Page 18 of Two Is Better Than One

"I’m happy you knew it was me," I said.

"Your costume is really good, but you didn't think I bought that whole migraine routine, did you?"

I stared at Casey with a disbelieving expression. "Yes, I did. Everyone buys it. Brooks has been with us for years and he buys it every single time. It takes us an hour to get into character. I start talking about my head hurting the day before."

"I'm not saying you're not good at it," Casey said. "But there were a few things that gave you away."

Chapter 8

Summer

I was completely floored that Casey so easily and nonchalantly knew who I was. We walked to his truck, and I thought about all the things I had said while we had been together—the way I vaguely pretended to be my sister and he went along with it. I could not figure him out, and he had me figured out at a glance. I felt vulnerable with him. I wanted him to hold me, and that was completely unacceptable for a singer and her security. There was no way I could have a relationship with a temporary bodyguard. I had been telling myself that all week.

But, man oh man, did I love spending the afternoon with Casey. And the best part of it all was that he had no interest in my sister. That was way too gratifying. I had been surprisingly upset when he was willing to kiss her, and surprisingly relieved when he revealed he knew who I was.

I was stunned about being so easily found out, and the last few minutes we spent at the monastery, along with the time getting into the truck… it was all a big blur. It was unreal that Casey had so calmly found me out, and my nerves were all bent out of shape about it.

"I still can't get out of this wig, even though you know who I am," I said when we were in his truck.

"It's fine," he said.

"I would do it. I would love to take it off and be normal now that you know, but I have to keep it on."

"I know. You have to see Brooks when you get back, and there might be people waiting at your hotel."

"Yeah," I agreed.

The radio was set to a rock station, and I had such a romantic feeling that I might as well have been at a high school dance. I thought of writing a song about going back in time.

I didn't have a normal childhood. I did go to a couple of school dances, but nothing romantic ever happened at any of them. I had been on a stage for what felt like all my life, and I always had the sensation that I was in the public eye. The school dances I made up in my head were much better than the ones I actually went to. I knew I would channel these romantic, nostalgic feelings I was having with Casey and have a good writing session later that night.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm just thankful for this day. I'll write about it, in one way or another, tonight. I was also thinking about what you said in church, and I should've known that part of your job is pretending to be someone else. You're so mysterious. I'm thankful you're that way because I feel like you have as much to lose as I do if it comes out that we've…"

I trailed off, feeling like I was about to say something to mess it up.

"That we've what?"

"That we've anything—that we've had this conversation, honestly. I don't care. I just want to be held. I wish we could go somewhere that you could just stand there and wrap your arms around me because I just feel so deprived of that."

"Let's go."

"What? Where?"

"We're not being followed," he said. "Let's go for a drive."

"I wish you had a blanket and we could park somewhere and lay down in the back of your truck."

Thirty minutes later, we were doing just that. Casey stopped by his brother's house where he borrowed a blanket. I waited in the truck so he didn’t have to explain who I was. I saw his brother through the window, and I wished I had gone inside to meet him. I liked Casey. I trusted him and I felt at home with him.

We drove to a place in the woods. I had no idea where we went, but it took fifteen minutes to get there. The trip seemed like one minute. We talked honestly about my life on the road. Casey told me that he was often on the road as well, and he trusted me enough to share more about his job—things that I swore to never repeat. I told him some of my hidden insecurities, and he sympathized with me and encouraged me.

Neither of us could foster a relationship at this time in our lives, and both of us were relieved to have found someone in the same situation—someone we could temporarily get close to.

The back of Casey's truck was clean and tidy and covered with one of those black bed-liners.

"Where are we?" I asked as I climbed up into it.

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