I put my hands on my hips. “Only because I know you have what it takes. Only because you belong onstage, Ben. Your songs—they should be heard because they connect with people, but ...” My voice faltered. “Are you saying you don’t want this?”
He was quiet for a minute. “I do. I’ve wanted it since I was a kid. That doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for me. I’m not sure. Part of me really wants to try. You’re right. It’s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of opportunity, and I don’t want to look back and think that I was afraid to go for it.”
“Four months might just be the beginning,” I said.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Ben, you have so much potential. You could go all the way. I know it.”
He shook his head. “I think you overestimate me, Deb. And I don’t need a lot of success. I’m fine. It could change me, and I’m happy with who I am. But at this point, we’re going. The band deserves this chance. Still—I’m worried about you and me.”
I stared at him and I knew. I knew this would most likely be a first step that would change Ben’s life.
In Texas, I’d found one of my closest friends to be my stiffest competition for the man I’d loved.
How could I compete with a world full of groupies and whoever else? It might not come to that—but one look at Ben, and I knew it could.
I’d grown used to the way of him. How he smoothed back the top half of his hair and tied it in a knot. How he absentmindedly ran his thumb over the tattoo on his left wrist whenever he was thinking. That flash of smile that so often came my way. And the image of him holding Gilly in her nursery, singing with that voice that melted me—that image seemed to be seared in my mind.
I wanted to tell him about my plans to buy a house, but for some reason, the words wouldn’t come. I’d wanted to bring it up several times before but held back every time. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe because that was mine alone to hold on to. This moment—the tour—was about him.
“Hey, we’re not in any rush,” I heard myself saying smoothly. “Just because you’re gone for a few months on tour, that doesn’t mean suddenly we have to stop being in contact with each other.” But even as I said it, I wondered what might happen.
“I don’t trust you won’t disappear on me,” he said with a pointed look in my direction.
“Ben, if you’re going to go after this, go after it.”
He stepped closer to me. “I was already going after something. She’s not very cooperative.”
I smiled at that—couldn’t help it. “Like I said, we don’t have to be in a rush.” And I’m not getting my heart broken a second time. “I believe in chasing your dreams. I fully support you taking this opportunity, but it makes sense to me that we hold off on getting more serious until we know where this is going for you. I’ve got to protect my feelings.”
“You need to protect your feelings from me?” Ben said in disbelief.
“Yes.” I looked him in the eyes. “Ben, please. Let’s just keep spending time together as usual. When the tour comes, go all in. After, we’ll pick up where we left off.”
If there is an after.
Chapter Twenty-One
There really is no place like home.
The Wizard of Oz
Saturday morning, I dragged my guitar out from under my bed.
It took a while to tune it, strumming chords and finding my way. When I finally felt ready, I sat cross-legged on the floor of my living room. Through the window, I could see snow coming down with a soft vengeance. Beautiful, swirling, but relentless.
The fire flickered in front of me, warming the space. A notepad rested on the coffee table. I played and hummed, closing my eyes and searching for my rhythm.
I was wounded, you were healed ...
Lyrics sprang through my mind and I scribbled them down. When I’d told Ben before that I wasn’t a songwriter, it would have been more accurate to say I wasn’t a successful songwriter. I’d tried to write a few songs back in college but never anything I was happy with. For some reason, I’d woken up that morning with music stirring in me. It was time to try again. The wood of my guitar felt right in my hands. The strings spoke to me. Even in a silent room, rhythm surged through my veins.
A few hours later, the floor was littered with paper balls. I lay flat on the floor and groaned my frustration. Then I ate a pint of mint-chocolate-chip ice cream. Then I created a new Spotify playlist. Then I wrote more lyrics and started to sing.
And it might take a thousand years . . .
I stayed up half the night writing lyrics, writing music.
Sunday, I did it all over again.
Christmas was slated to be on Thursday, and I’d volunteered to work, the tradeoff being I’d get Friday off. Andy had Christmas off, so it would be me and an intern. Wednesday evening, I went to an early Christmas Eve service at Ben’s church. Paige had left for Kansas. I scanned the auditorium for a good seat and then paused in surprise at Cassidy waving at me from the right side of the church. I went over and slid in next to her and Jake. “Hi! What are you doing here?”
“Ben sent Jake a text, inviting us to come to the candlelight service, so here we are. Gilly is in the nursery. Aren’t the decorations so beautiful?”
I followed her gaze around the room. Wooden pallets lined the walls of the room, plain Christmas trees, a few poinsettia plants—the earthy tones felt warm, simple.
Ben climbed up on the stage with just his acoustic guitar, the lights dimmed, and he began to play “Silent Night.” In a trim black sweater and dark jeans, he sat on a barstool, flickering candles behind him on wooden pedestals, and began to sing.
Without much fanfare, Ben led the crowd in carols. Then the pastor got up on stage and talked about the birth of Christ. The simple but entirely magical story of a baby in a manger, come to save the world. It seemed almost unbelievable.
When the pastor finished speaking, we bowed our heads to pray. Then the ushers passed out little wax candles, and one by one, the candles were lit across the rows. I shared my flame with Cassidy, and she shared hers with Jake. Then the whole room glowed with glimmering lights, reminding me of the stars over Bethlehem.
Ben climbed back onstage and began to sing “O Holy Night.”
My heart ached at the sound.
Maybe my faith had changed, but I believed the story. More than that, I loved the story. I decided then . . . my dance with God might look different now, but I was still willing to dance.
In fact, this dance seemed more real to me.
Parts of me had changed over the past year, but in that moment, I felt like a woman who was growing into herself. Finding her own way. Shadows bounced from hundreds of flickering flames as Ben’s baritone brought life to the room. Words of the soul’s worth and the night the whole world changed.
My eyes filled with tears as I chose Christmas all over again.
After the service, Ben came over, shook hands with Jake, and hugged Cassidy and me. They left to get Gilly, and Ben draped his arm over my shoulders. I kept silently marveling at how this Christmas Eve was five thousand times better than the tragic one I’d endured last year. I couldn’t have known what one year would bring. We walked together out of the sanctuary to my car, and I told Ben how I’d felt during “O Holy Night.” The parking lot buzzed with activity as cars left. Snow began to fall in the dark.
“You sang beautifully tonight, Ben.”
He pulled me tighter. “Thanks. I’m going to miss this church when we leave for the tour.”
“If they don’t find a replacement, they’ll take you back,” I told him.
He shrugged. “When I left the youth camp to come here, I knew it was time for a change. My world is better for it. I feel that way again. God’s with me here, on Christmas Eve, with you. He’ll be with me there, in the crazy haze of the tour.” We stopped in front of my car. “So we’re going to my parents’ house tomorrow after your shift, right?” Ben asked.
I nodded. “I’ve got all the presents wrapped and ready
to go.”
Snow swirled faster around us as Ben kissed the top of my nose. “You and me and a little bit of mistletoe, baby.”
I grabbed a fistful of his jacket and directed those lips closer to mine as Ben chuckled.
“More than a little, Ben Price.”
When I opened the door for Ben the next afternoon after my shift, he walked in, looked at the luggage situation, and covered his face with his hands.
“It’s one night, Deb,” he groaned.
“It’s Christmas. All these bags are completely necessary. Start loading.”
He obeyed, complaining about how it took two trips and how loaded down my SUV was for one night, blah blah blah. We found one fast-food joint that was open on Christmas, picked up lunch, and got on our way. Ben drove my SUV since it was more comfortable and roomier than the jeep, but I controlled the music. We blasted Christmas music the whole way, singing together, harmonizing. And when we reached his parents’ house, Connie and Jonathon came running outside, thrilled to see us. She had hot cocoa and cookies waiting for us and she hugged me so tight. I hugged her back and almost cried because her welcome and acceptance covered my heart and warmed me. She needed me like I needed her.
We opened gifts and ate glazed ham with all the fixings. Late that night, after Connie and Jonathon had retired to their room, Ben and I sat alone by the fireplace, eating more pumpkin pie and watching holiday movies. Then I turned the TV off.
“Can you get your guitar for me?” I asked him, trying not to feel shy. I’d been so relieved he’d brought it.
He jumped up. “Sure.” He brought over a worn, loved acoustic guitar, and I ran my fingers over the strings.
“Okay.” I settled in, getting situated with the guitar on my lap. “I have one last present for you.”
He didn’t respond, just waited. I warmed up for a moment, strumming chords, getting familiar with the woody sound of his guitar. Then my fingers began to play. I took a nervous breath and began to sing.
I was wounded, you were healed ...
I was hiding, you were revealed.
I didn’t have a heart to steal, you stole it anyway.
I didn’t want a song to sing, you sang it anyway.
And it might take a thousand years
To know just what you are to me.
I’m fire and I’m ice and I’ve tried to warn you . . .
You just say,
Baby, I don’t scare easy.
I’ve danced in rain and I’ve danced in snow.
And if it means having you, love,
I’ll brave the cold.
And when the storm is over,
We’re just pieces that fit together.
My voice shook at the last, and I looked up at Ben, whose eyes were wet and glossy. He took the guitar and set it aside.
“So you’re an amazing songwriter. Any other surprises?” he asked. I crawled over to kiss him, a smile on my face.
“You’re the amazing songwriter. But I wrote this for you, humble as it may be.”
He took my face in his hands and kissed me. Then we sat curled up together, listening to the fire crackle. I rested my head on Ben’s chest, hearing the rhythm of his heartbeat.
“Merry Christmas,” I whispered. He kissed the top of my head, and I could almost sense his smile.
“Just say it.”
“It’s not a good idea. Not before the tour.” There was a time when I’d been less cautious, but no longer.
“Say it,” he said with a mock growl. “I’ll go first. I love you, Debra.”
The corners of my mouth tilted up. With the romance of the moment, the beauty of an idyllic Christmas, I couldn’t fight my feelings, come what may. “All right, all right. I love you too.”
“Was that so hard?” Ben asked in a teasing voice.
I sighed and sat up to face him. “It’s not that.” I moved over a little, feeling too hot by the fire and by my rising emotion. “I finally feel as though I’ve moved on from the hurt of losing Luke to Sara. They’re married and together—and I’m okay. I don’t hate them. I’m settling into this new tempo with God. It’s a different relationship from the one I had with him before. Honestly, this one is harder. Maybe it’s darker. It feels more real to me. Now ... you. You’re my river in the desert, and you’re leaving for what could be a whole new career. Of course I want you to jump at this chance—but the future seems uncertain right now. The last year has been filled with uncertainty for me, Ben. I’m over it. I’m sick of uncertainty. Now I’m right back in it, in a huge way, with you. Yes, I love you. I love you and I want the stars for you. I hope you want that for me.”
Ben nodded, leaning forward and tucking my hair back out of my eyes. “You know I do.”
“I can’t help feeling afraid that this will fall apart and I’ll be hurt again. So I think some self-preservation is a good thing.”
He stared down at the tattoo on his wrist. “I don’t think any of this would even be happening if it weren’t for you, Deb. I mean that in the best way. I was content, yes, but also just doing the minimum, not pushing for more. I’m nervous and freaked out by the tour—and I like the feeling. I’m working for it again. Those things—nervous and freaked out and working for it—you make me feel them too. And you’re more important than a tour. If we get a label and make an album and headline our own tour—but I lose you . . .”
His words faded.
I thought of Luke. I now felt convinced that he’d jumped into a relationship with me because it was so easy and fun for both of us, but it had been out of character for him—to not think through every facet. To not go slow and consider what his heart truly wanted, then make the right decision. I wanted Ben to have that chance, even if he didn’t realize he needed it. I never wanted him to wonder what he could have become. If we didn’t last, if life took us down different paths, I could go forward with my heart intact, with my rhythm with God, and with love and kindness for Ben.
I had to do things differently. For me.
“We’ll just wait and see what happens,” I whispered, holding back a wave of emotion. He would go on tour. He’d become the rock star he was always meant to be. I’d buy a new house. I’d have a space that belonged just to me. I’d keep making a name for myself on the radio and travel with Andy to L.A. for the iHeartRadio awards next April. My heart squeezed and I thought of La La Land. We’d go in different directions, but we’d be okay.
He stood up and pulled me up with him, sliding his hand around my waist and taking my other hand in his. I pushed every thought out of my head and focused on what I had in this moment. Ben hummed my song as we slow-danced by the Christmas tree.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I can’t go back to yesterday . . . I was a different person then.
Alice in Wonderland
I pursed my lips and looked at Karis’s social media account. I’d tried my hardest to avoid social media when I’d moved to Denver, but now, with Twenty-Four Tears playing in different cities, I couldn’t help but check a hundred times a day to see what pictures were posted of Ben and the band. Karis ran Twenty-Four Tears’s many media outlet accounts.
Some of the photos brought an immediate smile to my face. Ben on stage, sweaty and exhilarated, giving his all. Seth on drums now, tearing it up. Bryce, still so cool, a low fedora on his forehead, picking at his base guitar.
Some of the photos made my lips thin out into a straight line and my eyes narrow—after-parties and VIP meet and greets. Ben giving autographs to groups of fans. Selfies with lots of fans—mostly girls. So many comments on social feeds, so many comments about Ben. Usually along the lines of how hot he was—girls drooling over that long hair and his melt-me voice. Comments that I agreed with but that tended to make my blood rise.
It seemed like all the things I loved about him were obvious to everyone else as well. That first month, he’d called and texted me every day. Now, in the thick of the tour, I heard from him less and less. And saw more and more photos and fan sites on
line.
The fear of losing him didn’t feel like a fear—it felt like a reality.
While I’d made valiant attempts at playing it cool with Ben leaving, Andy and Lana seemed to take pity on me, inviting me over for dinner all the time. I’d finally started saying yes. One Friday after work, I went over for pasta and garlic bread. Andy and Timmy played video games while I sat on a high-top chair in Lana’s kitchen, sipping a glass of wine.
“I’m following their every move too,” Lana admitted, pausing from wiping down countertops. “I watched a YouTube video of their concert in Portland. Ben was amazing.”
I couldn’t stop feeling glum. “I know.”
She sat next to me. My glumness didn’t seem surprising to her. “Are you worried? That he won’t come back?”
I looked down at my glass. “Kind of. But I don’t know if I want him to. How could I not want him to succeed, Lana? It’s like he was born for this. I’ve seen it in him since that first night at Percival’s Island. He’s got so much capacity and such a kind heart, such a generous spirit. I want him to succeed. I just—I just wish—”
“You weren’t in love with him?” Lana asked.
I covered my face for a moment, then looked back up at her. “Ben is where he’s supposed to be. I’m where I’m supposed to be. I feel—like I’m finally breathing again. I’m happy. I held on so tight to Luke; I wanted him so much. With Ben, there’s something inside me that says ‘Let go.’ He helped me find myself again. I just—don’t want to fall apart if I suddenly see him online with someone else.”
“He wouldn’t do that to you,” Lana said quickly.
Oh, but I knew. I knew no one was perfect.
“Even if things don’t work out, I think you’ll be okay this time, Deb.”
“Yeah,” I agreed, but my heart felt sad. “I think so too.”
She was correct in that. I knew that this time around, letting go wouldn’t break me. That didn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt.
It also didn’t mean it wasn’t right.
That night in my apartment, I carried a mug of green tea with me as I turned off lights and made my way to my bedroom. I remembered Addison’s question to me so long ago: The goal is to stay and settle, then? Stay and settle didn’t match my restless feelings, but they sounded nice. I’d finally talked to my parents about buying the paired house, and after a million questions and sending my dad all the paperwork and financial information, they’d agreed that it would probably be a good investment. My dad offered to co-sign a loan if I needed him to, but I didn’t want that. They both said that if I truly intended to stay in Denver, then buying was preferable to renting long-term.
After the Rain Page 24