I hated finding that out, but at the same time, I got it. There were no elevators in our complex, and climbing stairs after surgery could tear Cassie’s stitches.
Making matters worse, she wouldn’t respond to any form of communication from me. I had left voicemails, texts, emails, Snapchats, and even a Facebook direct message. Nada. Meanwhile, Cecilia had spoken to her, and when I lunged to get her phone from her, Brock intercepted me.
I left the room at that point and slammed the door so hard our downstairs neighbor banged on their ceiling in response.
Yeah, I needed to get my temper in check. Hell, if I hadn’t lost it with her that Monday night, we probably wouldn’t be on the outs at all. I slumped onto my bed and drove my hands into my hair trying to think.
Then I whipped my phone out and called Dad.
“Gabe, how’s Cassandra?”
“Home with her parents, but not speaking to me.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry, son.”
“How many flowers do I send her?”
He coughed out a chuckle. “Say again?”
“You heard me. How many flowers do I send? Or what kind of bouquet? You’re the king of romance, Dad. Tell me what to do.”
He sighed. “Somehow I have the feeling no amount of roses and chocolates will make this better, Gabe.”
“Chocolate! Yes. She does love—”
“Gabriel. The focus should be on ‘no amount’ will make this better. Neither you nor your brother have told me exactly what the dust-up was between you and Cassandra. At least with Cecilia, I knew what caused the implosion.”
I fought off a sigh. “Well, I’m sending her something. I just hoped you, Mr. Romantic, could guide me in the right direction.”
Dad laughed. “I’m far from being Mr. Romantic, son. However, do you know her favorite flower? Don’t just send her red roses, that’s predictable. Whatever you decide to do, it isn’t a matter of ‘Go big or go home’. The idea is ‘Make it matter or don’t bother’.”
My lips pulled together as I tried to figure out Cassie’s favorite flower, and I realized she had never told me that. Worse, I had never asked her that. But the last part of Dad’s advice hit me. I had to make it matter or why bother. And I damn sure knew what mattered to her.
“Thanks, Dad. That helps way more than you know. Love you, but I got some things to do.”
He blew out a breath. “Glad I could help, and I’m sure you do. Good luck, my boy.”
All last night and this morning, “Lay Me Down” by the Dirty Heads had been running through my head because I had sung it while holding vigil next to Cassie’s hospital bed. She was my green-eyed girl, and I had to prove to her she still needed to be runnin’ around with me like we always had been.
I barged into the living room to find Brock and Cecilia standing in the foyer making out. Normally that would force an about-face, but I was a man on a mission.
“Who’s leaving? You or Cecilia?” I demanded.
Brock broke the lip-lock aiming pure venom at me from his eyes.
“He is,” Cecilia almost purred.
I shook my head in small shakes. “Great. You visiting Cassie today? Or tomorrow? I know you’ve been in touch.”
“Gabe,” Brock started.
I put my hands up in front of my chest. “No. I’m not gonna try to see her. But, my girl isn’t big on flowers and shit like that. She is big on music, and I need someone to help me out. No, I need someone to help a brother out. So, legit, Cecilia, you’re soon to be my sister-in-law—”
“Listen, numbnuts—”
I powered past Brock’s refusal. “Not soon-soon, but you know. You two are so damn serious it’s disgusting. So, help your soon-to-be-brother out, huh?”
Cecilia giggled. “Gee, Gabe. You make it so hard to say no, don’t you?”
I grinned. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”
She arched a brow. “But, just to let you know, I’m not going to see her until late tomorrow.”
My grin morphed into a smile. “Out-damn-standing.”
IT WAS AS I WAS WORKING on my mix that I realized how appropriate the song by the Rolling Stones was. She’d sure been showing me the same dull pain. She wasn’t graceless, but no way she would slip away from me now. Not for something as fickle as money. Did she not know how much I loved her?
I purposefully misquoted that song to her in bed, but that was before I had heard the version from the “Stripped” album. It always struck me funny how an acoustic version of a song could breathe brand new life into a song, and that was certainly the case for “Wild Horses.” That stabbed at my heart because I never should’ve given her such a hard time about loving them.
I pushed past that emotion and lined up “Rapper’s Delight,” because there was never a time that song wouldn’t kill it. Then as a nod to my woman, I found “The Message” from Grandmaster Flash. It might make her cringe, but I didn’t care. As Dad said, it had to matter or why bother.
As I listened to the line-up, I realized this was very Say Anything, and nearly equivalent to me holding a boombox over my head, eighty’s style, but I didn’t care. Music was our thing, and I knew when I saw that pain flash across her face at the mention of Blue Rondo. In fact, that was the one song I wouldn’t throw her way for this. If anything, the only way she’d get that song from me was if I had my trumpet. Thanks to Jessica, that was long gone, but... that was for the best.
I had entered Grand into the search bar of my iTunes program, but it pulled up far more songs than just
