If he would just tell me he’s okay, that would be enough for now. I can’t help but imagine him lying in a ditch somewhere. Drunk. Alone. Blaming himself in the way only a man who’s been through hell and back can. No matter what, I sense he still wants to know why the rest of them died and he survived. Even though he’ll never have the answer to that question.
Doctors and investigators gave him their best guesses but sometimes shit just happens. There’s no rhyme or reason and while his intelligent mind understands it, his heart seems to think something else entirely. I’m not sure if it’s guilt or frustration or a combination of myriad emotions. All of it has to be painful, but after nineteen years, he should be past it by now. Shouldn’t he? Maybe that’s insensitive of me but I’m tired of tiptoeing around the past.
Despite how much I miss him and how much it will hurt if this is the end for us as a couple, I can’t be with a man who’s still hanging on to ghosts. I thought he was on the mend, dealing with the trauma and looking toward a future. With me.
Unfortunately, what’s happening now tells a different story.
And I’m frustrated.
I open the texting app and think for a few minutes before beginning to type.
WYNTER: Hey, it’s me again. I’m sure you’re hurting. I understand why you’re upset, but how can you just disappear without even letting me know you’re safe? It’s unfair. How would you feel if I did it to you? You have every right to be mad—but not at me. I didn’t know anything about what happened. I didn’t even know the name of the person driving the truck that hit your bus. And Tommy didn’t know either.
I’m rambling, but maybe that’s what he needs. Maybe a dose of reality coupled with some tough love. Because being sweet and understanding hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I love him enough to try but he has to meet me halfway. I’m simply not willing to be with someone who’s willing to walk away at the first hint of a crisis.
So, I’m going to lay it out for him without pulling any punches.
He needs to see and hear what he’s doing, even if it hurts him and ultimately means the end for us as a couple.
WYNTER: I don’t expect you to believe me but after all you’ve been through with the band, I’d like to think you’ll at least give Tommy a chance to explain. I’m not getting in the middle of that part—that’s between you and him—but Harley wouldn’t lie to me and he wouldn’t lie to her. If he did know, they would have told me, and I would have had some difficult choices to make. But that’s not the case.
Meanwhile, instead of talking things out, I’m sitting here in Bumfuck, New Mexico, working twelve-hour days, wondering where you are and if you’re okay. I don’t think it’s fair for you to just go radio silent, leaving me to wonder if you’re lying in a ditch somewhere. That’s not healthy. Not for you and certainly not for me. If Tommy’s past and his relationship to me is a deal breaker for you, I at least deserve a conversation.
The thing is…I’ve been falling in love with you, Ross. And this kind of thing makes me wonder if my love is enough. If I’m enough. I’m not Clara. I’ll never be Clara. Sometimes it feels like you’re waiting for her to come back. Or for someone to live up to some imaginary standard that isn’t based on reality. If that’s the case, please don’t drag this out. Don’t use this thing with Tommy as an excuse to walk away from me and what we’re building. I thought we were good together. I thought you were happy. I thought I made you happy. Instead, you’re letting twenty-year-old ghosts ruin our future.
I’m not some placeholder. If that’s what you’re looking for, then you need to keep looking.
I trusted you, Ross. With my heart, my soul…with all of me. And you turned your back like I meant nothing to you. We didn’t even have a fight. Believe it or not, I understand a lot more than you think about what you’re going through, but I can’t be with someone who won’t talk to me. Who doesn’t trust me the same way I trust you.
It’s been nineteen years.
I don’t minimize your loss but I also refuse to let it drag me down with you. So, you’re going to have to choose, Ross—me or the past.
Chapter Thirty
Ross
Instead of flying home to L.A., I rent a car and make the long, miserable drive to Wisconsin. I need time to think. Brood. Lick my wounds. I know I behaved badly, and I cringe every time I think about Tommy’s bloody lip. The confusion on his face. The way the ladies all looked terrified.
Fuck.
Even if Tommy knew, it’s not like he did it.
He was just a kid nineteen years ago.
But he knew and didn’t think to tell me? Did they all know? It’s hard to believe because everyone seemed genuinely confused.
Despite my anger, I’m a little embarrassed about the way I lost my temper. That was by far the most unprofessional thing I’ve ever done, so I’m probably never going to work in the music business again.
Which leads me to a whole other slew of problems. Like how I’m going to eat in the future. Never mind taking care of Wynter or having a family. I’m employable but doing what? I might be able to get in as a roadie for some band but the pay will be half of what I make now, with a lot less freedom.
What the hell was I thinking? I should have just quit and walked away. Attacking Tommy was the result of pent-up frustration and unresolved…something. Trauma? Grief? I don’t even know at this point. I just know that two wrongs don’t make a right.
Maybe if I point that out to Sasha, she’ll still give me a recommendation so I can get another job as a tour manager.
And I owe the rest of the band an apology.
My hands tighten on the wheel as I turn into the cemetery. I haven’t been back since the funeral and I get the strangest feeling of déjà vu. It makes no sense but it’s like I’ve been here much more recently. I remember exactly where Clara’s grave is, and I park on the road close by.
