Page 37 of Freeing the Wild
“Actually you are.For the time being you’re my neighbor, and if you get drunk and slip in the shower, I’ll never forgive myself for walking out that door.So I’m coming in.”
Haden pushes past me and closes the heavy door behind him.
“Well, aren’t you overbearing?”I say, turning away from him.
“Cassie.”He says my name for the first time since the day I met him, and the sound of it fizzles under my skin in a slow, steady sweep.“Who’s making you cry like this?”
I start to laugh through my tears.“Nice to see you remember my name.”
I don’t have an explanation for why I sound so sarcastic, but Haden doesn’t laugh.
“Well, let’s see …” I say.“According to my manager and publicist, the majority of American country fans who know I exist are making me cry.Care to take them all on for me, Cowboy?”
I pad my way into the living room in my fuzzy bunny slippers, lifting the bottle of bourbon to my lips.I’m gonna need to get another stash of this ASAP.Haden’s jaw twitches as he stays rooted in my doorway.
“Well, are you coming in?Or were you just doing the caveman act for nothing?”I gesture to the living room.“Misery loves company, you know.”
I hold the bottle out.Haden doesn’t speak, just takes his hat off and hangs it on the hook near my door.
“Drink?”I don’t get the chance to take another swig because Haden eats up the space between us in two quick strides.His large hand wraps around my wrist, sending another zing of electricity under my skin as he slides it up and takes the whiskey from my hand.
“Hey!”I call out, stomping my bunny-clad foot like a petulant child.
“Never met a problem that was solved by drinking straight bourbon at eleven a.m.,” he says, walking with ease to my kitchen.
“You sound like my sister,” I tell him.She’s been here with my mama every single day, telling me everything will be okay.They tell me today is a new day but then I get sucked back into reading the comments about me online.I look directly at Haden.
The bourbon swirling around my head has me noticing too clearly the way his strong biceps strain against his shirt as he pushes the cork in fully then shelves my fun.I look away so I don’t get caught watching him.Such a frustrating man shouldn’t look that damn good.
“And drinking was suiting me just fine actually,” I inform him, turning my gaze out my front window.
“How about food?Have you had any of that today?”he asks, as he carefully unbuttons his flannel cuffs and rolls his sleeves up to his elbows.He washes his hands in my sink and then slides a box over on the counter, adding a coffee pod to the Keurig.I watch his hands as he works and wonder why he has the strong trunk of a barren tree creeping up over his fingers and onto his hand.Haden clears his throat and my eyes snap to his.Did I just lick my lips?
“I asked you what you take in your coffee and if you’ve eaten today.Or are you on a strict whiskey diet?”
“You’re off the hook, Haden.We hooked up one night.You don’t have to be my keeper.”
Haden grunts and mutters something under his breath as he grabs a mug.I flop down onto the sofa and look out the window to the light dusting of falling snow.Neither of us speaks as he works in my kitchen.When he presents me with a coffee and a bottle of water a few minutes later it’s not what I’m looking for.The bourbon was better.Though somewhere inside my slightly tipsy mind I know alcohol isn’t the answer.
“‘Thank you’ usually works,” he says gruffly.
“Well, thanks cowboy, for coming in here and ruining my fun with your scowl.Even though everyone keeps telling me you’re the happy one around here—”
“Chrissakes, woman,” Haden barks out.“I usually am, but you just do a real good job of pissing me off.I’m trying to give you grace.I know you’ve been through some shit.But, instead of drowning all these feelings, and hiding out in your cabin for days on end, why don’t you try talking about them?”
“With you?”I ask, my voice hitting a higher octave.“You couldn’t know anything about what I’m going through.”
I expect him to back down but he doesn’t.He simply turns, heading back into the kitchen, and starts going through the cabinets like he owns the place.
“Well, with a therapist for starters,” he says as he works.
“I have another appointment tomorrow,” I tell him.Though I don’t know why.
He pops some bread in my toaster.
“Look, I don’t know shit about you, never did …” I see the conflict behind his words waging in his eyes.“But, in my experience, the only way to get to the other side of something hard is to go through it.”
I feel the tightening in my chest and the tears I’ve been drinking away fill my eyes.But every second he’s here I feel a little more sober.
