Page 22 of Rim Shot Rebound

He’d handled it all so horribly, and yet here she was, looking expectantly at him, waiting for his approval. He didn’t deserve it.

But he was going to work his damnedest to deserve her from now on. And that began with taking things slow. Making Kelsey feel safe. No matter how much he wanted to be close to her, he had to let her take the lead here. Or at least give him very clear signals.

“That’s beautiful, Kel.”

“Stop, I’m serious,” she said. “What do you think? Too cheesy? Should I shorten the first verse?”

“I’m serious, too. It’s perfect.”

“Stop bullshitting me. We have to play this next month.”

“I’m not bullshitting you about this. I’ve never bullshit you about anything. And I swear I never will.”

She flashed him a nervous glance, then averted her eyes again. “Eric, about what you said the other day…”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out.”

“You didn’t,” she said. “Well, a little. But the point is you just got out of a relationship. I can’t be some rebound for you.” Her shoulders raised and slumped with the deep breath she took, and she stared off absently at the lamp on top of the piano. “Or at least I can’t be that for you again. Not anymore.”

“You were never just a rebound thing for me. Never.” Still straddling the piano bench, he put his hands gently on the sides of her arms to turn her toward him as he looked directly into her misty eyes. “I always wanted more from you. I just never knew how to get back to where we were. To make up for…everything.”

A tear formed in the corner of her eye and slid down the side of her freckled nose. She wiped it away and through sniffles said, “I don’t know if I can forget that. I know I shut down for a while, and I’m partially to blame for pushing you away, but I can’t forget that you left me to go through that pain alone.”

And that was the knife twist.

After the miscarriage, he couldn’t bear the idea of her thinking she was somehow the source of his pain. Everyone—Eric, her doctor, her friends, even his family—reminded her there was nothing she could have done to stop that loss. That it was this awful random thing she couldn’t have prevented. But he could see the edges of guilt behind her eyes. She fought to keep it away, but it was always there, waiting for some crack in her stoicism to take over and bring her to her knees. He didn’t want any part of that, so he’d pulled away. It felt wrong now, but back then he hadn’t known how else to help her.

He’d been paying for it ever since. He paid for it every time he saw her and couldn’t be near her. Every time she looked at him, the disappointment evident in her eyes. Every time he thought about a future without her.

He hung his head and closed his eyes, too ashamed to look at her, but he kept his hands on her arms and squeezed gently. “I’m so sorry. I swear, I never meant to hurt you more. I thought I was helping you.”

Her muscles tensed under his palms. “How could you think that abandoning me after a miscarriage was going to help?”

It sounded so stupid now, hearing those words come out of her mouth. But he hadn’t been in his right mind back then. He’d been as overcome by grief as she’d been, and he’d made mistakes. Mistakes he probably could never make up for.

“I wasn’t running away from you to save myself. Not consciously, at least, although I’m sure there was probably some self-preservation somewhere deep down. But you have to believe all I wanted was to be with you after that.”

“Then why did you bail?” Her voice was soft, small, broken.

He did that to her.

“I thought I was saving you,” he said, and she scoffed. It did sound pretty ridiculous now. “I know, I know. But I did. I thought if you didn’t have to see me grieving, you wouldn’t feel guilty. I couldn’t take away your pain, even if I stayed, but I thought I could at least take myself out of the equation so I wouldn’t cause you more.”

She frowned. “You’re an idiot, you know that?”

“I do now.”

“No, you couldn’t take away the pain, not any more than I could take away yours. But we could have gone through it together. Shared in our grief. That would have helped.”

His face was hot with shame, and his stomach tightened the knot it had formed. Looking at her now, he had no idea how he ever walked away in the first place. Over and over. Like he’d been repeatedly punishing himself. “That would have helped me, too. I think. I don’t know if I can ever make you understand just how sorry I am.”

She sighed. “I know. But it isn’t just that. I’m not angry or holding that against you or anything. And I realize my part in pushing you away. Believe me, I know I have ownership in what happened to us, too. I just…I don’t know if it’s a good idea to try to recreate something that was broken between us.”

“We were never broken.” If he knew anything, he knew that. They were the one thing in his life that was right. Always. Every single time they were together. And not just physically. Being in a room with her, playing beside her, laughing over whatever ridiculous joke he’d cracked, all of it. It was always right.

Redness rimmed her eyes, and tears brewed at the edges. “You say that now, but I was never enough for you.” She paused. “I’ll never be enough for you.”

He pulled back and looked at her, his knees still touching her as they shared the bench. “You were always enough for me. The other people I slept with after we broke up? They were just a distraction. They were me trying to fill the emptiness when you weren’t around.”

---