Page 132 of Fractured Frets

Was that ludicrous? Crazy that we both wanted the same thing?

No.

He’d always been willing to compromise... no, wait. He’d always been willing to give up everything to be with me. What had I been prepared to do for him?

Nothing. I didn’t want to be like that. I wasn’t like that.

Why hadn’t I believed him?

Because I’d been afraid . . . and a fool.

Because I loved him so much, the thought of losing him was unbearable.

Yet, here I was . . . without him.

Lonely.

Sutton was right. I hadn’t given my marriage a shot. I couldn’t hold out for some stupid ideal that didn’t exist in our world. We had demanding jobs—I could live with that. I could travel—no issues there. But...I couldn’t live without him.

Nope. Not ever.

I loved him. I missed him.

I wanted to sit by his side, hold his hand, and help him get better.

Or was I too late? Had I caused irreparable damage?

There was only one way to find out.

I wouldn’t let him go without a fight.

How could I apologize for hurting him? For not trusting him? And for not having faith in us?

What could I do to show him I was all in? How far was I willing to go to prove to him I was his, like he’d always done for me?

My mind ticked and raced. Shit. I’d lost sight of why we’d gotten married.

He’d made me feel loved, adored, beautiful, and most of all, like anything and everything was possible.

My insecurities had taken hold. My health had suffered. I’d doubted the way forward.

But not anymore.

We were good together. Mad about each other.

So what could I do to fix us? What could I do to ensure he’d never leave me again?

A smile curled across my lips.

Oh yeah.

I knew exactly what I had to do.

Chapter 37

SLIP

With my acoustic guitar slung over my shoulder, I dragged my suitcase behind me and headed into the reception area of the rehab center. In my free hand, I flicked my reward chip into the air, caught it, then clutched it tight in my palm. Thirty days. Clean and sober. I hadn’t had a line of cocaine since the night of Sutton’s party. I’d weaned off the oxy within a week and had injections to make it through to the end of the tour. I’d cut back on the booze and had my last shot of vodka during our end-of-tour celebrations. After I had my hip surgery, I’d refused to take anything stronger than an Advil for a few days, but now I was completely off them too. Intense physical therapy, long sessions with a psychologist, and much-needed rest had given me a new lease on life. I had no pain in my hip.

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