Page 32 of Extended Bridge

My head shakes. “No, it isn’t.” Heat flames on my cheeks. “Yet here you are working your way through therapy without the help of any drugs.”

“Because of Darren.” He scoots away, leaving me unanchored. “I saw what happened to him and don’t want that fate for myself, although—unlike him—if I took his route out, no one would be left to mourn me.”

“You’re wrong.” I get to my knees. “Your mother, the band, your manager, your fans. They all would be bereft.” I scoot over to be in front of him.

Bennett shrugs. “He also had his mother and sister. And you.” His index finger traces my tear-stained cheek. “All people who loved and grieved over him. I wouldn’t have any of you. I guess this makes me more selfish than he was.” He clasps his hands in his lap. “I did suspect, you know.”

I can’t even begin to parse his confession, so I latch onto his final statement. “You suspected what?”

“That he was getting addicted. I didn’t insert myself into hisprivate life to question him, though. It wasn’t my place. I figured he’d kick the habit when he was ready. I didn’t imagine it would kick him instead.” His body tenses.

“You’re not a doctor. You couldn’t have known.”

“And you are?”

“I was his physical therapist. I should’ve seen the warning signs.” My gaze darts to the man before me. “Medicine can help a patient heal and bring pain level down to manageable levels. That’s all I wanted for him.” I yank my ponytail holder out of my hair.

“I was with him twenty-four seven. You weren’t. I could see his behavior changes—not to mention how his pupils constricted when he was high.” At my gasp, he adds, “He was good. He hid it really well. But I could tell, and I did nothing.”

I whisper, “How?”

“My mother has been on various prescription medications throughout my life. Taught me some signs. I wondered.” He shakes his head. “Again. Not my place.”

“He was your friend.” The words are out of my mouth before I realize my mistake. Bennett doesn’t do “friends.” I rush ahead. “If you had confronted him, what do you think would’ve been the outcome?”

“I don’t know. Hopefully he would’ve gotten treatment.”

“If I had known, I would’ve insisted he go to rehab. Maybe he’d still be here.”

This answer is unknowable. If he were still here, would I be with him now? Life with Darren was exciting because he was larger than life, yet we were very different people. He told me he was drawn to my down-to-earth practicality—but when he died, I was already starting to understand how incompatible our lives were. I mean, a therapist and a rock star, really?

I glance at the man in front of me—another rock star. But with Bennett, things are different. He’s a different man who speaks to me on a deeper level. Not merely on the physical, which has been beyond any of my experience. He’s hiding some painful scars.

“Why was your mother on medications?”

Bennett’s long eyelashes blink several times. “It’s a long story.”

I glance at the clock on my phone. “We have time.”

“I don’t talk about her.”

“I know.” My phone rings, and I quickly send Ma to voicemail. I’ll call her back. What Bennett’s opening up to me about is important.

He watches my movements but doesn’t comment. “My mother’s always been delicate, as Dad used to say.”

“Delicate? How?”

His shoulders raise then fall. “Mentally. I understand she became increasingly unstable when they had trouble conceiving.”

I reach out and grab his hand. “But you’re here now.”

“Yes.” He squeezes my fingers. “That’s the problem.” He stares at our entwined hands. “They went to extreme measures to conceive and finally succeeded with IVF.” He takes a deep breath. “Mom became pregnant with me. And my twin.”

My mind puzzles at his response. I don’t remember hearing Bennett having a sibling. I keep my lips shut.

He continues, “As happens often with IVF, she lost my sister early. I survived.”

“I don’t know too much about pregnancy, but how far along was she to know she miscarried a girl?”

---