thirty-five
I’m beginning to see the cycle in my roommate’s dating ritual. It starts with phone calls, and then her mood picks up and she practically dances through the apartment. Calls turn into dates, which turn into Zoe disappearing because she’s a big fan of the overnight stay. Days or weeks later, she’s back, her heart slightly bruised, until new calls start the process all over again.
We’re in the giddy stage right now.
“How’s Charlie doing?” she asks, plopping on the couch next to me, nail polish in one hand and her phone in the other.
“Better. He’s still in ICU, so they won’t let me see him yet since I’m not family. I’m going to try again tomorrow.”
“That’s good.” She leans over and carefully puts a foam separator between her toes. “Got any big plans for tonight?”
“You mean besides watching TV and going to bed early? No.” Which I have a feeling will be the new normal in my life. Cameron has been radio silent since he stormed out, and Bryson’s truck was gone when I went to check on Louie this morning. I guess he called someone else to take him home from the hospital, someone he obviously prefers more than me right now. Probably Jay or Harrison. After all, the biggest break of their career is happening tonight.
Turns out there was one more option besides my choosing between a best friend and a boyfriend. Me . . . all alone.
I brush off the sadness, refusing to fall back into the depressive state I’ve been in most of the summer. Charlie is alive. Everything else in my life is inconsequential comparatively. “What about you?” Though based on the freshly shaved legs and bright polish, I’m sure her plans are not the same as mine.
“The hottie from your dad’s party is taking me out.” She winks. “Thanks, by the way.”
I think back to the barbecue, trying to figure out the appeal. Sure, he was nice to look at shirtless, but he was also inconsiderate to my dad and definitely not the brightest bear in the clan. “That guy is a waste of your time.”
Her head pops up, and she genuinely looks confused. “What do you mean?”
“All he talked about was biking and running and mountain climbing.”
“So?”
“So . . . your idea of working out is shopping for the best booty-shaping leggings. You two have nothing in common.”
Zoe snickers. “I guarantee he’ll like the leggings as much as I do.”
I groan. Sometimes it’s like talking to a wall. “I’m being serious.” I pull my right leg up onto the couch so I can fully turn and look at her. “You always know exactly what these guys want in a girl and try for however long you can stand it to be that person. But have you ever stopped to consider what you want in a partner?”
Her hand freezes mid-stroke of painting red on her second toe. “Not really.”
“Well, maybe that’s what we need to do first. Give me three things, besides their looks, that you would find attractive.”
Zoe stays quiet, but I can tell she’s at least trying to come up with an answer. I guess it makes sense that she doesn’t know right away. She’s probably never bothered to ask. “Cooking, I suppose. It would be nice if the guy liked to cook.”
“Okay. That’s something.” Not quite as deep as I was hoping for, but a start. “What about the guy’s character?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I hope he’s a good guy.” She laughs, embarrassed. “What do you want? Like, what was it about Bryson that made you finally say yes?”
Pain seizes my chest, but it’s a fair question and brings an easy answer. “He’s loyal and dedicated. To Charlie and to you. He loves passionately, even though he’s spent most of his life not being loved back. He has integrity. He says what he feels and doesn’t play games.” I blink back a new round of tears and look down at my fingers. “I liked that he challenged me and pushed me out of my comfort zone. And yeah, Bryson has always been easy on the eyes, but when he’s soft and vulnerable, I think he’s quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen.”
I stop, even though there are pages more I could give her. But to continue means I’ll have to relive yesterday over again, because the image of him begging me to leave him alone is now what’s lodged in my mind.
“Anyway . . .” I look back at Zoe and force a smile. She’s abandoned her nail polish and is now listening with focused attention. I don’t miss the opportunity. “The point is that you need to stop letting these guys choose you as if you’re lucky to have them. Zoe, you are kind and generous and beautiful—in here.” I point to my heart. “You are special. You are a catch, and you need to start choosing someone of equal value to be a part of that. And trust me, it’s not going to be some dim-witted jock who had to ask me my name three times.”
“You’re right,” she says with conviction, and in a way I’ve never heard her express. “We both deserve to be with men who love and appreciate us.” She gets up and texts something on her phone. “Done. Date’s canceled.”
Wow. She actually took my advice. “That’s great, Zoe. Good for you.”
“And now that I’m available again, we’re going out.”
I should have known there would be a catch. “I’m in no mood. Really. Yesterday was literally the worst day of my life. And considering the year I’ve had, that is saying a lot.”
“Too bad. You owe me.” She raises her brows, and it’s clear I’m not getting out of this. “I went to your dad’s party when I wanted to sulk, and now because of your little motivational speech there, I have nothing to do on a Friday night. So, get dressed. We’re going out.”
“Zoe, I don—”
“Wear a cute dress!” She’s down the hall and gone before I can argue more.
I drop my head to my knees and put my hands over my neck like we used to do in tornado drills. When will I ever learn to keep my mouth shut?
I don’t realize where she’s taking me until the car is parked and we’re standing outside the club. In bright letters, the sign reads Firesight, Friday, 9:00 p.m. Underneath, in a smaller font, is the name that’s practically branded into my soul: Black Carousel, Friday, 7:30 p.m.
It’s 7:55.
My feet are planted on the sidewalk. “I can’t go in there.”
“Yes, you can.” She tugs on my arm, but I don’t move. “And more than anything, you need to.”
“No, I don’t. This is the last place I should be.” I shake my head. “Cameron despises me, and Bryson has made it clear he wants me to stay away.”
“Do you really think that?” She sets her fists on her tiny, jeweled waistband and lectures like my seventh-grade teacher did when Cameron and I would text in her class. “After all you know about my brother now, do you really believe he meant it when he said he didn’t want you there?”
“Yes, I do.” I swallow down the panic of what she is asking me to do. “This is their shot, Zoe. There are managers in there. Record executives. If I distract them or mess this up in any way for them . . . I’d never forgive myself.”
“This venue is huge and sold out. I only have tickets because Bryson sent them to me four days ago, which he has never done in the history of ever. So that alone tells you he wants the people he cares about to see him play tonight. The guys won’t be able to see us. I promise. And we’ll leave the minute you say so.” When I still don’t move, Zoe comes closer, her voice more a plea than a demand. “If this concert is really his big opportunity, then he deserves to have you in there supporting him. Even if you and I are the only ones who know you did.”
I wet my lips and try to keep my legs from trembling. “You’re right. He does deserve that.” I take in a stabilizing breath. “Okay, I’ll go in . . . for a few songs.”
“Good, because I really didn’t want to cause the kind of scene we’d make by me swinging you over my shoulder.” I chuckle at the visual of her size-two frame even trying to do that. “I know my brother.” Her tone turns serious. “Actions mean everything. And your being here will matter more than you’ll ever know.”
She rolls her eyes, but it’s accompanied with a smile. “I have this really annoying roommate who must be rubbing off on me.”
“Thank you.”
“Whatever. You know I’m here for the cute boys.” Her arm links through mine, and she guides me to the front door and to a very burly-looking man taking tickets.
He clicks her phone when she offers him her screen. “These are VIP. You have reserved seats down front.” He grabs a flashlight from the table next to him. “I’ll take you.”
“No thanks,” Zoe says easily and flips back her hair. He follows it, slightly mesmerized. “We like the back. That won’t be a problem, will it?”
He shrugs and sets the flashlight back down. “Suit yourself, but it’s standing room only.” Arm out, he backs up until the door swings in and darkness faces us.
Zoe walks inside first, pulling me behind her. The place is crowded, the air sour with alcohol and adrenaline. We push through sweaty bodies dancing until we make it to the back, far enough that there’s no way the band could possibly make out individual faces.
“Does this work?” Zoe yells in my ear.
My eyes zero in on Bryson, and everything in me melts. Zoe was right. I needed to be here. “Yeah. This is perfect.”
“Good. Then I’m going to get us a drink.” True to her nature, Zoe’s gone a heartbeat later.
It takes only two songs for me to realize I’ve once again come full circle. Here I am, standing next to a bar, a drink in hand, watching Bryson and Cameron light up the stage in front of me. Only this time, the drink is water and it’s not my best friend up there. He’s someone completely different. Wild, angry, and working the crowd to a frenzy.
“We love you, Dallas!” Cam rips open his buttoned shirt and spreads his arms, his chest exposed under the lights. The screams from a line of girls are deafening. They love him right back.
Zoe leans into me. “It’s kind of weird. I feel like I’m watching my brother and Cameron become celebrities tonight.”
“You are. I have no doubt Black Carousel will soon be a household name.” Any fear I had of Bryson and Cameron surviving our little love triangle is gone now. They’re perfect. Not one beat off, not one line dropped. And if I didn’t know better, I would believe they loved each other like brothers up there.
Cameron once told me that the true art of performance is giving the crowd the illusion they want. Bryson and Cam are both proving their artistry tonight, and they deserve every great thing this next tour is going to give them.
Bryson shoves his hair out of his eyes and leans into the microphone. “We have something special for you. A song I wrote, and it’s the first time it’s ever been performed.”
The crowd screams, and my breath freezes in my lungs. Bryson’s song. He finished it.
He drags over a stool, much like the one he had onstage in the youth room, and trades out his electric guitar for an acoustic one.
Zoe watches the scene unfold with wide eyes. “What is he doing?”
“I don’t know.”
Black Carousel doesn’t do ballads. Maybe that’s why Cameron backs away, why Jay sets down his bass guitar, and Harrison holds his drumsticks in his lap.
Bryson swallows. “This song is for someone who’s incredibly special to me. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘A Decade of Love.’” He begins slowly, his fingers plucking away at the melody I first heard in his backyard. But it isn’t until the lyrics flow through the hushed room that I realize exactly what the song is about.
My throat burns as I try to hold back the emotion pummeling through every inch of my body. His beautiful, touching words fall over me as a powerful, rushing warmth invades my bloodstream. It’s the first time I’ve seen my Bryson onstage. The sweet, loving man who in an incredibly short period of time changed my entire outlook on life. His voice aches of pain, taking each one of us through the journey he faced, the prison of the anger, the pain of overcoming his weaknesses, and the beauty of finding peace in the arms of the one person who saw who he could be from the very beginning.
It’s an epic love song. The kind that catapults artists to the top of the charts.
Zoe turns to me, her eyes watery. “He wrote about you.”
“No.” I shake my head, nearly too overcome to speak. “That song isn’t for me. It’s for Charlie.”
Bryson’s voice fades as he ends the song, and silence lingers for a fraction of a second while we all recover. Then pandemonium strikes. The crowd is hungry for more, dying to get their hands on whatever force invaded the building just now.
I cover my ears, the sound deafening. Black Carousel begins gearing up for their final song, and then comes the headliner. But all of us know that nothing else tonight will top what just took place on that stage.
“It’s time to go,” I tell Zoe, my chest aching from the vibration and from the black hole that’s taken residence inside.
“Okay. I just need to hit the ladies’ room real fast.”
I nod and point to the door. “I’ll be outside.” Desperate to escape before I fall apart, I push my way through the crowd. Hot bodies press and pull me until I finally reach the exit, my lungs gasping for any air, even the hot Texas air hovering over the concrete outside. I fall back against the brick building, my eyes swollen and my hands shaking as I pull out my phone.
I press on his name and wait for voicemail. It comes in two rings, smooth and fluid.
“Hey . . . it’s me.” I press the phone closer to my ear and turn away from the busy street. “I just wanted you to know that you were amazing tonight. Well, amazing now since you’re still onstage.” I wrestle to find the right words. “Your song was perfect. I know Charlie will be so honored by the things you wrote, and I know how hard that must have been to get up there and sing something so vulnerable.” A tear falls, then another. “You were right about everything.” I swallow because my voice begins to crack. “I was afraid to let go. Afraid of being disappointed again. Afraid to trust you with my future. Just . . . stupidly afraid. So thank you—thank you for showing me what it looks like to be brave.” My voice breaks again, and this time I can’t stop it. “I . . . I love you, Bry—”
The phone beeps before I can finish, but I said what I needed to. Now I can let him live out his dream with no regrets. He’ll know he is loved, even if I ruined any chance of his loving me back.
thirty-six
Iwas up at dawn even though I didn’t sleep well. My heart kept hoping I would hear something back from Bryson: a call, a text, some kind of acknowledgment at all, but there has been nothing. For all I know, he and Cameron are on a bus together, heading off to fame and fortune.
At least I can call the day productive, even if my mind has been teetering between accepting my reality and clinging to the fantasy that Bryson will come back. The dog fair was remarkable. Penny got adopted within the first twenty minutes by an elderly woman who had just lost her longtime companion—a white Jack Russell terrier who could have been a twin to Penny. I know this because she showed me at least fifteen pictures. The adoption probably would have happened in ten minutes, but I spent an equal amount of time detailing all of Penny’s hang-ups. The lady assured me Penny would not be alone or crated and there were no other dogs to compete with. Plus, I have to give that little dog credit; she knows a good thing when she sees it and was on her absolute best behavior.
But as happy as I am that Penny found a home when only weeks ago she was terrifyingly close to being euthanized, her quick adoption leaves me an entire Saturday alone to try to forget the aching mess that is my broken heart. Maybe that’s why I’m back at Charlie’s farm. Who would have thought that one large Great Dane would become my closest friend?
Louie trots around his cage when he sees me coming and howls a hello to me.
I open the kennel, give him room to come outside, and hug on him. Though I can only stand it for about a sec
ond.
“You smell awful,” I moan, pushing him away. “Did you get into a fight with a skunk last night?”
Louie sits, his mouth hanging open, a proud, satisfied look on his cute doggie face. I’m guessing that’s a yes. I don’t think he got sprayed, the smell isn’t that horrific, but he definitely picked up some residual scent.
“Okay. Let’s get you bathed.” I take him over to the hose and clip him to the door. Unlike Sam, Louie loves the water, so this task will not be nearly as daunting as it was that first week on the job.
My mouth quirks up when I think back to that original adoption fair and Bryson squatting down to show Jacob the harmonica. That was the day that changed our relationship. His façade was completely gone, and we got to see each other for probably the first time since we were kids.
“How could I have doubted him?” I ask the canine, who has no idea what I’m saying. So many of our decisions in life are based on baggage and perceptions we’ve obtained. Bryson had asked me to look past all of those and see the real him. Unfortunately, by the time I managed to do so, it was too late.
I let the cool water run over Louie’s back, soaking his fur. He leans into me, leaving wet hairy marks on my shorts, but I don’t care. He’s showing his love for me and I’m caring for him. That’s the way it’s supposed to be. I scrub the soap, giving him lots of scratches, and finally rinse him off. My attempt at towel drying only lasts about a minute before he escapes to the yard, running in quick, excited circles.
He ducks his head and rubs it in the grass, somersaulting to his back.
“Really?” I ask, wetter than he is. “I just cleaned you.”
He continues to use the ground as a back scratcher while I work to clean up the mess we made. A faint buzz stops me as I’m rolling up the hose, and I sprint to the steps where I deposited my phone for safekeeping.
“Hello,” I say, breathless, having no idea who’s calling since the sun’s reflection made my screen too dark to decipher. Though if my stomach has anything to say about it, I can assume the sudden butterflies are directly related to my hopes that Bryson is on the other line.
Love and the Silver Lining Page 30
