Page 15 of Mayhem

I hug my knees, my heart aching at the glimpse of pain in his words. "Like it gave you a voice when no one else listened."

"Yeah exactly," Brad sighs. "First guitar was just an old beater with crap strings that shredded my fingers trying to play. But I kept going till my hands bled night after night. Because for once I felt in control, shaping that pain into something beautiful."

I find myself holding back tears, awed by his early resilience to transform his hardship into something else through the power of creativity.

He continues softly. "Then I started writing my own messy songs and realized maybe someone out there might need a voice too. Need to not feel so alone." His voice cracks slightly. "If I help even one person struggling through something to feel some sort of hope...I don’t know. My shitty story would maybe have meaning.”

Emotion swells inside of me, understanding the redemptive purpose this dream has become for him. I whisper, “I really hope you get to achieve that goal.”

“Me too.”

A comforting understanding wraps around us in the thoughtful quiet. My thumb catches a stray tear as I keep our conversation on his side of the wall between us that shrinks by the minute. “Sounds like you found positive purpose, even if the journey had painful stops along the way.”

“Trying to, yeah,” Brad sighs raggedly into the phone. “Just want to use the platform for good, you know? Especially now seeing it all through Charlie’s eyes. Wondering what kind of world she’ll grow up in.” He pauses. “What about you? Had any moments define the path you’re on now?”

I steel myself, then whisper past the lump in my throat, "Well, watching my parent's vicious divorce kind of shaped my worldview early too." I squeeze my eyes shut debating opening old wounds so freely. Something about Brad makes me feel safe but caution still nags at me. Once words escape into stark reality, I can't take them back. I can't armor up my vulnerabilities again if things get messy later.

My breath catches sharply. Sensing my hesitation, Brad's gentle tone blankets my spiraling anxiety. "Hey, it's okay...we all got our own shit, you know? No pressure to unlock anything before you're ready."

His patience thaws my paralyzing doubts. This glimpse beyond his image reveals someone hurting, or who’s been hurt, who understands holding back when stakes feel high. That solidarity steadies me to continue softly. "I guess figuring out how to be the emotional mediator, empathize, smooth constant drama and bullshit just stuck with me. Became skills I built on for whatever career path eventually clicked I guess."

I picture Brad nodding thoughtfully across whatever miles separate us. The understanding in his voice when he responds unfurls a warmth inside my chest, soothing old aches. “Makes sense why you’re so damn good at this PR thing then,” He offers quietly. “Taking turmoil and smoothing it into something good.”

I flush, unexpectedly emotional at his praise reframing my old scars into strengths. “Well, that’s still yet to be seen. I haven’t exactly worked any miracles for you guys.”

“Yet.”

My smile is automatic, and I’m trying desperately to ignore the alarm bells going off in my head about this guy. But something happened on this call out of the blue. I think I got to know the real Brad Chambers. The one nobody else gets to see.

And I like it. I really like it.

“Yet,” I echo.

As Brad opens up about his winding journey, this vulnerability reveals so much more beneath the surface to appreciate...and want.

And I know I'm in serious trouble.

My eyelids grow heavy, the glow of my bedside clock slowly registering through the cocoon we've built together in these dark hours. I should let Brad get some sleep, but ending this soulful glimpse behind his image and going back to a guarded distance tomorrow suddenly seems unbearable.

Can we maintain this magnetism in real life? Or is this it? Tomorrow we’re back to how it was.

That thought slices through the warm bubble abruptly. My breath stutters picturing our professional bridges burned over reckless lines crossed way too soon. Am I ready to upend the stability I've scrambled for because my heart goes crazy whenever Brad Chambers is nearby? Could someone like him, who is so conditioned to run, ever outpace his ghosts for good and embrace something real?

The questions swirling dizzyingly are too dangerous to reconcile tonight. I force a steadiness I don't quite feel back into my voice, fingers already regretfully reaching to end the call.

"Guess I better let you rest up for the big audition day tomorrow." I bite my lip anxiously awaiting his response through the weighted silence.

I hear Brad shifting, his tone laced with the same reluctance holding me back. "Yeah, lots still to figure out.” He pauses, words laden with meaning. “But thank you, Tess...for everything tonight."

My pulse flutters dangerously at the unspoken words neither of us dare give life to yet. “Sleep well, Rockstar,” I whisper before disconnecting us from the intimate space we created.

I set my phone aside gently, skin still prickling from the force of words left unsaid. As I curl onto my own pillow, exhaustion eventually wins out over the fear and longing warring inside me at this uncharted new complication with Brad.

My dreams wander into dangerous territory - rough hands and ragged hearts seen through new eyes...

11

STRANGELOVE

---