22. Still Here – Tess
After going over the online situation with Ian once Brad left, I drag myself to meet Ivy for dinner. Honestly, I’d rather just go home and bury myself under a rock or something, but she insisted I come and talk about what happened.
“So, you fucked up,” Ivy says. A declaration that I now need to contextualize for her. She’s so good at pulling stories out of me that I don’t want to tell. I hate her for it, and love that she can do it at the same time.
“I did,” I agree, and spill the entire thing. One thing about Ivy is that she’ll get all the details eventually, so I just throw them out there to begin with. It saves time in the long run.
Once I finish spilling my guts about the whole ordeal and the conversation with Eliza, she twists her wine glass by the stem thoughtfully for several minutes, obviously lost in thought. It makes me uncomfortable, but I wait her out. Surely she’s got some pearls of wisdom to share with me to make it all better. At least, I really hope she does.
Finally, she nods to herself and locks my gaze with hers. “You care about him a lot already, don’t you?”
I tilt my head at her, a little confused at the question. “I guess, but?—”
“That’s not an answer,” she interrupts. “Yes, or no? You really like Brad Chambers?”
I take a sip of my own wine, searching for my feelings. I can’t deny them. Not with Ivy. And a part of me dies a little at the thought that I’ve screwed it all up so badly. “I do. Yeah.”
She nods to herself again, still studying me. “Then you need to fix this.”
I roll my eyes, getting frustrated. That’s not an answer. I need a solution. “No shit. But, how?”
“Here’s the thing,” she says, leaning forward on the table, her voice low. Her soulful eyes are full of empathy. “Brad is a father of a little girl. A very protective father from the sound of things. You may not have known that a line was there when it came to Charlie, but you crossed it.”
“I know…”
“All you can do is be honest with him. Own up to your mistake and hope he can get past it.”
It’s not the grand scheme I was hoping for to instantly fix everything, but she’s right. I’m not a schemer anyway. Even if she did come up with some spectacular plot, I’d fuck it up if it wasn’t based in truth somehow.
“And, what if he can’t? What if I’ve ruined things beyond repair?” My throat tightens as I ask the question, because I don’t want that to be the case. I want to fix this.
“That’s a question for you,” she replies, tilting her wine glass toward me. “What are you going to do if he can’t? Can you still work for the band if there’s a tension there between you and Brad? Would you want to?”
I consider the question. Of course, I could still work with the band, but would I want to? I don’t think I would. Seeing Brad as a daily reminder of what could have been would be too much for my sensitive soul. Seeing him with someone else eventually would be even worse. I don’t think I could handle that.
But aren’t I a professional? Sure, this situation puts that all into question, but the reality of the situation is that I am. I should be able to put my emotions aside to do my job. I do that all the time for clients. Why is this so different?
Because I really do like Brad. A lot. More than I should? I don’t know how to navigate this until I know what Brad is thinking.
“Technically, I think I could still work for them, but I don’t think I’d want to.” I pause, letting the possibility sink in. “It would hurt too much.”
“Then talk to him,” Ivy says, “You’ve been through enough shit with losers with the broken trust reversed. Use that. You know what he’s going through, what he’s feeling. You’ve been there. Not exactly like this, but you know what I’m saying.”
She’s right. Of course she’s right. I do know what it’s like to have trust broken, because it happens to me all the time. I’ve just never been on this side of it before. I don’t like it.
“I do know what you’re saying. And you’re right. I’m just not used to being the trust breaker. I’m usually the one being fucked over, remember?”
“To be fair, though, this was unintentional, so don’t beat yourself up too much. It was an honest mistake.” She snickers. “It’s not like you ‘accidentally’ fell into someone else’s bed… I will not be naming names.”
She doesn’t have to. I know exactly who she’s referring to. Unfortunately, it’s more than one of my ex-boyfriends who have ‘accidentally’ or otherwise ‘mistakenly’ fucked someone else while still in a relationship with me.
I sure can pick ‘em.
“Please don’t,” I say, trying to take her words to heart. I didn’t mean to break Brad’s trust, she’s right.
I just need to convince him of that. Somehow.
When I get home, I pace. A lot. I silently wish that I had a pet of some kind to comfort me, or hell, even pace the floor with me. With all the traveling I’ve done in previous jobs, it never felt prudent to keep a pet. Shit, I’d even settle for a short-lived carnival goldfish right now just for the company.
I already apologized to Brad at the rehearsal space, so I don’t want to beat a dead horse with the ‘I’m sorry’s,’ but I can’t help wanting to say it again, over, and over. I’ll say it until I’m blue in the face if it means he believes me. And forgives me.
That’s the part that pulls at me. I need him to forgive me. With every fiber of my being, I want him to tell me that it’s going to be alright. We can get past this. We can continue from where we left off before I screwed it all up.
I need to know that it’s not unfixable.
After too many trips around the living room, I finally brace myself and dial his number. It’s late, but not that late. Not for Brad. I know he’s a night owl like me, so as the phone rings without an answer, I hold my breath.
After the fourth ring, his voice is breathy, but with an edge to it that sets my nerves into a frenzy.
“Hello.”
It’s not a question. Or a greeting. Just a word. And I don’t know how to interpret it. There is no emotion at all.
“I was hoping we could talk,” I say, pushing through my anxiety and trying desperately to not be too tentative. I’m calling with a purpose, and I want him to know that.
“Okay.”
That short response isn’t exactly encouraging, but I press forward.
“I’ve already apologized, so I’m not going to keep telling you how sorry I am,” I start, but then the wind in my sails starts to wane. Maybe that’s not the best way to start this. “But I hope you know that I am sorry.”
Nothing. Not even a sigh. Damnit, though, this is too important.
“What I wanted to talk about were my intentions. Because I never, ever, intended to cross any sort of line with you. Or Charlie. I absolutely one hundred percent should have asked you before posting that video.”
“We agree on that,” he says flatly.
“Brad, in one week I’ve seen sides of you that the public never sees. And it kills me to think that people are out there that don’t know how wonderful of a human being you are. That don’t know what a fantastic father you are. And when I saw you with Charlie, reading like that, I wanted people to see that side of you. I just didn’t stop to think, and I should have. I let my personal feelings for you cloud my professional judgment.”
He”s quiet for a long moment, and for a second, I think maybe he’s hung up on me. But then he says, “Charlie really likes you, Tess. And I’ll be honest, that scares me. Especially after today.”
My heart cracks, remembering Charlie’s confused face as they left earlier. I never meant to do this to her either.
“Well, I really like her, too. And I feel like absolute shit.”
Now we’re both quiet, and I can almost hear both of our minds whirring with indecision.
I break the silence, resigned to resolve this one way or the other. “Listen, I spoke with Eliza earlier, and I’m not fired, but if you’re uncomfortable working with me, just say the word, and I’ll quit tomorrow?—”
“No, I don’t want you to quit your job…” he sighs. “Fuck, I don’t even think I want to stop seeing you. But I need you to understand that Charlie is off limits on all things Chaos Fuel related.”
My heart jumps as I try to digest what he’s just said. “So, wait. You forgive me?”
He laughs softly, and it’s music to my ears. “Yes, Tess. I forgive you. I know it wasn’t intentional. It’s just--” His voice turns serious, but I can still hear the smile. “Just please don’t do it again.”
While he seems to be making light of everything now for my benefit, I know deep down that he’s serious, and I understand. I also know that I’ll never make this kind of mistake again.
Ever.
But I can’t help feeling that it’s not completely resolved between us. I’m going to have to earn his trust back somehow.
Am I up to the task?