Page 112 of Fractured Rhythm

“Bash—” she started.

“No. I need to get all of this out, and then we are going to figure out what to do with it. Together. Because I need that. It’s selfish of me, but I need us to work, even after everything I’ve done.”

“Okay.” She moved on to nibbling the corner of her mouth.

“I would love to say that those pictures scared me sober—they scared me, but I still didn’t put down the damn bottle. I spiraled and started drinking even more. Fucking up lyrics and dragging out our recording sessions. I know I’ve said that I needed the booze to write, but we all know that was an excuse. I never needed that much alcohol. At least that’s what Dr. Abrams keeps telling me.”

“You were seeing a doctor? I thought you weren’t in rehab?” she interjected.

“I’m getting there.”

Her huff of irritation was endearing.

“It’s not rehab. I didn’t want to admit that it’d gotten that bad, that I’d been drinking as a crutch. Took me longer than it should’ve to acknowledge that, but I did and now I’m finally speaking to a therapist. I know I should’ve done it after Jamie died, but I thought I was handling it. But having you walk away.” I couldn’t stop myself from reaching for her fidgeting hands, linking my fingers through hers, and holding firm when she initially tried to pull free.

“What about the drinking?” she asked, and I wanted to believe there was hope in her eyes.

“I haven’t had more than a beer or two since I started seeing Dr. Abrams. I’m still working on it. I’m not perfect. But I’m finally trying to figure out a way to move on and not need a bottle to do it.”

“That’s great, but…” She dropped her head, looking at our intertwined fingers.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but I want this to work. I want us to work. More than anything. I love you so much, Cas. I always have. It kills me that I lost control like that, but I think I’m taking the right steps to fix it, and I want you to call me out on my shit. I’ve never handled what happened, but I’m doing that now. Not just for us, but for me.”

Then I waited; my only movement was to rub my thumb back and forth over her fingers in an offering of some measure of comfort, for both of us.

“I love you, Bash, and I’m glad you are finally speaking to someone.”

I tensed, hating the direction I feared this was going, but I wouldn’t hop on the defensive just yet. I sat there and waited her out.

She sighed and looked up, her gaze crashing with mine, and my breath stopped at the tears in her eyes. She couldn’t end this. She couldn’t walk away.

“Going to therapy was one of the best decisions I ever made, and I wished you’d gone sooner.”

“Me too,” I said softly, waiting for the hammer to drop.

“I know it won’t be easy, but I love you so damn much and I want to make it work.”

I swear my heart finally started beating again, and I pulled her to me, crushing her to my chest.

She put her hands on my chest, stopping me, and I sat back, still refusing to relinquish my hold on her.

“But you can’t get wasted on tour and forget hours of time. I can’t—no, I won’t—go through that again.”

“I won’t. Fuck. Cas. I promise I won’t.”

“You can’t be Jamie. We can’t keep going in circles where you’re better and then you’re not. We all watched Jamie go a few rounds with rehab, claiming he was better, that this time would be different.”

“I’m not Jamie, Cas. I swear, I’m not. And no matter how long it takes, I’m going to prove that to you.”

“You drink to escape your problems.”

I hated the frustration and pain in her voice, but I understood where she was coming from and all I could give her was time.

“And I’m working on that. My therapist is helping and if you want to come with me to my appointments, you are more than welcome.”

“It’s going to take me some time to trust that—to trust you—but I’m not ready to give up on you yet.”

“I’ll never be ready to give up on you or us. Never. I’ll prove to you that you can trust me every day.”

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