Liza didn’t flinch when I told her about Cole. It’s the first time I spoke about it to someone, and I was bothered that she had no reaction. I guess that’s the point of a therapist—unbiased opinion. She did mention that I would, one day, be ready to move on with my life and that could include another man. She wisely left out any names.
I crossed my arms and puffed, and she simply smiled. I hate that she’s so nice.
I sip from my glass of wine as I wait for my dinner to warm up. Nothing beats lasagna from our local market. After I eat, I take Dixie out for a walk instead of the usual backyard bathroom break. The fresh air swirls around me, cooling and calming me. I wrap my arms around my body as I hold the leash and guide Dixie down the sidewalk.
A million different scenarios for my meeting with Wendy cross my mind. One where we cry our eyes out as we remember our husbands. One where she’s over it and judges me for holding on to Josh. One where I bail and don’t show up. It could go so many ways, and the last option seems more and more plausible.
Olivia thought it was a good idea when I told her. She thinks talking to someone experiencing the same sort of loss would be helpful.
I can only help you so much, but I don’t know exactly how you’re feeling, she told me when we spoke earlier. No one knows what I’m feeling. We all mourn differently, but I do think it would be nice to talk to someone who won’t judge me, because they’ve been in my shoes. Who knows?
Instead of making it home to change before meeting Wendy, I have to rush over straight from work due to a meeting running longer than necessary. I open the doors to the restaurant and see her sitting at one of the front tables. I was afraid I wouldn’t recognize her after all these months, but the memory of a mourning Army wife stays with you forever.
“Hey, sorry I’m late,” I breathe out. I then chuckle. “Who am I kidding? I’m always late, but I am sorry.”
Wendy laughs. “It’s okay. I know work and traffic can be a hassle sometimes. How are you?” Her question is full of meaning.
Seated on the wooden chair, I smile. “I’m doing okay. I’m sure you know how it is. How about you?”
“Same. It’s been a tough adjustment. Brett’s doing okay. At first, he asked about his daddy, but he’s young still so…”
I nod. Kids are different. Their memories don’t last as long as ours when they’re so young. I know Charlie was away more than he was home. Unfortunately, not having him around is normal for Brett.
“That must be hard,” I say.
“It is, but life must go on, right?” She smiles softly.
“Yeah, I guess.”
We both order cocktails, justifying that we are celebrating our husbands and more than wine is required.
“So, tell me how you’re really doing,” Wendy says. “I’ve been meaning to call you, but between Brett and my own stuff, I kept forgetting. He started kindergarten this year. That was tough—dropping him off without Charlie. Knowing I couldn’t send Charlie pictures of Brett’s first day. Instead, I went to his grave and told him all about it. It helped.”
I bite my lower lip and nod. I haven’t even gone to visit Josh. My eyes water, but I manage to keep the tears from falling.
“I’m… you know.” I shrug. “I started seeing a grief counselor and she’s helping. I bought a puppy, which has been a blessing.”
“That’s a great idea.”
“Besides that, I haven’t been able to do much. Only recently I started spending time with my best friend again. I’ve gone out a couple times,” I add.
“It’s tough, Bri, but the best we can do is continue with our lives.”
I blink a few times. “Have you been able to?”
“In a way. It helps to have Brett because I can’t spend my days crying. I have a human depending on me to take care of him. The hardest was cleaning up all of Charlie’s stuff, but even that was therapeutic.”
“I haven’t been able to do that,” I confess.
“Oh, Bri. It’ll help. I promise. I know it’s difficult, and I kept a couple things I refused to get rid of. Everything else I donated. What girl doesn’t want a huge walk-in closet for herself?” she jokes.
“That’s the dream,” I respond lightly. However, I’d give away all my clothes and shoes to have Josh back in my life.
“Blogging has helped me.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. I didn’t realize how healing it would be to share my emotions with people. I’ve had other Army wives reach out to me. Some who have lost their husbands and others who fear that reality.”
“Wow. That’s brave. A friend mentioned art therapy and I brushed it off.”
“You should try it. What does it hurt, right? So you lose a night painting on a canvas. Let’s be real, you’d probably spend it crying at home.” She gives me a pointed look. Spot on. “And maybe you’ll meet a cute guy, so long as he isn’t crazy,” she teases.
“Oh, no. I’m not there yet, Wendy.”
“It’s weird, isn’t it? Not being with them anymore,” she leans forward and whispers.
“Yeah.” I swallow back my emotions.
“My friends teased me, trying to get me to go out with their husbands’ friends. I’m not ready, though.”
“Me either. I can’t think about being with someone else.” Cole slips into my mind, but I can’t blame myself for that. I never dragged him along for this rollercoaster ride. He willingly climbed on, sans-seatbelt, and without my permission at first.
“You’re still young.”
“Come on, Wendy, so are you.” She can’t be more the three years older than me.
“Yeah, but I’ve got a son.” She looks away. I realize in this moment that Brett is a blessing and a burden. He keeps her moving, but he’s also a constant reminder that will always be present.
“Hey, thankfully you have a son. Josh and I were going to start trying when he got back.” I sniffle. “He was so excited to be a father.”
Wendy smiles.
“But, life happens, right?” I continue.
“It does. And you know what? God made us strong enough to survive it.”
“Hell, I’ll drink to that.” I raise my glass.
“Cheers,” Wendy says.
Wendy tells me more about her blog. I promise to check it out. Her words might help me, too. It’s comforting to talk to her, knowing she’s experienced the same loss as me. I can be more candid and vulnerable without feeling weak.
After dinner, we make plans to meet up again soon.
“Make sure to check out that art therapy class. It might be exactly what you’re looking for,” Wendy suggests.
“I might. Thank you.” I give her a hug and head home, exhausted.
My head in my hands, I yank my hair from my roots.
“Shut up! Everyone just shut up,” I yell.
I look up to see five pair of eyes staring at me. The last two weeks have been a disaster, and I don’t want to deal with today’s bullshit.
“Nothing happened. You want me to stand in front of an audience and tell the whole fucking world that I didn’t fuck that whore?”
“Cole,” Peyton warns.
“No, Peyton. I’m tired. I’m tired of this crap.” I point to the stupid picture on the computer screen. Damn Blondie wanted her revenge for my rejection. As I imagined, that chick from the billiards bar knew who I was and was setting me up for a big paparazzi payout.
Off to some gossip site she skipped to give a juicy interview of what didn’t happen. Deceitfully, she used one of the images that looked like I was into her and sent it to this magazine.
Hot Rendezvous with a Drummer.
That’s what they titled it. So cheesy. Usually, we let things like this die down with time, unless it’s Cash or Ryder and it includes cheating accusations.
“You’re the one who wanted this erased,” Peyton claims. “If you had me call Vivian to come clean this up, you better man up and listen.”
Shit. Peyton’s pissed.
“Nothing happened.”
“But with your reput—” Vivian says.
“Nothing happened.” I clench my jaw. “I didn’t fuck her. She didn’t blow me. Hell, as soon as her hand tried to cop a feel, I tore it away.”
“Damn,” Ryder mumbles.
“You got a problem?” I glare at him.
“Nope.”
“Then, let’s let it die down. By the end of the week, no one will care about this.”
“I care,” I growl at Peyton. “I haven’t even had sex in months,” I explode. The room silences.
“Maybe that’s the problem,” Jason says under his breath.
“Fuck you.” I charge toward him, but Cash catches me before I can hit him.
“Enough,” he says with authority. “We know what the real problem is.” His eyes are burning into mine. “Pey, Vivian, do what you can to make this disappear,” Cash instructs while still looking at me. “Cole, you’re coming with me. We gotta talk.”
So much for a peaceful recording session.
I follow Cash out of the studio and wait for him to lead.
“Remember when we were on tour with Tyler after Olivia dumped me?”
“Yeah.”
“And I tackled Jason? You guys told me to get a grip and act like a man.”
I nod.
“You’re acting just like that. The guys aren’t going to sympathize with you like they did with me because you were never in a relationship with Bri. You said some things; she knows how you feel. It’s done. You can’t change it, and acting like a pissy teenage girl ain’t gonna help.”
“Fuck, man.”
“Listen, I get it. But maybe you aren’t supposed to be the hero in her life.” Cash shrugs apologetically.
“I just wanna make her happy.”
“I know, but Bri needs time. None of us know what she’s going through and pushing her isn’t smart. She’s gotta take the time to grieve him. Take a step back and let her do her thing.”
“I don’t have a choice but to.”
“Yeah.” Cash claps my shoulder. “Now let’s go make some music.”
“’Kay.”
“Beer?” Ryder asks as we leave the studio.
“I’m down,” Jason responds.
“Yep. Mind if I tell Liv to meet us?” Cash asks.
“Nah.” Jason shakes his head.
“I’ll let Jen know, also,” Ryder quickly adds. “How ‘bout you?” He nods toward me.
“I think I’m just gonna go home.” I scratch the back of my neck.
“Fuck that,” Jason says. “All you’re gonna do at home is wallow. You’re coming.”
I don’t bother arguing. The three will gang up on me, and I’ll end up going. No need to waste my energy on that. Instead, I jump in my car and drive.
“So you really haven’t slept with anyone in months?” Ryder asks as we sit at a table in a sports bar. Pre-game talks are on the TVs in preparation for Monday Night Football, and the after-work crowd is lingering around.
“No,” I bite. I rather not talk about it. I haven’t found anyone remotely interesting since way before Ryder and Jen’s wedding. No matter the type of woman that would approach me, I just wasn’t feeling it. I know a lot of that had to do with Bri and the knowledge of what she was going through. Also, that damn piece of hope that this could be my chance.
Cash is right; I’m not the hero in her story. I’m no one—a secondary character that occasionally appears on her pages.
I should channel these emotions into a song. It’d make Cash happy to sing my corny lines.
“Hey, guys,” Olivia says as she approaches our table.
“Hey,” we all greet her.
I avoid contact with her as much as possible, keeping my eyes to the opposite side of the bar and sipping my beer. When Jen arrives, I say a quick hello and continue staring at the TV as if I cared at all about the San Francisco 49ers.
The only thing I care about is how Bri’s doing. I shouldn’t have shown up at her place and said all I did that night. The beer drove me to her house, but I willingly took the lead. She has enough to deal with, and it wasn’t right of me to tell her to just get over it. I’m a douche for doing that. I haven’t even dared ask Cash how she’s doing, for fear that he’ll say she hates me.
I’ve replayed that afternoon in my mind too many times. Doesn’t help that I pissed Olivia off. She was right, I promised her I wouldn’t hurt Bri and I did exactly that.
“Cole?” I look away from the TV and my thoughts and turn to look at Olivia. “Do you want another beer?”
“I’ll get it,” I say and stand. My entire body is too heavy. I’m exhausted from feeling sorry for myself, and angry for what I said to Bri. It’s been driving me crazy for two weeks with no sign of it lessening. I’d gotten to used to seeing her. I even miss that damn dog. But she was never mine to console.
By the end of the week, the somewhat normal quiet we had was disrupted. Peyton was right; no one would care about that stupid interview. People were too busy buzzing with the possibility that we would be performing at a few events, including on Music Unplugged, a singing competition in Los Angeles. It won’t be bus life like when we tour, but we will be traveling to a few places over the next months.
That will be distracting at least.
“What are you up to?” Jason asks as he plunges onto the couch next to me. He lifts one leg on the ottoman in front of us.
“Nothing.”
“Listen, you’re like a brother to me, so I’m gonna say this. Let her go.”
“I’m trying.”
“You’re not. You’re doing the same shit she’s doing with Josh. It’s a never-ending cycle.” Jason looks at me with pity. “I’m not saying to go grab the first chick you see and fuck her, but try being happy. Forget what happened. Yeah, it sucks that she knows how you feel, but that doesn’t have to be a bad thing. You opened up, and hell, it’s about time someone gets you to do that.”
“I always knew she was unavailable.” I shake my head.
“Tormenting yourself isn’t gonna help. Let’s focus on what we have coming up with the band. And hey, no one thinks you’re some piece of shit guy that wouldn’t be good enough for her. That’s all up here.” He taps my head. “I’m gonna go get ready for Riot.”
Not wanting to talk about it anymore, I nod and watch whatever movie is playing on TV before getting ready myself. I need my head clear for our performance at Riot tonight. Once we begin traveling, we’ll have to hit pause on these shows, and Riot is one of my favorite places. It’s where it all began—four crazy boys with the dream of becoming country stars one day. That day came and went, but we’ll always stay true to our roots.
After the show, Olivia walks up to me all smiles. I try hard not to scowl.
“Hey, Cole. How are you doing?” Her eyes are soft, and I curse her for being so sweet.
“I’m all right, Liv.”
“I’m sorry I got so pissed at you,” she apologizes.
“It’s okay. I messed up and deserved it.” It’s the truth.
“No,” she shakes her head. “You know I love you, but she’s my best friend.”
“I get it, Liv. Promise. No hard feelings.”
“Thing is, I know she eventually needs to move on. I’ve given her the space she needs and she’s much better at reaching out to me lately. What I’m trying to say is, I know you’d take care of her, if that were the case.”
I smile and hug Olivia. I know beneath her tough act she’s a great person. “Love you, too. Everything will be okay.”
“I know it will. I just want everyone to be happy. Bri has to start doing normal things again at some point, right?”
“I guess so. Who knows?” I shrug.
“You’re a good friend, Cole. Thank you for being there for her when I wasn’t.”
“Come on, it’s all good. I was happy to do it. Now, let’s get a drink and leave all this mushy talk for another time.”
Olivia laughs
and nods. The night runs a little smoother than the last time we all got together. Although I wish Bri were here, I’ve accepted that she needs to do her thing and get her life on track on her own. It sucks that she knows how I feel, but I wasn’t lying about what I said. All I can do is pray she finds her happiness one day. For her sake.
To say that these last few weeks have been confusing would be an understatement. Ever since I first met with Wendy, I’ve had all different thoughts taking over. Reading some of her blog posts helped to put things into perspective.
Wendy is so honest and brutal on her blog. Although I was reading about her pain, it was also so inspiring and strong. I couldn’t believe this woman was dealing with her husband’s death, raising their child, and finding the strength to remain optimistic through it all.
Though Charlie was the love of my life, and losing him was the biggest heartbreak I’ve endured, I know that our bond is eternal. I’ll see him again when I reach God’s glory, but until then I have a life to live on this planet. I have my child, and I want him to know of a mother who is strong and empowered. I have friends who care about me and family that loves me. I’ve got a life to live, and I know Charlie would be proud to see me live it.
I wondered if she wrote that to make herself believe it or if she truly felt it. From the feel of the rest of her posts, this is what she believes.
The second time we got together, she asked if I had looked into the art class and I shook my head. I was disappointed having to tell her no, but I have no idea what good going to some art therapy for abused women would do for me.
Of course, Liza was familiar with the clinic when I told her about it and encouraged me to go.
Now, I’m standing in front of a glass building just outside of downtown Nashville staring at the name, Eloise Center. I considered telling Olivia to get me an appointment with Mikayla, but I chickened out, unsure if I’d actually show and not wanting to let anyone down.
Yet, here I am. I open the door and walk in. A floral aroma instantly hits me followed by a smoky scent. I approach the woman standing behind a table.
“Hello,” my voice shakes. This must be Sam if my memory serves me right.
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