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“What kind of drugs are you on? It must be some good shit! Because you seem to be living in a totally deluded version of reality,” I fumed. “Please, elaborate on how I’ve hurt Gray? I loved him more than I thought possible, and he just fucking abandoned me out of the blue!” At some point, more tears began streaming down my face.
There was a reason I toured so much, worked myself almost to death. It was to avoid ever having to delve into this toxic abyss that lived within me, slowly killing me. Discussing Gray was too overwhelming, especially now when it felt like my anger toward him may no longer be justified.
“So, you cutting off contact with him all these years was what? Revenge?”
“What am I missing here, Remy? Yeah, I blocked his number. After humiliating myself by begging him for another chance when he had someone else in his bed! He told me he didn’t want me anymore, I’ve just been doing what he asked! I never changed my number, just hoping that one day he might grow up and reach out.”
Seriously, how could Remy stand there and accuse me of abandoning Gray? All he had to do was listen to one of the dozens of songs I’d penned during our time apart to realize that I was hopelessly and irrevocably in love with Gray. Wasn’t my presence here evidence enough of that? I’d canceled an entire sold-out show and postponed a world tour worth millions without a second thought the moment I learned Gray needed me. So how dare Remy insinuate that I was the one reneging on promises in this relationship?
“So, that fucking restraining order was supposed to be a love letter, then?” Remy retorted.
Restraining order?
I opened my mouth to demand an explanation, only to be interrupted by a polite knock at the door. Giving permission for the intruder to enter, I was relieved to find a nurse standing on the other side. “I’m looking for a Mr. Ray?” she inquired.
I could only imagine how I appeared at that moment: disheveled, with red-rimmed eyes and running mascara, clad in a two-day-old gig outfit that reeked of dried sweat. “That would be me,” I whispered.
The petite brunette did a double-take, evidently recognizing me. To her credit, she remained professional and refrained from commenting on it. “I have good news. Grayson’s surgery went well, and he is now in a private recovery room. If you’ll please follow me, I can take you to his surgeon, who will be able to give you a more thorough update, and then I can take you in to see him.”
29. “Hurt”
Grayson
Noises assaulted my senses. Beeping. Screeching. Crunching. Screaming. Voices murmuring.
There were flashes of light.
Cold. So cold. My teeth were chattering.
Then the pain hit. Blinding, excruciating bolts of electricity ran through my body. My head throbbed and I couldn’t seem to open my eyes.
“Shh, there you go sweetie. That morphine should kick in in a sec and you’ll start feeling a lot better,” a dulcet tone reached through the fog.
The fog increased until only blackness remained.
The next time I woke, my memories came back to me in fragments. Driving to pick Vi up from practice. A deer bolting across the road. Music filled with memories and regret. An oncoming car. Swerving over the centerline, hitting my truck instead.
Shit. Was I dead?
I still couldn’t open my eyes, and my ears were ringing. If I still had a body, it was numb.
I felt kind of floaty. The pain from before completely dissipated.
Maybe the afterlife wasn’t so bad.
More time passed. I wasn’t exactly sure how I could tell because I still couldn’t seem to make my thoughts take on any form of coherence.
And then I heard it.
That voice. The voice that had brought me the greatest joy and the deepest sorrow.
“Gray, open your eyes.”
Fuck.
Sobs wracked my body. Then the pain hit. The physical pain was still in the background, present but muted. That I could handle.
The emotional pain, though? The grief and loss and regret crashed over me like a tidal wave. The guilt and longing and hurt. So much fucking hurt. On both sides.
