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In the silence that follows, we both know the truth,
Our love may be broken, but it’s still in our youth,
Imperfect cadence, our story’s not done,
Maybe one day we’ll find the ending we’ve won.
Every syllable that escaped Colt’s lips felt like another twist of the knife embedded permanently in my chest. I knew I was only inviting more pain by listening, but I couldn’t tear myself away. His voice pulled me in like a moth to a flame, leaving me powerless to resist, even though I knew I’d end up burned all the same.
As I reached over to switch off the radio, my hand seemed to have a mind of its own, twisting the knob to increase the volume instead. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the radio, like staring at it would somehow confirm whether I was truly hearing what I thought I was. It felt as though Colt himself was right beside me, serenading me with memories of our best shared moments, while also reminding me off my fuck ups. Because, without a doubt, this song was about us.
After all this time, I struggled to comprehend the significance of the unexpected turn of events. “Our story’s not done.” Was that a message meant specifically for me? Or was I being too self-absorbed, and as Colt had suggested in the interview, this was simply his way of purging any lingering emotions about me from his system.
A sudden screech shattered my reverie, jerking my attention back to the road. What I saw unfolding before me seemed to happen in slow motion, even though it must have transpired in a mere heartbeat.
A deer darting across the opposite side of the road.
Bright lights.
Coming straight toward me.
PART III
The Present
27. “It’s Not Over”
Colton
The drone of the airplane’s engines provided little distraction as I felt Carl eyes shooting daggers in my direction. Despite his overt disapproval being written across his face, he saw the need to punctuate his displeasure at the situation with an obnoxious foot tap, his irritating attempt to coerce me into breaking my silence.
Well Carl could go fuck himself, the narcissistic bastard.
I didn’t give a shit about the superficial world of PR bullshit and the potential fallout from canceling the remainder of my tour. It was inevitable, breach of contract or not. The threat of the record label unleashing their legal arsenal upon me or facing the fury of enraged fans meant nothing in comparison to what I currently risked losing. There comes a point when a man must decide what truly matters, weighing his own priorities against the ceaseless noise of the outside world.
Since finishing my call with Gray’s doctor, my mind had fixated on the terrifying what-ifs that could have transpired during that conversation. My imagination incessantly conjured vivid images of worst-case scenarios, that instead of receiving the news Gray had been injured, he had died in that accident. It was a sobering realization that today, I had stood on the precipice of losing the love of my life forever—a bitter irony, considering I had already lost him a long time ago.
I had wasted the better part of a decade without him, seven long fucking years concocting excuses to avoid reaching out. I’d refused to confront him, to ask the questions that could either grant me closure to finally mourn our relationship and move on, or pave the way for a reconciliation. Instead, I had chosen the cowardly path of least resistance—pining for Gray from afar. I’d allowed myself to drown in sorrow, fearing the truths I might uncover. I procrastinated, convincing myself that time was an infinite resource.
But now, a brush with death had slapped me in the face, forcing me to pull my head out of my ass and confront reality. If ever there was a sign from the universe urging me to act, this was it. I refused to spend another day wondering ‘what if.’
The sound of a throat being cleared jolted me back to the present. I hadn’t even noticed the plane’s descent until I glanced up and saw Carl standing in the open doorway of the aircraft. The pulsating vein in his forehead betrayed his thinly veiled irritation. Not wanting to delay us any longer by aggravating Carl more tonight, I silently retrieved my hastily packed duffle bag and joined him at the top of the stairs.
Glancing outside, I guessed the time to be approaching five in the morning, the sun slowly peeking over the horizon of the private airfield. Nearly six hours had elapsed since that life-altering phone call. My cell phone remained ominously silent, the absence of any updates leaving me teetering between hope and dread. Was the lack of news a reassuring sign that everything was going as expected, or did it foreshadow a grim turn of events? I had insisted on regular updates, and the radio silence only fueled my imagination with worst-case scenarios. Perhaps the surgery had gone terribly wrong and they were delaying informing me until they could deliver the news face-to-face.
As we settled into the backseat of the sleek black SUV, preparing for the almost hour-long journey to the regional hospital where Gray had been admitted, my nerves reached a fever pitch. The car began to move, and despite my best efforts to remain composed, my body betrayed my anxiety with involuntary fidgeting. The pent-up nervous energy demanded an outlet.
Carl’s sudden throat-clearing startled me once again, the unexpected sound causing me to jump nearly a foot in my seat. I shouldn’t have been surprised at Carl’s presence, but I seemed incapable of focusing on any of my surroundings right now.
“Speak kid, before you give me a bloody ulcer”, he grumbled.
“I’m not quite sure what you want me to say,” I replied with a shrug. “I already told you, my estranged husband is having emergency surgery and I need to be there. That’s all there is to it. No, I haven’t seen him since we broke up, which you well know, so you can stop acting like I’ve been hiding a big secret from you.” While I understood Carl was just doing his job, I had no desire to delve into the specifics of my failed marriage, now or ever. He knew the bare bones of our breakup, and as far as I was concerned, that would remain the extent of his knowledge on the subject.
“Look, I’m not asking for the sordid details,” Carl interjected, sounding impatient. “But you can’t just ignore the fact that this is going to be a huge fucking story when it gets out. Which is going to happen the second one of the most famous singers in the entire world strolls into a hospital in the middle of rural fucking Missouri. Everyone in the waiting room is going to recognize you, probably film you and put it on their socials. From there it will take no time for the paps to come calling, and for journalists to do some digging to see who you’re visiting. Naturally they’re going to turn up with a record of your marriage before you’re ready and then you’re gonna be hounded for answers. So, I’m asking, for my sake, give me the information I need to make this media circus as easy as I can.”
“Make something up, Carl. Tell them I’m catching up with an old friend or whatever,” I growled, the frustration boiling over..
“Again, people are nosy fucks,” he persisted. “Someone is going to get Grayson’s name eventually, wonder how a small town guy is friends with a celebrity, and find out. Which won’t be hard, considering marriage certificates are on the public record.”
