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It’s my fault he’s dead.
I can never forgive myself for that, so how could anyone else?
* * *
After showering, I wrap myself in clothes that offer comfort—an oversized band shirt from a friend and some soft leggings and socks. I hesitate downstairs, but Raff simply smiles at me. There are no hard feelings or calling me out for being a chicken. He simply holds out a mug of coffee, kisses me softly, and goes back to the stove to help Dal cook. I let out a relieved sigh, knowing I’ve escaped for now, and instead head into the living room where I find Cillian and Astro on the sofa, watching the news. I sit between them, needing their warmth and comfort, and they move closer and hold me tight. They do it automatically, and it makes me smile as I wrap my slightly shaking hands around the mug.
“Morning, beautiful.” Astro kisses the top of my head.
“Morning.” Cillian lays a hand on my thigh and squeezes.
“Morning,” I whisper, unable to look at them just yet in case they see the ghosts in my eyes. When Raff sits heavily on a chair, his eyes on me, I avoid his gaze.
“Breakfast won’t be long,” Dal says as he enters, kissing me before he sits on the floor at my feet.
“Thanks,” I murmur, taking a sip of the scalding hot coffee to avoid having to say anything else. It’s only then I notice what’s happening on the TV, and I almost groan as it shows an interview of Tucker from the night before.
“Shit, let me turn it off.” Cillian reaches for the remote, but I cover his hand, frowning at Tucker’s image.
“Wait,” I say without looking, my eyes on the TV.
His eyes are bloodshot, and his fingers are clenched together and white. He’s shaking and pale. He looks sick. He also looks horrendous, which is worrying because he’s always so put together.
“So you and Reign are truly over?” the interviewer asks.
“She’s made it very clear we would never get back together, and I respect that. I respect her.” He looks at the camera. “Reign, I want you to know I’m sorry. I did love you, I still do, but I hurt you. I made a mistake, a big one. You were right. It’s so easy to lose yourself in this industry, and although I’m suffering with an addiction, that’s not an excuse for what I did to you. I’m going to get the help I need, and I hope you can forgive me one day for what I did to you. You deserved better, so much better.”
“Mistakes happen,” the interviewer interrupts. “Don’t you think she is being overly emotional?”
“I just told you I’m suffering with an addiction and that I hurt someone I vowed to love, and your first response is to diminish her hurt by calling it overly emotional? No, I don’t think she’s being emotional. I cheated on her, and I betrayed her trust. I betrayed our relationship and everything it stood for, and not only that, she had to deal with the fallout with vultures like you picking apart her every move while she nursed a broken heart.”
It could be PR, but the fire in his eyes is real. No social media manager would allow him to talk to an interviewer like that.
No, this is real.
I don’t want to like Tucker, I really don’t, but seeing him defend me while apologizing reminds me of the man I fell in love with, not the one the industry created.
“I made a horrible mistake, and a good person paid for it,” he continues, looking at the camera. “Reign, if you see this, know that I hear you and thank you. If you had never . . . had never loved me and then left me, I wouldn’t be getting the help I need. It took breaking your heart to realize how truly messed up I am. I’m sorry for that. I hope you find someone who is worth loving, and I hope I didn’t ruin your trust in everyone too much. That’s all I have to say.” He takes his mic off, stands, thanks the flabbergasted interviewer, and walks away.
Sitting back, I stare at the screen as the anchor discusses and picks apart his interview, but I know he didn’t do it for the public. He did it for me. He made his problems public so he could apologize.
I might never be able to forgive Tucker for what he did to me, but I realize I don’t hate him anymore. We are both flawed people just trying to find our way in this world, and people make mistakes. His mistake led me here. I was able to find my identity, my muse, my happiness, and my strength. What he did was fucked up, but maybe it had to happen.
Maybe this is the best outcome for both of us. Some people are not meant to be together forever, and had I not walked in on them, I probably would have stuck by him and faded into a shell of who I was. Some people simply come into your life to teach you lessons. Tucker broke my heart, but he also showed me who I could be if I wanted to. He showed me what I don’t want for the rest of my life, and just now, he showed me what it means to be brave.
THIRTY-TWO
Maybe I’m just feeling raw or extremely vulnerable after my talk with Raff and then seeing Tucker, but I find myself curled up on Cillian in my studio. We should both be working, but it’s nice. I strum the guitar out of habit, not really paying attention. He’s playing with my hair, and I can’t help but smile. My eyes close as I focus on the warmth inside me and the bravery I feel.
That’s when the lyrics start to form. “Shit, I need my pad,” I grumble, not wanting to get up.
“Huh?” he asks.
“My pad, I have some lyrics to write down.”
“Here.” Without question, he grabs a pen and taps his thigh, which is on display in his shorts. “So neither of us have to move.”
Giggling, I turn over, carefully laying my guitar down, and take the pen. I look at him to see him watching me, and he smiles encouragingly. Grinning, I hum the melody again as he lies back, and I scribble the words as they come to me. They are just feelings, jumbled and jagged, and although they aren’t polished, they are real.
