Page 28 of The Ballad of Us
“I...” He pauses, and I can hear him struggling with something. “I love you. I'm learning what that really means for you and for us. I know you can't say it back, and I realize it's too much too soon, but I need you to know that I've always loved you. Even at my worst, even when I was treating you badly, I never stopped loving you. That love is the only thing that's kept me going these sixty days.”
My throat swells with pent-up emotions. The expected ache isn't there, though. Instead, relief and gratitude rush in. The words don't hurt because they sound like the truth, rather than manipulation. It feels like a gift rather than a demand. Emotional boundaries are still in place, but the pain has faded, replaced by a deeper understanding of the situation.
“Gray—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“You don't have to say anything. I just needed you to know. Can I call you tomorrow? Same time?” He’s rushing to end the call before the phone cuts off.
The question is asked with such careful hope that it breaks my heart a little.
I don’t hesitate to answer. “Yes, you can call me tomorrow.”
“Thank you for taking my call tonight, and for talking to me like we're still people who care about each other.” He speaks so sincerely that I cover my mouth for a moment to cover my quiet sob.
It takes me a moment to collect myself. “We are. We'll always be that, Gray.”
The line goes quiet for a moment, both of us holding onto these last seconds of connection.
“Good night, Rhea.”
“Good night, Gray.”
The dial tone fills my apartment, but I don't feel sad the way I thought I would. Instead, I feel hope, not for us, necessarily, but for him. For the possibility that the man I fell in love with is finding his way back to himself.
I sit in my chair by the window, looking out at the mountains that have become home, and let myself feel grateful for small miracles. Gray is alive. He's sober. He's doing the work.
For the first time since I left him, I can imagine a world where we're both okay, separately and independently, but okay.
Tomorrow he'll call again, and I'll answer. Not because I'm ready to go back, and not because I've forgiven everything, but because some people are worth keeping in your life even when they can't be your whole life. There are some loves in this world that are too big to disappear, even when it must change shape to survive.
Ten
GRAY
Two weeks.
There are only fourteen days remaining until I leave this bubble and return to a world of bars on every corner, temptation behind a liquor-store door, and the kind of job stress that once sent me straight to the bottom of a bottle.
Anxiety coils in my chest, restless and alive. Sobriety is easy here. The real test comes when I face the world again. We’ll find out if ninety days of recovery will show if I’ve truly changed. The worry lingers.
After breakfast, I'm sitting in the common area of our villa, trying to focus on my morning reading with Thich Nhat Hanh’s words. Denny bursts through the front door with a grin that could power the entire facility.
“Brother, your people are here,” he announces, and his tone tells me this is different from the usual family visits.
Andrew enters, followed by four men I haven’t seen since the night Rhea left. Zep is all tall, dark, and handsome. His hair hangs in his face half the time, shrouding his eyes so people don’t know what he’s thinking. Parker is full of energy and was made for the drums. Wyatt is solid, just like his bass, so he’s the glue that holds us together. Baby-faced Cody can make any instrument sing, but this guy can make angels weep on the keys.
Case in Point. My brothers. My band. The people I've let down more times than I can count.
“Holy shit.” I breathe, standing up so quickly that my book tumbles to the floor.
“Language, brother,” Andrew says with a smirk, but he's moving toward me with his arms open, and then I'm being pulled into the kind of hug that feels like forgiveness and homecoming rolled into one.
“What are you all doing here?” I ask when Andrew finally releases me, though I'm already reaching for Zep, who grins and pulls me into another bone-crushing embrace.
“Group session. Your therapist thought it might be helpful for us to talk through different things together. You know, before you come home.” Parker shrugs like it’s obvious they’d be a part of my recovery.
The last conversation I had with them in the same room together was the night Rhea left. I wasn’t at my best, and the conversations didn’t go well with any of my bandmates or Andrew.
Home.
