“You wanted to know everything from the very beginning,” I told him.
He nodded slowly. “I did.”
We stared at each other, not saying anything.
He looked away first. “I don’t know how to even begin apologizing.”
“You could start with, I’m sorry for accusing you of cheating on me.”
“I am sorry.” He forced himself to meet my gaze. “So sorry.”
“You thought I was going to sleep around behind your back with Morris,” I said. “Why would you think something like that? Do you really think so little of me?”
“No,” he shook his head. “I never actually thought that. I was just upset and worried and jealous and dealing with a bunch of other shit that has nothing to do with you and everything to do with me. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.”
“You forbid me from seeing one of my oldest friends. You know how awful that is?”
“I shouldn't have given you that ultimatum.”
“No. You shouldn’t have.”
“I wish I could take it back.”
“You can’t.”
Hurt flashed across his face. “Is there anything I can say that will make you forgive me?”
“I understand you’re sorry about what you said. I get that. But I can’t be with somebody who doesn't trust me.”
“It’s not that I don’t trust you,” he pressed. “I was just dealing with—”
“A bunch of other shit,” I finished for him. “Right.”
Liam went silent, casting his eyes down.
I rubbed at my nails. Completely smooth. All the polish had been scratched off.
I was done for the night. I couldn’t take any more.
“I accept your apology,” I told him. “But it doesn’t change anything.”
I made my way to the curb where taxis were waiting outside the club for drunken partiers ready to leave. I reached for a door handle. I looked back.
Liam was still staring at the ground.
“I’ll see you at rehearsals,” was all I said.
I slid into the car without another look.
34
I didn’t tell the taxi to take me home. I didn’t want to be alone, but I also didn’t want to talk to anyone. I knew the perfect place.
When I walked into Walt’s bar Jessie immediately came to my side.
“Whiskey sour?” she asked, her voice full of empathy.
I nodded, knowing I wouldn't actually drink most of it. I didn’t want to get wasted. Hanging out at the bar was just better than going home, crying myself to sleep and waking up to nightmares.
I sat on a stool at the far end of the bar by myself. The bar patrons left me alone. They were used to my presence, so walking in wearing a leather corset and knee high boots didn’t cause a second look anymore. Besides, Walt, the bar’s owner, kept the guys in line. Any inappropriate words or comments and they were out on their ass.
Jessie kept throwing me worried looks so I knew Gael had told her at least part of the story. She spent the night busy with work so at least I didn’t have to talk to her.
I’d been there about half an hour, surfing mindlessly on my phone as I nursed my drink, when someone approached the table.
“Mind if I sit?” a young woman asked.
I looked up from the screen.
Natalie stood in front of me. A French braid pulled her hair back from her pretty oval face. My eyes immediately went to her ring.
She lifted her hand to give me a closer look. “It’s gorgeous, isn’t it?” She let out a happy sigh, her eyes going soft as she examined it for what was probably the thousandth time. “He did a perfect job of picking it out.”
“It looks good on you.”
And it did. The solitaire diamond in a platinum band had that sort of timeless, classic style perfectly suited to her.
“Do you mind if I sit?” she asked again, gesturing to the empty seat next to me.
Yes.
“No,” I said. Go ahead.”
She took a seat on the stool, not caring about the cracked leather with foam stuffing peeking out, or the bar’s sticky surface. Either she had gotten used to the place by now, or she really didn’t mind.
“Can I assume running into you isn’t a coincidence?” I asked.
She gave me a sympathetic look. “Gael called Jessie who called Morris who told me that you’d had a rough night.”
“You could say that.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
If I didn’t feel like talking to my own brother about it, I sure as hell didn’t want to talk to Morris’s fiancée.
“You don’t have to.” Natalie's eyes grew sad. “I just know how difficult it’s been for Morris recently. Especially today. I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.”
No. She couldn’t. Very few people could.
“I can do the talking, if you like,” she offered with a small smile. “It’s sort of my specialty.”
She’d come all the way and was sitting right next to me. I couldn’t very well say no without sounding like a bitch.
“What’s there to say?” I asked instead. “We all know what happened. We lost someone we loved. It was traumatic. But it’s been five years. We’ve worked through our issues. Today’s just harder than most. Tomorrow will be easier.”
“Have you?” she asked quietly
“Have I what?”
“Worked through your issues.”
I stared into my half-finished whiskey sour. The lemon floated in the drink, bobbing up and down. My trembling hand was making the glass shake. “I thought I had.”
But maybe I hadn’t. It seemed like every time something triggered my memory of Harper, I pushed it down or ignored it or ran away. I knew those were unhealthy coping mechanisms. Even after years, the wounds still hadn’t healed. Maybe they never would.
“I think Morris is right,” Natalie said.
“About what?”
“You should write a song together. About him. About Harper.”
“All my songs are about Harper.”
“Your songs are about pain and anger, grief and loss.”
“What else would they be about?”
“Love,” she said simply. ”Acceptance. Releasing all those feelings you’ve been suppressing and dealing with them.”
“Catharsis,” I murmured.
“Yes,” she nodded emphatically.
“I don’t know…” I said hesitantly.
“I’m sure your fans would love it,” she said encouragingly. “You’d probably get a lot of positive reviews.”
“Why does that matter?”
"Don't you want everyone talking about how great you and the band are?" She gave me a knowing look. "Don't you want to prove yourself to everyone?"
“You think you know me so well?”
“You’re not hard to read,” she said. “Everyone knows how hard you work. You push yourself and your band to your limits.”
“Since when is working hard a bad thing?”
“It’s not, if you’re doing it for the right reasons,” she said. “But maybe, you’re always focusing on your work, you’re always focusing something outside of yourself, because you want to try and forget about what’s going on inside of you.”
"What are you, my therapist?”
“I’m Morris’s girlfriend. Fiancée,” she corrected herself. “I’ve seen the same thing with him. He’s so dedicated to that youth center, to those kids. He wants to save them from the streets, like he couldn’t save Harper. It’s a coping mechanism.”
I went silent and thought about what she’d said.
Was I using my work to deflect my feelings? It was true I hadn’t had nightmares in years. Not since we’d started the band, really. I thought I was over it. I was so focused on hitting it big.
It wasn’t until I’d met Liam that all those old feelings began to rise to the surface. I hadn’t learned how to deal with them properly, so I dealt with them by
running away.
“Morris is so full of pain and anger and grief,” Natalie said. “Just like you. But he’s found a healthy outlet by helping these kids. He’s learned to face his demons head on. I don’t know if throwing yourself into your work to distract yourself is good for you in the long run. You’re not dealing with your problems. You’re suppressing them.”
I took a long pull of my drink to avoid having to respond.
Natalie was right. I thought I was over it. I thought I’d come to terms with Harper’s death.
But I’d only been ignoring my problems. Focusing on something else.
“Shit,” I cursed quietly. I put my head down on the bar, ignoring a sticky spot on my cheek and closing my eyes.
“It’s not too late,” Natalie said. “There are people out there who want to help you.”
“I've been to therapy. I learned all about breathing exercises and overcoming negative thought patterns."
“Therapy is always good," she nodded. “But it's not just that. You’ve got friends, family, loved ones who are more than willing to help you, talk with you, just be with you when you need someone. I know it helps Morris to have me to talk to during the bad days. You’ve got people who love you, too. You don’t need to handle this all by yourself.”
Loved ones.
My mind flashed to Liam.
I’d thought, maybe—
But after the way he’d acted…
“Why did he have to be such an ass?” I muttered.
Natalie blinked. “Who? Morris?”
“No.” I shook my head, but it was still face-planted on the bar, so all I managed to do was smear more sticky substance all over my cheek. “Liam.”
She made a thoughtful sound. “Morris mentioned something about that. I feel for the guy.”
I opened my eyes to squint at her. “Feel for him?”
“He doesn’t really like Morris. I get it. I used to be jealous of you, too.”
“Me?” I asked, surprised.
“Morris was always taking about his best friend Harper. I found a picture of all three of you. I thought Harper was a girl for the longest time. I thought she was you. It was really hard.” As she spoke, the words came out faster and faster, as if she couldn’t slow down. “It’s really hard being with someone who you think is still in love with someone else. Especially a loved one from the past. How do you possibly compete with that, when there’s so much history there?”
I’d never thought of it that way. I knew Liam was worried about me and Morris, but that was ridiculous. We were just friends.
But how could Liam know that for sure? We did have a history together. I had been sad at his engagement.
And Liam did have a history of loved ones leaving him for someone else. His mom had left and started a whole other family. His girlfriend had left him for his best friend.
Still. Accusing someone of cheating on you was horrible.
There were some issues you couldn't just get over.
35
I woke up the next morning with a pounding headache. It wasn't a hangover. I hadn't had enough to drink for that. It was from all the worrying and thinking and fretting. I'd barely made it home before dawn, having spent most of the night at Walt's.
Natalie had left soon after saying her piece, leaving me to absorb her words by myself. She no doubt sensed I wanted to be alone, so she hadn't stayed. She'd simply patted me on the back and wished me a good night.
A good night. I wouldn't have called the rest of my night good, but I hadn't wallowed in complete misery the entire time, so that was something.
When I slid out of bed and reached for my phone, I saw a dozen missed messages. Most were from Gael, but a handful were from Julian, along with a couple from Nathan and Seth. They were all variations on the same question.
Are you okay?
I didn't answer any of them. I didn't know how to answer them. Yes would have been a lie, although a reassuring one. But I didn't feel as emotionally destroyed as I'd felt the night before.
Natalie had given me lots to think over.
I'd just come out of the shower and pulled on some clothes when my phone flashed with a missed message notification. My heart jumped, wondering if it was Liam. He hadn't sent me a single message after I'd gotten into that taxi and left him.
But when I checked, I saw it was from Morris.
Meet me at the youth center, was all it said.
It had only been sent minutes before. I didn't bother asking what time.
I debated internally with myself. Morris could have wanted to talk about any number of things, and I didn't think I was up to any of them.
But after what Natalie had told me last night, I did want to see him.
Morris is so full of pain and anger and grief. Just like you.
I grabbed my bag and headed out.
When I got to the center, I knew exactly where to go. I found Morris in the music room, behind a drum set. The room was soundproof, but as I opened the door I was assaulted with heavy beats and crashes.
The music halted as I stepped in. Morris stood up. He nodded in greeting. Despite the painful aching in my heart, that small quirk of his lips made me smile in return.
"Sorry," he said. "I know this is last minute."
"I wasn't doing anything else."
That technically wasn't true. I was supposed to be at rehearsal. After the previous night Gael was probably half-expecting me to skip out anyway. I deserved one day off.
"Should I bother guessing what this is about?" I asked.
"You don't have to," Morris began.
"No," I cut him off with a shake of my head. "I think it's a good idea. That song. I want to write it. With you. About him."
"About Harper." The pain in Morris's voice matched the pain in my chest as he said the name out loud. "Thank you."
"No. I should thank you. You're right. It's a good idea. Maybe with this, I can finally deal with—" I paused. "Everything. Deal with all that shit I've been pushing aside for years."
"Me, too," Morris said quietly.
"I'll probably be rusty. I haven't composed with anyone else in years."
"It's like riding a bike," Morris said.
"Maybe."
"If it sucks, it sucks," he said simply. "No one has to hear it. This is for us."
"This is for him," I corrected.
"For all of three us, then."
"Gael will probably want to hear it, at least," I said.
"If it's good, he'll probably insist Cherry Lips perform it."
I winced. "I don't know if that would be a good idea."
Morris tilted his head at me. "Why not?"
"Liam—" My throat closed up.
"What about him?"
"I don't think he'd enjoy performing a song like that. A song about Harper. A song composed by both of us."
"I think he would," Morris said.
"You don't know what went down. He…" I trailed off, not wanting to get into it.
"He was jealous of me," Morris said, surprising me. "He thought you were in love with me. He found out how wrong he'd been. Now he feels like shit."
My brow furrowed. "How do you know all that?"
"Liam called me."
I started. "What?"
"He called me," Morris repeated. "Told me everything."
"Why the hell would he do that?"
"To apologize." Morris came out from around the drum set and put his hands on my shoulders, making me look at him. "This was his idea."
"What was?"
"Us writing this song together. I could tell you didn't want to. I wasn't going to push. But Liam convinced me. Told me we should work together. Insisted, even. He said he knew how much I meant to you. How much you were still hurting. He knew I was the only person who would understand."
That speech was the most I'd heard Morris speak at once. The thought that Liam would go so far as to call him threw me off balance. To insist we work on a song together was both disconcerting a
nd heart warming.
Liam was trying, in his own way, to prove he was sorry. To prove he trusted me.
"You want to get started?" Morris asked.
I nodded slowly. "Sure. Let's do it."
Morris got his messenger bag and pulled some sheets of music paper along with two pencils. A piece of card stock fell out along with the papers. Morris picked it up and began to shove it back into the bag.
I recognized it.
"Where did you get that?" I asked.
"This?" Morris examined the card. "A guy I know in the industry is getting married. Nat and I got an invitation a few days ago."
"Chad Emmerson?" I guessed.
"I suppose you would know him. He was in Liam's old band."
And his fiancée, Paula, was Liam's old girlfriend.
A sudden understanding blew through my chest.
Liam had received the wedding invitation between his ex-girlfriend and former best friend just days before he'd seen me hugging Morris.
"Shit," I cursed out loud.
Morris raised an eyebrow. "Something wrong?"
"No. Just—"
No wonder Liam had been so upset. No wonder he'd jumped to conclusions. He'd probably been trying to put the whole thing behind him for years, just like I'd been trying to run from Harper's death.
Then he'd received their wedding invitation and all those old wounds had ripped open.
Liam said he'd been dealing with a lot of shit. Of course. It made sense now.
It really hadn't been about me and Morris.
It had been about him and his ex.
For once, it had been about his pain, his hurt, and not mine.
Among everything else that had been going on, I'd forgotten that I wasn't the only one who'd been hurt.
I wasn't the only one who'd experienced loss.
36
Morris and I worked on the song for most of the day. It was as heart wrenching as I'd imagined it would be, but it was also something of a relief.
Through the music, through the lyrics, I was able to express all the things I hadn't been able to say out loud.
I came home and immediately flopped into sofa, worn out, exhausted, but with my heart feeling lighter than it had in years. The song wasn't done yet, but it was a start. We'd continue working on it until we got it right.
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