by Tara Randel
“And I regret the choices I made.”
She might have believed him if the timbre of his voice didn’t come off so annoyed. “Do you?”
“Cassie,” Lauren cut in. “Stop it.”
The stricken expression on Lauren’s face was the only reason she didn’t lash out more.
Her father straightened his shoulders. “I want to be present in my daughters’ lives now.”
Cassie rose, griped the back of the chair with undue pressure as she slid it under the table. “Too little, too late.”
“You’re not being fair, Cassandra. I’ve changed.”
“Tell that to someone who actually believes you.”
She stepped away, intending to return to the bathroom. But she stopped. Spun around. “And my name is Cassie. If you really want a relationship with me, try using the name I grew up with.”
That said, she marched down the hallway, her face flaming. Softly closed the door behind her and sank against the hard surface. Would there ever be a day when she wouldn’t resent her father? Try as she might, she just couldn’t forgive the man. She always waited for the other shoe to drop and the man never failed to disappoint. Did he really mean what he said this time? And if so, what was she going to do if he actually kept his word and did change?
She pushed away from the door. Stared at her face in the mirror. “Just give him time,” she counseled herself. “He doesn’t get a free pass just cuz he says so.”
Shaking off the dread, she got dressed. Before long, the steady drone of the blow dryer calmed her frayed nerves. She’d agreed to meet Luke at the warehouse this afternoon, to find out her assignment.
Fifteen minutes later she’d braided her hair, changed into a pair of new jeans, a sparkly shirt, a black leather jacket with rows of zippers, and chunky boots. Her footsteps thudded on the hardwood floor as she entered the kitchen to find only her sister seated at the table.
“Good going. You managed to tick Daddy off.”
“Hey, I spoke the truth. I can’t help it if he doesn’t like hearing it.”
“You always do this. Keep him at arm’s length when he’s trying.”
“Trying to do what?” With a sigh, Cassie rested against the counter. She had to keep her distance. It was the only way to stop him from hurting her. “Honestly. I don’t know why you give him the benefit of the doubt.”
“There’s no question he won’t ever win Father of the Year, but I want a relationship with him.”
Cassie lifted her shoulders. “Then go right ahead.”
“He wants us both in his life.”
“I’m sorry, sis. On this particular topic, we disagree.”
The stubborn look Cassie remembered from when they were kids took up residence on her sister’s face. “You won’t even try.”
There was no winning this conversation, not for either of them. But Cassie wanted to be close with her sister again, like they’d been when their mother worked and they were left home alone, taking care of each other. Lauren might not choose to remember how exhausted their mother had been after holding down two jobs, but Cassie did. She might not recall the nights their mother had cried in her bedroom after their father so callously broke up their family over his quest for fame, but those tears broke Cassie’s heart. Or even the times when he promised the girls a visit and never showed. It was all burned in Cassie’s heart, but for Lauren’s sake, she’d put her bitterness aside. Because she loved her sister, first and always.
“How about this?” Cassie countered in a quiet voice. “I’ll see how much Dad’s word is really worth this time. If I’m wrong about him, I’ll apologize.”
Lauren wiped the tears brimming in her eyes. “You’d really do that?”
“For you. Because I know how important it is.”
“I’m not sure what to say.”
“Really? This is a first.”
Lauren sputtered out a laugh. “Thank you.”
Cassie held up her hand. “I’m not making any promises, but I’m willing to see where this goes.”
“I understand. And I agree.”
“A little bit of compromise goes a long way. On both our parts.”
“On both our parts.”
“Pinky swear?” Cassie held up a pinky.
“We haven’t done that since we were kids,” Lauren said, but rose and hooked her finger with Cassie’s.
The gesture was one of comfort and hope in tough times. They’d been tight once. A sisterhood bond not even their father could break. Or Cassie hoped, anyway.
Together they recited, “One for all, no matter the fall.”
Laughing now, Lauren pulled away. “We really thought those words would protect us.”
“In reality, we protected each other.”
“We did,” came her soft reply.
Deciding to quit while they were ahead in the healing process, Cassie grabbed the keys to the rental car. “I’ve got some things to do. See you later.”
Just before she walked out the door, Lauren called after her. “Daddy won’t let us down this time.”
Wishful thinking. She donned her crossbody Michael Kors bag and left before her generous mood faded.
Arriving at the Klub fifteen minutes later, she dodged a raucous game of hoops as she crossed the gym to Luke’s office. The mingled scent of sweat and pine cleaner brought her back to high school. She hadn’t been athletic, but she’d spent enough time in gym class for the indelible odors to remain etched in her memory.
She had to admit, she was curious to find out what he had in store for her. She needed an activity other than focusing on her lack of muse and troubling family dynamics. At this point, teen angst would be pretty refreshing.
Luke’s door was ajar. “Cassie Branford reporting for duty,” she said.
Luke shuffled together the papers he’d been reading. “C’mon in.”
“Sure you’re ready for me? I could go throw some hoops with the guys.”
“They’re pretty hard-core. You might get hurt.”
“Or get some much-needed exercise.”
He chuckled. “Sit down.”
She took the same seat she’d been in only a few hours ago when she’d brought up her volunteering. He’d changed out of his more casual clothes from earlier as well, sporting a polo shirt and chinos. His artfully messy hair and the steady gaze made her blood buzz, but she wasn’t as nervous as she’d been the first time she visited his office. Now she was more familiar with Luke. A little less afraid to make the wrong move and lose the opportunity of getting him to help her.
“I’ve been giving your role here considerable thought,” he said.
“Should I be worried?”
He settled back in his chair. “Working with troubled teens is not for the faint of heart. Between hormones and peer pressure, it can be challenging.”
“Most of the kids I’ve met so far are real sweethearts.”
“Yes. But the ones that need real help, they aren’t all sunshine and roses. Some of these kids face issues that aren’t easy to overcome.”
“I’ve thought about this a lot, Luke. I know I can’t just waltz in here and expect to solve problems and make their lives better. But I can bring the gift of music.”
Luke leaned behind him to reach a bookcase. He snagged a binder from a shelf and slid it across the desk to her. “There have been studies conducted about teens and music. As a teacher, and having had experience in the music world, I read up quite a bit on the subject before opening the Klub.”
Cassie leafed through the pages. “And what did you discover?”
“Music can be an outlet for teenagers in multiple ways. Getting the kids to be creative helps them deal with emotions, gets them comfortable with their personalities. I consulted with a professor who’s d
one extensive research in this area.”
“Do you have a specific program in place?”
“Yes. We encourage the kids to listen to all kinds of music, learn to play and even create their own sounds. When a person identifies with a certain sound, they can take some of the negative energy and transform it into a positive way to express themselves. The success they find here can then transfer into their daily lives, whether it be dealing with family or self-esteem issues. Even staying away from situations that draw them to trouble. The program also focuses on the kids who have a hard time communicating by giving them an outlet for self-expression. I can’t tell you the number of kids who can’t articulate why they act out, but once they begin immersing themselves in music, they finally find their voice. It’s amazing and affirming to watch.”
“Impressive.” She glanced at the pictures of the kids on Luke’s wall. “What’s your success rate?”
“More often than not we’ve had positive results. Usually it comes with parents who are engaged and will do whatever is needed to get their kids on the right track. Those without parental support are tougher to reach. I’m not saying it can’t be done, but these kids have deeper problems and the road to healing can be slower or more difficult.
“Bottom line is, we work hard to make every teen who walks through our doors feel like they are important. We’ve only been open a few years. We still tweak the program on a per-child basis. And we’re open to ways to better assist these kids as they navigate through life.”
A chorus of shouts reverberated from the gym. Positive proof that Luke’s program worked.
“The more I hear, the more I can’t wait to dig in.”
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
While Cassie was happy he was finally on board with her involvement, she hoped he wasn’t being nice to her because he could see the benefit of her name drawing attention to the center. Yes, she’d managed to draw a concert crowd, which meant much-needed funds for the Klub, but she wanted to donate her time and talent. Wanted to be needed as Cassie the musician, the core of her being, not Cassie the popular artist.
Please, don’t let him be like my father, seeing me as a means to an end.
She brushed away her negative thoughts. “Okay, lay it on me.”
He rose, rounded the desk and leaned against it.
“I have talented musicians already giving lessons and teaching the students the art of performing.”
She tilted her head. “Then what do you want from me?”
“Someone to lead a songwriting workshop.”
Her eyes went wide at the same time her stomach plummeted.
“I can’t think of anyone more qualified than you.”
After the heat flushing her body subsided, she leaned forward, eyes narrowed.
“Songwriting? Are you being intentionally cruel?”
“Hear me out.”
* * *
LUKE WASN’T ONE bit surprised by Cassie’s less than enthusiastic response. He was taking a chance here. A chance he hoped would benefit not only the teen program, but even more, would unbury the hidden abilities still inside her.
“Well, I must differ,” she said, her voice tight. “If anyone is qualified, it’s you.”
“I don’t write music any longer.”
“Neither do I.”
He held back a frustrated sigh. Just like so many of the kids to come through the doors, Cassie was doubting herself. Unsure of her future. Granted, she was an adult, but age didn’t change the fact that she had a problem. As it did for the kids, the music program would help her, too.
He crossed his arms over his chest, shifting to the daunting Mr. H. persona he used when dealing with an unusually hardheaded teen.
“I went back and listened to your music.”
Surprise flickered in her gaze. When she remained silent, he continued.
“The first album was real, Cassie. The rich texture of your voice brought out emotion. I believed you. No matter what you were singing, whether a sad ballad or upbeat tempo, it was honest. Was it technically perfect? No. And that’s what sold your songs.”
The pain etched on her lovely features spoke volumes about her passion for music. How much it hurt her to question her abilities.
“The second album was technically perfect. No rasps in your voice. No cracks when the emotion of the story touched your heart. Your vocal power remained equal in every song, no dynamics or range. Even the lyrics, which were thought out and measured on your first effort, didn’t ring true. I’m guessing after making the second record your doubts kicked in.”
She looked away and swallowed. Met his gaze again. “I knew before the release date that the album was going to tank.” She blew out a breath followed by a nervous laugh. “First time I ever said it out loud.”
“And saying it out loud makes you...?”
“Relieved.”
“So what happened?”
“A new producer came to the label. He thought he had the magic formula for a hit record all figured out, so the label paired him with me.” She pulled her braid over her shoulder and brushed the ends through her fingers. “He refused to listen to my ideas. Reworked my songs.”
“Just like a bad manager can tank a career, so can a bad producer.”
Dropping the braid, she sat up taller in the chair. “Part of it was my fault. I didn’t want to rock the boat and by the time I brought my concerns to my manager, it was too late. The project was more than halfway finished. Travis suggested I hang in until the end.” She grimaced. “Even he didn’t realize how different the sound came across until we heard it for ourselves.”
“Is that when you first noticed the block?”
“No. I went on tour. Suffered with critics taking potshots at the album. When the dust settled, Travis sat down with the executives and worked out a new deal, one that allows me to go back to my original style of music. Only now...”
“You’re stuck.”
“Bingo.”
“If you would seriously consider it, teaching a songwriting workshop to draw creativity out of the kids will in turn do the same for you. What have you got to lose?”
“Nothing I don’t have right now,” she grumbled.
He chuckled. “Very true. It’s a chance. One I think you should take.”
Slumping back in the chair, her expression was one of a recalcitrant teen. “Why do this when I could just as easily work with you? You agreed to sit in with me, get me to focus on writing again.”
“You know it’s more than just sitting down and coming up with a song. Technically, if we worked long enough, we’d write something. But I can’t give you back your confidence. You need to find it on your own.”
A sulky pout crossed her lips. One that made him smile inside, because Cassie didn’t realize she wore her emotions for everyone to see. How refreshing, to be herself, not yet jaded by an industry that could make or break a career. Not trampled by others to get what they wanted, at the cost of her dreams. The last album was a blip on the radar. Her songs were honest, just like Cassie, which he found more and more fascinating every time they were together.
Her disgruntled expression had him wishing he could lean over and kiss her doubts away. He’d been there. His chest housed the ragged heart to confirm it. A move like that would be selfish, sure, but Cassie intrigued him. Around her, he forgot to keep his defenses engaged.
Now was not the time, and certainly not the place. He refocused. “Talent like yours doesn’t go away, Cassie. Can it be buried? Sure. I personally don’t believe we’ve heard the last of you. Or seen the depths of what you have to offer. A songwriting workshop might just jar loose the lyrics hiding in your psyche.”
She seemed to consider his words for a moment. Zeroed in on him in a thoughtful way that made him
nervous. “The same could be said of you,” she countered.
He pushed away from his desk. Walked back to take a seat in his chair. Ignored the tug in his chest. “We aren’t talking about me.”
“Maybe we should.”
He wanted to scoff at the idea, but instead, spoke words he realized were true. “My time is over. I have other concerns now.”
“How can you say that?” She jumped up. “Especially after the lecture you just gave me?”
“There’s a difference. You need this for your career to flourish. I don’t need, or want, to write music anymore.”
Very slowly she placed her palms dead center on his desk and leaned toward him, speaking in a measured voice. “I don’t believe you.”
For a second, a mere second, anger flashed through him. Not the kind he’d nursed against his ex. Not the kind he’d experienced whenever he heard the last hit song they’d written together playing on the radio. No, this anger went soul deep, to a place he’d closed off for so long he’d pretended it didn’t exist.
He rose. Placed his palms on the outside of hers. Leaned in until he was inches from her face. Breathed in her sweet fragrance. “Believe me. I’m not going back there.”
“Really?”
“I’m dead serious.”
Her steady gaze held his. His heart pounded. This close, he could see the distinctive shade of green mocking his words. She knew, maybe even better than he did.
“Talent like yours doesn’t go away,” she echoed.
“Maybe it should.”
The words hung between them. Time stilled as his blood raced. How had she managed to resurrect this one painful aspect of his life? How had she focused on the fact that while he said he wouldn’t write again, the ability had never turned off? His brain still formed tempos and lyrics, even though he ruthlessly pushed them away every time they surfaced. For two years he’d lived without admitting the truth to himself. And now, by encouraging Cassie to deal with her fears, he was forced to confront his own.
