Chapter Thirty-Two

Mason

I forgot about the bottle of scotch. The one that one of my father’s production assistants gave me two Christmases ago. I don’t drink the stuff but recognized it as being very expensive. I’d intended to break it out at a party that I never had, leaving it in the cabinet above the refrigerator. The one that’s set back so far, so high, that it’s damn near impossible to reach without standing on a chair. Which is, apparently, what Cassandra did when I left the house for a half hour to get some groceries. She was going to need sustenance when she finally came out of the stupor. Only she’d gotten up as soon as I left and scavenged the place. Knowing that this was a possibility, I’d dumped everything down the sink as soon as I got her settled last night. But I forgot about the bottle of scotch.

Now I see the evidence of my mistake in her hand as she stands in the doorway leading from my bedroom out onto the balcony.

“Maaacy! You’re home! Did you bring me something to eat?”

“What did you do? Jeez, Cassandra! You were almost sobered up!” I snatch the half empty bottle out of her hand. “You really just don’t want help, do you?”

She looks at me, the big, goofy, drunk smile fading. And then she starts to cry. Crap. I hate it when she cries. I could deal with her fits of rage and her silly spells, but the crying jags were the worst. Even now I don’t know quite how to approach her.

“What happened?” I ask. “You were doing so well, Cass. What pushed you off the wagon?”

Clearly, she hasn’t gotten as drunk this time around as she was last night, because she can at least focus on me. And her face is a mask of misery.

“I love him,” she wails finally. “Mason, I love him!”

“Who? The hockey player?”

She nods and cries even harder. “Yes!”

“And what…he doesn’t love you?”

“What? No! He asked me to m-m-marry him!”

I am so confused. I just drop down onto the edge of the bed and stare at her as if she’s some kind of alien life-form. She kind of is, actually. Three years and I never did figure out how to navigate my way around this woman.

It’s then that it hits me how ironic it is that this starlet—this walking, talking Hollywood-success-story-in-the-making is a miserable mess. And then there’s Walker…no fame. No million-dollar paychecks. No starring roles or award nods. She’s a bartender. And a student. And she’s got her crap together in a way that my ex probably never will. That makes two twists of fate in my favor this year. Losing Cassandra, and finding Walker.

“Cass, I don’t understand. You love him. And he wants to marry you. What’s the problem?”

“I’m a drunk!”

Well, there is that.

“Does he know you’re an alcoholic?”

She shakes her head. “No, I’ve been able to hide it. B-b-but if we get m-married, he’ll know. And then he’ll leave me!”

I put my palm to my forehead, which feels as if it’s about to split open and spill the contents of my brain out onto the carpet. I’ve got a major exam in a few hours, a drunk, miserable starlet in my bedroom, and an amazing girlfriend out there with no clue of the crap that’s been unfolding in my life over the last eighteen-hours.

Oh yeah. I am good and screwed here.

“Cass, why’d you come to Minnesota?” I ask her at last.

She stops crying long enough to look at me quizzically.

“Mason, you’re the only one who knows…and who still cares about me. I didn’t have any place else to go.”

I wish I could tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not. Her parents were interested in her only as long as she was a meal ticket for them. The minute she got to be a problem, they drained her bank account and took off. She had a string of bad partners ranging from opportunistic to downright abusive. And then there was me. I was the closest thing Cassandra had to a family in her entire life. I helped her sober up. With Mom and Dad’s assistance, she was able to resuscitate her career. And, by the time I ended it, she was in a good, stable place and we were able to part as friends. Long distance friends.

All this time, I thought she was doing well. Clearly, I thought wrong.

I go to her, pulling her into my arms and patting her back gently while she sobs into my shirt. What the hell am I supposed to do now? I can’t just abandon her. I could call Walker and ask for her help…but I hate to drag her into this mess. Then it dawns on me.

“Cass? Where’s your guy? Where’s the hockey player?”

“He’s training up in Thunder Bay.”

Thunder Bay. That’s about four hours from here. Totally drivable.

“You need to call him,” I tell her firmly, as if there is no other option. And, as far as I’m concerned, there isn’t. “You need to call him and tell him the truth. That you love him. That you’re an alcoholic. That you’re going to check yourself into rehab and you hope he’ll understand.”

Suddenly she looks up at me, sheer panic in her tear-stained face.

“What? No. No, no, no. I can’t! I can’t tell him that or I’ll lose him! Mason, rehab is like a month—maybe more! I can’t expect him to wait for me…”

I wipe the tears gently and smile down at her.

“If he really loves you, he’ll understand. And he’ll wait,” I tell her softly.

She cries for a long time, gradually sobering. Gradually calming. When she goes to take a shower, I pull her clothing out of the dryer. She didn’t have a bag with her last night so she’s been wearing one of my old T-shirts since she arrived. I can’t risk having her spotted walking around the local mall—or the local Target, for that matter, so it’ll have to be me. I’ll pick up some clothing and basic necessities for her and then I’ll take her to the rehab. The one that’s tucked away in a small town about an hour away. Not that I’ll be able to visit her. Not that anyone will be able to visit her.

When she comes out of the bathroom, she looks considerably better, her hair caught up in a towel that’s wrapped around her head like a turban. Another towel loops around her body, hanging down past her knees.

“I’m a wreck, huh?”

“No. Last night you were a wreck. Today you’re about a thousand percent better.”

She shakes her head, looking bewildered. “I don’t know what happened to me, Mason. I was doing so well. I hadn’t had a drink in more than two years. But when he proposed, I just…I just lost it.”

“It’s going to be okay,” I assure her, not knowing exactly what “okay” looks like. She must pick up on that thought.

“What if he doesn’t want me once he knows?” The question is a whisper.

I almost say “Then he’s not good enough for you.” But then I recall that there came a point where I just didn’t have an ounce of strength left in me to fight for our relationship. And she sure as hell wasn’t doing it. So I tell her the truth in as soft a manner as I can manage.

“Then you were right to run away from him because he isn’t the man you need.”

“I thought you were the man I needed,” she says wistfully. “But I wasn’t the woman you needed, was I?”

I shrug. “Who knows, Cass.”

“You do,” she says firmly. “You do. I see it. Something’s changed in you. There’s someone new in your life.”

I feel myself straighten up, growing stiff and uncomfortable. This isn’t a conversation that she and I are meant to have. There’s way too much water under that bridge. So I remain quiet. Finally, she gives me a tentative smile and pats my arm.

“She’s a lucky girl, Mason. She’s a really lucky girl. And I should know. Because I was lucky once, too.”

“And you will be again. But you’ve got some things to take care of first. Now, should we call your guy and tell him what’s going on?”

She nods, a little reluctantly at first, but then stronger.

“Yeah. Let’s do that,” she says quietly. “I can do that. If…if you’ll sit with me while I do.”

“Of course I will,” I assure her. “That’s what friends do for each other.”

Cassandra shakes her head in bemusement.

“Such a lucky, lucky girl.”