Chapter 7
It turned out that Braden’s hotel wasn’t too far from LAX—and that wasn’t too far from my apartment.
When I parked the car, I left the engine running, but something felt heavy between us.
We hadn’t actually talked on the ride, but we’d enjoyed the music and, at a red light, I’d caught him tapping his leg to the beat.
After all our talk about honesty, I knew I had to say something.
I would never forgive myself if I didn’t.
He was saying, “Thanks for the ride,” but the subtext was something else entirely.
It wasn’t…desire or longing. I didn’t know exactly what it was, and I knew it wasn’t remnants of my old crush, but there was a connection there, something I couldn’t deny anymore.
But was it just me? Was I making this shit up in my head?
Honesty.
“Um, Braden…I enjoyed dinner.”
“Me too.”
After sucking in a deep breath, I just spat it out as calmly as I could. “I feel like…there’s something bigger happening between us.”
When he nodded, my shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t just me. After a few weighted seconds, he said, “It would be so easy.” And I could read that in his eyes. “But I’m not a one-night kind of guy, even though it might be the healthiest thing I could do.”
Wow…he was being honest. And I appreciated it. “Yeah. I can’t do that either. I tried once but wound up spending way too long trying to make everyone else happy. And now…I just want more.”
For a while, in the semi-darkness of the car, we just looked at each other until Braden reached out and took my hands. It seemed as if we both knew that jumping into bed would be so easy—and so fucking stupid. Then he looked down at our hands. “I can’t trust myself.”
It took me a little bit until I realized…it wasn’t that he didn’t trust how he judged me but that he’d been here before and he wasn’t ready to go there anymore. If he’d fallen once and he’d believed it was real…
Oh, God. He had to be full of self-doubt.
But the last thing I was going to do was push or assure him that everything was okay. This felt like a boundary…one that he would have to decide to let down. And so I nodded, even as he let go of my hands.
It wasn’t until I was back on the road that I wondered…did we even say good night? I didn’t have a clue what either of us said after that point.
I only knew what we both felt—and that we’d drawn a huge dark line that neither of us were going to cross.
And I knew I was okay with it.
As I began crafting my article—which took some time because I had a lot of other writing duties to perform…and I wanted to make sure I got it exactly right—I realized I had a question about the timeline.
Part of me really wanted to reach out to Braden directly—but I knew that would be unprofessional. Besides, I’d promised there would be no more mingling of business and pleasure. Not that Dean could have been confused with pleasure the more we’d been together.
So I sent another email to his publicist, asking for a fact check about something I wanted to make sure I got right, having to do with the makeup of the band and writing music.
I was surprised when, two days later, my phone rang.
It was Braden.
My heart started beating in my chest and so I took a calming breath before answering. But I did it the way I always did: professionally, just saying my name. “Roxy French.”
“Hey, Roxy. This is Braden. Pam forwarded an email from you where you asked when Zack let us start really contributing to the band’s music.”
“Yeah. Thanks for calling. Can you give me a sec, please? I just want to grab something to write with.”
“No problem.” After I touched the pad on my laptop to wake it up, I asked, “Do you mind if I put you on speaker?”
“Go ahead.” Oh, his voice sounded so soft and almost quiet, reminding me of the dinner we’d shared just two weeks earlier. I could see his face firmly in my mind: those round cheeks, white teeth, slight stubble on his jaw, his understanding warm brown eyes that seemed so open and honest.
The article document was still open and I scrolled to find the place I’d marked.
“Yeah, so I know I can open up the credits on the album, but I also know from what, um, others in the band have said that sometimes you got writing credits when all you did was add a flair or change the basics that Zack wrote. So I’m just curious when you felt like you really contributed on songs as an equal.
Or do you feel like you do?” When he was silent for several seconds, I added, “Or, if you would rather not say, I can delete part of what I was writing.”
“You’re already done with the article except for this?”
I stifled a laugh. “I write pretty fast. This should be done already …but I’m taking my time, because I want to do several things.
First, I want to be as fair as possible to your words, avoiding the victim narrative and all the negative stuff we talked about.
Second, I also don’t want the article to be just about that.
I’m trying to write an article that your fans will appreciate even if they don’t want to hear about that part. ”
“That sounds good. So…what was your question again?” After I repeated what I’d asked, he said, “That would be Voyage, our third album. You’re right—we’d done some contributing before, but with Voyage, Zack actually solicited collaboration, and I felt like what I said and did mattered.
I can’t speak for Dani or Cy, but I think they felt the same way.
Zack had figured out how to let go, just a little bit, and that was all it took. ”
“I think it speaks to the success of the album.”
“Well, I don’t know about that,” came his voice over my phone. “I think that was just a predictable consequence of being around for a while. We had a solid fanbase and were continuing to gain new fans all the time. It was bound to happen.”
Once again, Braden blew me away. He was humble in a way that most musicians I’d ever met weren’t. And it warmed my heart more than I could have ever said.
After I asked a couple more questions, I said, “Thanks for your time, Braden.”
“Yeah, happy to do that. Feel free to call or text if you need me to clarify anything else.”
“I will.”
We said goodbye…but I noticed Braden didn’t hang up immediately. And neither did I. We both stayed on a few seconds longer than was necessary.
Or was it just me and my wild imagination?
Not long after that, I was in Chicago with the intent of covering several bands who lived there.
I still hadn’t heard back from the publicists for a couple of members of the Smashing Pumpkins, but my fingers were crossed.
After showering, getting made up, and getting dressed, I checked my agenda and my emails, and found a new one from the visual editor at Ferocity.
She sent over about twenty pictures for me to choose for Braden’s article.
I knew they got the photos from a variety of sources, including in house and media kits, but that was sometimes out of my hands.
I hadn’t even asked to take a picture of Braden during our interview, because it would have felt intrusive.
As I scrolled through the photos, I could all but feel him. One of the pictures was from the band’s earlier days, but some were recent tour shots. And I thought it might not hurt to have one image with the whole band.
I found five I liked, but I wasn’t about to attach them to my article without Braden’s approval. So I sent him a quick text before leaving my hotel to start my day: Roxy here. We have some photos were considering putting with the article. Did you want to review them first?
It wasn’t until I had a break for lunch that I checked my phone. Braden said he’d like to look them over and sent his email address. So it wasn’t until late afternoon that I was sending the photos over.
An hour later, he sent a text message, asking if I was free to talk. I was just walking out the door to grab a bite to eat, but this was far more important. I told him yes and then sat at the plain desk in the wall in this temporary room, fired up my laptop, and waited.
Three minutes later, he called. “Roxy, I wanted to thank you for letting me have some say in this.”
“Yeah, of course.”
“So…the backstage photo where I’m leaning against the wall?”
All five photos were up on my laptop, and I knew immediately which one he was talking about.
It was an intimate moment captured on film.
I’d seen the original before—it was of the first meet and greet or party during the first day of this new tour.
The band had been off to the left in the photo, seeming to have fun and chatting, but Braden off to the side looked introspective.
Not sad, not regretful, but he was definitely not partying with the rest of the band.
Still, they’d sent me a cropped version without the band, and I’d liked it, because it showed Braden by himself, authentic, because he wasn’t posing for the photo or even for fans.
He was completely in and by himself, even among a roomful of people.
“Yeah, I know the one you’re talking about.”
“I don’t want that one. It feels like it would be there for no other reason than to evoke sympathy.”
Oh, God, yeah. That was exactly what he didn’t want. “Got it. We won’t use that one.” I jotted a note and closed that particular file. “What else?”
“The one where I’m onstage—where I have that brutal look on my face.”
“The metal look?” I asked, wondering what problem he had with it.
His chuckle warmed my heart through the speaker. “Yeah. I like that one. I don’t look like a wounded puppy in it.”
Nodding, I said, “That’s fair.” I was glad this wasn’t about ego or vanity—but instead he still wanted to control his narrative, and I respected the hell out of that.
“The band picture is okay too.”
Great—two approved. “Got it.”
“You can use the publicity shot too.”
I asked, “You mean the one sent in the press kit?”
“Yeah. It…looks like me.”
Hmm. Didn’t they all?