyle" and "Night Shifts Black." Apparently, this is a much older song, which makes sense based on the story that went with it, but must still be pretty popular because I find several versions of it.