Love and the Silver Lining

by Tammy L. Gray

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, like it will make any difference.

  “You said you were upset. What happened?”

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  He glances up from his task, his eyes hard. “And I don’t want to be bandaging up a dog bite right now. But here I am.”

  Since it’s obvious I’m not going to get out of this conversation, I give him the quick version. “I got into a fight with my best friend, and he said some pretty horrible things.”

  He cuts the medical tape and presses the end to my skin, finishing the job. “This the same best friend who’s also in Black Carousel?” When my eyes show my surprise, he continues, “Bryson’s talked to me a little about the situation. He wanted my advice.”

  “And?”

  “It sounds like it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  I shake my head. “No, I guess it doesn’t.”

  “So, what did he say?”

  I drop my chin, a surge of anger coming back so fierce I want to scream. “Nothing I want to repeat.”

  Charlie crosses his arms, continuing to assess my body language like I’m feeding the story without saying a word. “I recognize this anger. Bryson had it for years before he finally dealt with the root issue.”

  I grind my teeth, too afraid that if I speak, it will only come out in curses and screams.

  He squeezes my shoulder cautiously, like a father with an estranged child. “It’s a slippery slope, letting these feelings fester. Kind of like Penny over there, you end up taking your anger out on everyone else instead of dealing with the one person who caused it.”

  I think of my parents and know Charlie’s right. I’ve avoided and coped and stayed away, but I haven’t dealt with any of my feelings toward them. I swallow down the ache and push off the sink, refusing to look at the man who just pegged my issues to an alarmingly accurate degree. “I’m going to go check on Louie and make sure he’s not hurt.”

  I’m almost to the door when Charlie responds. “This may not seem as bad as trying to drink away your problems, but, Darcy—” I look at him, and his eyes hold the wisdom that comes with seventy years of life—“burying the anger is just as dangerous.”

  It’s dark by the time I pull into Bryson’s driveway again, yet it’s taken me this long to get all the raging emotions under control. I stayed with Louie until he stopped barking, a chore that took nearly thirty minutes. I spent another thirty petting him until finally he seemed docile and relaxed. Then I drove. Nowhere at first, but then I ended up on I-35 heading north toward Dallas.

  My dad lives in a two-bedroom, fifteen-hundred-square-foot, ridiculously expensive apartment near Richardson. I’ve been there once . . . the day he took me for a tour of the area, spouting on and on about the benefits of not having to commute anymore. It was the same week my parents signed legal documents ending thirty-five years of marriage, and the last time I’ve spoken to him.

  When his exit came, I took the turnaround and headed right back south.

  Charlie was right about the anger festering. I’d been feeding an untamed monster for far too long. Stuffing it down until I hit the breaking point. And now, like with Penny, the aftermath is a mess for me to clean up.

  I ease out of my truck, unsure what to expect to find. Bryson was mad before I left. Who knows what I’m walking into now? I close my eyes and knock on the door. I’d come here earlier because I wanted reassurance. Funny, I stand here now, feeling the exact same way.

  No answer comes, but I know he’s home. His truck is in the driveway, and I can hear music through the door. I turn the knob and enter, uninvited.

  The living room is still set up for practice, even though Bryson is the only one here, sitting on a folding chair and strumming chords with focused aggravation. I know he hears me come in, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t even stop to acknowledge my presence.

  I take a tentative step forward, unfamiliar with the tightness in my chest. I’ve seen Bryson this detached before, but never with me, even before we were, well, whatever we’ve been until today. “Hey.”

  His eyes lock onto mine and it seems there’s no air in the universe. His stare reveals nothing; cold, calm, dead. Time stretches impossibly. And right when I finally find the courage to say more than a fumbling hello, he looks down at his fingers, strums a chord, and then mashes his hand against the strings to stop the vibration. “I guess I should have locked the door.”

  There’s another chair close by. I pull it near his and sit down. Maybe if we’re at the same level, he won’t feel so far away. “You’re angry.”

  “Oh, I passed angry a while ago. About the same time my girlfriend drove off without a word to me.” He strums again, a clear indication he doesn’t want to continue our conversation.

  “I’m sorry. Everything got so heated, things were said . . .” I swallow down the sickness in my stomach. “You’re right, though. I shouldn’t have left that way.”

  He snorts in agreement but still doesn’t stop picking at his guitar strings.

  I reach out to touch his hand. A mistake. His physical rejection of my touch is as sharp as his verbal ones have been. I sigh, frustrated, and put my hand back in my lap. “I wish you’d at least look at me.”

  That gets his attention. His head jerks up, his stare icy. “You know what I wish? I wish for once you cared about my feelings as much as you do Cam’s.” He aggressively tugs off his guitar and stands. “I wish my walls were thicker than a sheet of paper so I wouldn’t have had to listen to a complete annihilation of my character. But mostly I wish you had said one thing, just one, to defend me out there.”

  His words wash over me, and I feel sick with myself. Sick with the viciousness of Cameron’s words—with how little I did to stand up for Bryson. “I didn’t realize you heard us.”

  “Cameron wasn’t exactly whispering, was he.” He shoves agitated fingers through his hair. “Do you believe him?” When I don’t answer immediately, he turns his back to me and stares out the dark window. “Of course you do. I was a fool to think it would ever be otherwise.”

  “So you didn’t take a girl to your room that night?”

  He spins back around, his jaw tight. I can almost see the explanation blazing in his eyes, but he holds back. “Would you trust my word over his if I said no?”

  “I’d like to think I would.”

  “Funny. I’d like to think you would, too, but I don’t.” He works his jaw back and forth like he’s having an argument with himself. Finally, he says, “Yes, I did take a girl to my room. She was an old friend from high school who happened to be in town. She stayed thirty minutes. We reminisced a little and then I hugged her goodbye. Any more details you need?”

  I look down at my fingers, relief slamming into me.

  “I’m not that guy, Darcy. I never have been. Something you of all people should know, considering what didn’t happen in your room the night of the concert.”

  “I know you’re not.” And I did know, yet the doubt Cameron planted is still creeping up inside.

  “Then why are you still looking at me like that?”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you did the day I moved you into Zoe’s. Like I’m some kind of parasite out to destroy the people you love.”

  I hesitate, desperately wishing I could just trust Bryson’s motives. Yet, even my father, the one man I thought to be above all reproach, found a way to lie to me. “The girl in your room wasn’t Cameron’s only accusation. Did you . . .” My throat is suddenly sand, and I realize I don’t want him to tell me. My heart can’t handle another crushing blow. And yet, not knowing is a fate I can’t live with. “Did you use our relationship to try to get him to leave the band?”

  He takes a step back as if my words are a shot and not a question. “You’re really asking me that?”

  “I have to.” My voice is faint and weak, part of me recognizing I’m being completely unfair.

  “No, you don’t. You should have enough faith in me
to answer it all by yourself.” He stares at me for a long time, saying nothing, waiting to see if I’ll take the question back. When I don’t, he finally answers. “Darcy, if I wanted him out, he’d be out. End of story.” He shakes his head, his breath hitching in disbelief. “I have spent the summer pouring my heart out to you, opening up about things I never talk about, all to show you who I am. He spends five minutes spewing pure hatred, and I’m the one in question here?” Bryson dips his chin, his eyes locked on the floor. “You know what? Forget it. I won’t defend myself to you, not when I’ve given you no reason to doubt me.”

  “You’re right. You haven’t. I’m sorry,” I say, lowering my head into my hands. “I’ve screwed everything up so bad today. You. Penny.” I rub my temples, the throb from earlier coming in sharp, penetrating jabs.

  “What happened to your hand?”

  I jerk my head up and examine the bandage he’s only now seeing. “It was an accident. She didn’t mean to bite me.”

  “Wow, even a dog has more loyalty from you than I do.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say again, completely at a loss as to how to break through this new layer of uncertainty between us. I’ve been spoiled. Up until now, he’s given me everything I’ve asked for—honesty, trust, affection, forgiveness. Now he stands in front of me, a shell of who he was only hours ago. “Bryson.” Finally he meets my eyes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  For one moment, there’s a flash of the guy I was only beginning to get to know. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “Yes, it does.” I rise from my chair and try again to get close to him. “Tell me what to say so I can fix this between us.”

  “You can’t fix it.” His voice holds more heartbreak than anger, though it’s clear there’s both. “Your words are meaningless when your actions continue to reaffirm a truth I haven’t wanted to accept. I watched you two out there, and you don’t get that kind of passion between two people unless they love each other.”

  “Of course we love each other. We’ve been best friends for nearly thirty years!”

  “That wasn’t the reaction of a worried best friend. If it were, I could live with it and even respect it. That was the reaction of a man who just had his heart ripped out.” He throws his arms out and growls, “When are you going to open your eyes? He’s been in love with you since he was eighteen years old. And not the surface kind. The deep, longing kind that has enabled him to stuff down his feelings year after year on the sheer hope that one day you will love him back.”

  Now I want to pull out my hair. “Why does it always come back to this? I’ve told you repeatedly that I don’t have romantic feelings for Cam.”

  “Call it whatever you want to, but there’s still something there. He’s the first one you run to when you’re upset. He finds his way into every single conversation we have. He’s here between us, Darcy, and has been since we were kids.” He laces his fingers on top of his head and presses his lips together. “I won’t be Tuck. I’m not going to sit here in denial, holding my heart in my hands, until one day you finally wake up and realize what all of us already know.”

  “So that’s it? One misunderstanding and we’re over.”

  “This isn’t a misunderstanding.” His voice turns cold. “You walked out on me—twice. For him.”

  We stand there, eyes locked on each other, at a complete impasse. “This is how you do it.” A sob rises up my throat. “You cut people out of your life and then turn around and make them feel like it’s their fault.”

  “I didn’t want this.”

  “Well, neither did I.” I turn away, blinking, trying to make sense of what’s happening.

  “Darcy.” He says it like I’m physically hurting him. “What else can I do?”

  “Anything but this.” I rush back, cradle his face and drag him closer, our foreheads touching, our breaths mingling. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, and the apology throbs the air between us.

  His arms circle around my waist, holding me tight as if every second spent in this embrace will erase time. “Okay,” he finally says, and my heart leaps back into place. His hold loosens and he looks at me, tired creases at the corners of his eyes. “I’ll once again deny every one of my instincts and try to move forward with us . . . on one condition.” He pauses, and I know whatever he’s about to say is nonnegotiable. “I won’t share your heart with another man. If you and I have any chance of making it, your friendship with him has to change.”

  My stomach crawls into my throat and I pull free of his embrace. “Change how?”

  His lips tighten because we both know he means end, not change.

  I shake my head, refusing to hear what he’s demanding. “You’re asking too much.”

  “Maybe I am. But that’s where I stand.”

  A million thoughts collide in my mind. A thousand emotions, all of them hinging on the hope that if he would just listen to me, he’d see he doesn’t have to do this. I work to calm my nerves, but my voice still comes out shaky. “Bryson, it doesn’t have to be so black and white. We can find a middle ground. I’ll do better. I’ll put up clearer boundaries this time.”

  His eyes darken. “You asked what you could do to fix it; I’m telling you.”

  “No, you’re giving me an ultimatum.”

  “I’m giving you a choice,” he snaps back before taking a breath to calm down. “The same one I made when I got you Zoe’s apartment and again when I kissed you, and I’ll keep choosing you over and over again. Because it’s easy. Because you mean more than Black Carousel ever has.” Hurt leaks through his voice, and I know it’s because I can’t tell him the same thing.

  “But I would never ask you to give them up for me.”

  A reply stills on his lips as if I punched the air from his argument, then he angrily runs his hands through his hair. “Darcy, there is no reality where the three of us happily coexist. He. Is. In. Love. With. You.” Bryson’s words come out in tight, emphatic clips. “This means every moment you spend together is driven by an ulterior motive. One I cannot live with as your boyfriend.” He drops his hands and looks straight at me, his voice growing rough. “Just look at the damage he did in one moment. I thought we had crossed a threshold together. That we were moving forward into a new place of trust and openness and mutual respect. Now, just hours later, you’ve questioned my morals and my integrity, all because he told you to.”

  “Bryson, I admit I messed up. I doubted you and I shouldn’t have, but my trust issues run deeper than just Cameron.”

  “Maybe so, but I can’t forget the things he said or the obvious influence it has on your feelings for me. It will haunt me every time you’re together, and that will ruin us.” He sighs, his sadness contagious, and an ache falls over me. “Do you want to know the real reason why I didn’t tell you about the tour? Because I never once thought we’d make it that far. I’ve known this entire time that Cameron was going to lose his mind when he found out we were together. I’ve just been waiting for the blowup.”

  “If that’s true, then why did you let me think it would work? Why even agree to wait?”

  “Because you weren’t ready to let go of him, and I wasn’t ready to let go of you.” He reaches up, his knuckles tracing the line of my jaw. “I guess I hoped that if you had enough time, then maybe when we got to this point, you’d actually choose me.” The air hangs heavy between us, and for a second I see that seventeen-year-old boy, bracing himself for rejection, all while hoping it doesn’t come. And then just as quickly, the tenderness recedes from his eyes. The boy disappears, hardened and ready for the inevitable truth. I can’t do what he’s asking me to, and he knows it. “But that isn’t what’s going to happen, is it?”

  “Bryson . . .” I feel crippled with loss, unable to say what I need to in order to stop this insanity.

  “You don’t have to explain. This one’s on me. I knew better.” His expression betrays no emotion except the glisten in his eyes, but it’s enough to hollow me out. He walks
to his door and pulls it open. “It’s late. You should go home.”

  There will be no kisses goodbye, no promises of next-day phone calls, no teasing laughter. If I walk out that door, it’s over. But if I don’t, I’m making a promise I can’t live with. Not yet. Maybe not ever.

  thirty

  Saturday comes like a baseball bat against the face. My hand throbs, my heart aches, and since I’m skipping the adoption fair, I now have no real excuse for missing my father’s barbecue.

  I struggle to sit up in bed, the bright sun shining through my windows. I should have bought curtains. Dark ones. Ones that would respect a person’s need to wallow in misery.

  Wet doggy kisses assault my face while little paws prance on my chest. I guess the lack of curtains isn’t my only issue.

  “You win, Piper. I’m getting up.” I slide my legs over the mattress as Piper leaps off the bed, on the bed, and off again. “My goodness. Okay. I get it. You need to go outside.”

  She bolts to the front door the minute my bedroom door is cracked and barks excitedly.

  “I’m coming. I’m coming.” There’s a pretty good chance I look like the Bride of Frankenstein this morning, but my neighbors will just have to deal with it.

  I tie my robe around my waist, and just when I’m about to reach the door, Zoe comes barreling inside, nearly sending Piper across the room. Good thing my little dog is quick.

  “Liam broke up with me,” she says, dropping her overnight bag onto the floor. Besides traces of her in the laundry room and kitchen, Zoe’s been a ghost since the couple got together. “He said I was ‘too young’ for him. Please.” She rolls her eyes. “He eats dinner at five o’clock, watches the news for exactly one hour, and says alcohol gives him a headache. I’m too young? The guy is practically geriatric at twenty-seven.” She crosses her arms and studies me. “You look terrible, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I say dryly and return to my task before poor Piper has an accident on Zoe’s wood floors.

  Zoe jumps in front of me and unhooks the leash by the door. “I’ll take her. You . . . go shower or something.”