“I didn’t!” Addie scoffed. “She left it lying on the end of her bed like she wanted someone to see it.”
“And second,” Dad clipped, eyes on me, his tone stern with warning. “Songs are personal. Only to be shared when you’re ready to share them. Just because it was on the end of her bed?—”
I took off, jogging through the kitchen and up the stairs.
“Cash!” Dad yelled.
Nope. Nuh uh. Was this a breach of trust? Probably. Would Charlie be mad if she found out? Definitely. But nothing was going to stop me. Not my dad. My mom. Not even an act of God.
Ihadto know.
I burst into the room right as I heard Dad’s feet pounding in my direction. I locked the door and sprinted for the open notebook on Charlie’s unmade bed. My lungs heaved as I stared down at it.
Addie hadn’t exaggerated. If anything, she’d undersold it. My hands fisted in my hair, my heart tripping over itself.
The second half of ‘Hard to Love You’ covered the left page. Not just the words, but the entire composition—staff lines, notes, chords—my song, laid out in black ink like she’d pulled it straight from my head. The sheet music wasn’t available online. She’d figured this out on her own. Sure, a few notes were missing here and there, but it was ninety-eight percent right. This must've taken her hours.
On the opposite side was the first part of a song titled: ‘Hard to Leave You,’ (Reply Song to ‘Hard to Love You’). Unlike a normal reply song, she hadn’t simply put her lyrics to my melody. No, she’d come up with a Charlie Dupree Original. The date next to it told me she’d started it…the day after I dropped ‘Hard to Love You’ on TikTok.
I could dig into the song in a moment—and I would. After I wrapped my head around the doodles bordering the music. My name and initials whirled over the page in every form. CD. CLD. Cash Dupree. Cassius Dupree. Cassius Levi Dupree. A laugh bubbled up in my chest when I spotted Mr. and Mrs. Cash Dupree.
And finally, Cash and Charlie Dupree.
I hooted, fists to the sky. But it was weak. I was too overwhelmed to catch my breath. “I knew it.” I laughed.
Wait. Had I?
Yeah. Deep down, I had. There’s no way you kiss someone back the way she’d kissed me—twice—if you don’t feel something intense. Which is why it had hurt so much when she said she didn’t feel the same. It felt like she was denying what I knew in my core to be true.
Dad shook the handle, then pounded on the door. “Don’t do it, son.”
“Yeah, right.” I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in years. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t look if this was Mom back in the day? If you knew there was something that would’ve ended all that waiting?”
There were a few seconds of tense silence and I wondered if he’d try to pop the lock. But then he sighed the sigh of a resigned man. “Fine. But I wash my hands of this just like Pontius Pilate.”
I chuckled. “Didn’t work for him and it won’t work for you. But I’ll tell her you tried to stop me if it helps.”
I heard him mutter a curse word. Then he trounced down the stairs. I grabbed Charlie’s guitar from the corner.
I collapsed onto the bed, the notebook propped against a pillow, and played as I sang the words quietly.
I still hum that old song you played,
The one I swore I’d never learn your way.
A rumble shook in my chest. She was talking about ‘What Could Go Right,’ by Thomas Rhett. A friend confessing to another friend that he’s in love with her. It was one of the first songs I’d taught her, hoping she’d see it was us. But she couldn’t play it the way it was written. She kept replacing basic chords with fancier ones. I’d say, “You do not need to put a G7 there,” and she’d say, “Oh, I absolutely do.”
I squeezed my eyes shut and exhaled, releasing the overwhelming emotions. Then I kept going.
Didn’t know what you meant when you kissed me that night,
Thought it was a dream, just a trick of the light.
I never believed I was worth your time,
So I walked away, left you behind.
Was that really how she felt? That she wasn’t worth my time?
