Chapter 13
Before getting on the plane at the airport in Colorado Springs, I was reading through my neglected email.
There was one from my editor Tom that I had to read twice.
Apparently another editor from a larger magazine with a wider reach—and not a niche like Ferocity—had told him he’d loved my article about Braden.
The guy had apparently described it as having “heart” instead of “open guts,” and he wondered if Tom would loan me for a piece about how hard rock and metal shaped American culture.
When he’d thought of the concept, I was the only person he had in mind—but, as a professional courtesy because I wasn’t a freelance writer, he reached out to my editor.
Tom followed up by saying, “This is one of the best pieces you’ve written, and you should be proud of it—and that’s why this other editor is looking at you.
I also wouldn’t blame you for wanting to spread your wings a little bit.
On that note, I have no problems with you taking this job, so long as it doesn’t take away from what you’re working on for us. ”
I could have responded by telling him I’d conducted an interview, written the story, and taken pictures for an upcoming edition of Ferocity…but I instead felt empty.
Still, I sent him an email back: “Yes, I’m interested, and I promise it won’t interfere with my regular work. How long do I have before I need to send an outline? What sort of timeline are we looking at?”
Before boarding the plane, I stared at my phone and opened up my text messages. I wanted nothing more than to tell Braden…but no. I’d already closed that door.
And, when I landed in L.A., I sat in the back of an Uber, finally deciding I needed to close a door. No matter what I’d told myself up to this point, I’d kept it open, hoping something miraculous would happen, and it wasn’t.
So I pulled up my text chain with Braden and, sure enough, I’d missed two text messages from him—but they didn’t matter.
Although it took a while, I typed the following: Braden, I wish you all the best, both professionally and personally—but I wanted you to know that I will be limiting my contact with you from here on out.
If I need to speak with you, I’ll reach out to your publicist. I hope the rest of this tour goes well for you guys.
After staring at it for minutes, I finally sent it. Letting out a long breath, I looked up from my phone to see that we were stuck in traffic. I hadn’t even noticed that the car hadn’t been moving. We were near downtown, so I wasn’t surprised.
Looking back at my phone, I opened up my text messages again and held my finger over the one with Braden’s name. A checkmark appeared over the icon and so I tapped the trashcan at the top of the screen and, when a prompt appeared that asked Delete this conversation? I confirmed it.
It was time to move on…and I should have felt relief, but, for some reason, this hurt worse than anything else I had experienced with Braden up to this point.
Over the next week, I went through the motions. Work was the only thing that kept me afloat as I conducted interviews, wrote articles, and, in Manhattan, even had a couple of video Q and As. I was sleeping well and getting shit done.
But I felt so empty.
Why, having done the right thing, did I feel like it was so wrong?
I’d let go of Braden like I knew I should have, and I should have felt free and light, relieved and proud of myself. Instead, I was in mourning, and there was no denying it to myself anymore.
I kept telling myself it would get better and I knew it would—but it was a struggle.
When Dani called me the night I got back from New York, I gladly picked up the call. “Hey, D. Long time, no talk. What’s up with you?”
“It’s good to be home and getting ready for Christmas. What about you?”
I wasn’t going to say a word about Braden—because there was nothing to say. “Ah, you know. Work, work, work.”
“You know what they say about all work,” Dani joked.
“Yeah, but you know my work is a lot of play.”
Of course, I should have known I couldn’t get anything past Dani. “Wait a sec. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Not true. You sound like you had to put your dog to sleep. What’s going on?”
I let out a soft chuckle because it was something of a relief to have Dani call me on it. “I, um…well. For lack of a better word, I broke up with Braden.” Dani started to say something, and I said, “We weren’t dating. We got close but…”
“Yeah, I know. So what happened?”
I finally let it all off my chest, softening the parts where I thought Dani might feel some blame—because I already knew she still harbored a lot of guilt over leaving Braden at the altar, and I didn’t want to pile on.
Rather than focusing on what I thought was going on—that he didn’t trust his judgment, that he was afraid to commit—I instead told her about the actions we’d both taken.
Our dinners, our conversations, and even the kiss before I told her about how he’d pulled away and how I’d finally decided I wasn’t going to keep honoring Braden’s needs while denying my own.
“Holy shit,” she said.
Oh, God. I’d done a bad job, making Dani feel horrible—but I had to know. “What?”
“That explains so much.”
“What do you mean?” I’d been looking out of my living room window to gaze upon the palm tree just outside, but now I turned and sat on the couch.
“Braden…over the last week, we’ve had a couple of meetings to talk about our next moves, and he’s been miserable. The only time I’ve ever seen him like that was, well…when I went to his apartment to apologize for what I’d done.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. His expression said it all—he came to the meetings, but it was like he wasn’t there. Finally, Zack tried talking to him about it after Cy left one night, asking if there had been an article or something or maybe a fan who’d said something. But Braden just told him he was fine.”
“Maybe—”
“He was not fine. Even though we’re not together, Rox, I know Braden, and I knew something was off, but he didn’t want to talk about it.”
I felt horrible hearing that—and at least it told me he’d really felt something.
But it wasn’t enough.
Later, after Dani and I hung up, I thought about Braden again…
but I knew I had to keep my distance. If he couldn’t handle how he felt, I couldn’t help him.
And I had to be okay with that. Because I wasn’t going to go halfway.
It was all or nothing…and he didn’t seem to be in a place where he could handle anything close to that.
Two days later, I was in Phoenix, getting ready to head to an interview when I got a phone call a few minutes before noon.
From Braden.
I stared at the screen with his name on it, debating what I should do.
And I finally picked up. Why was I feeling so much hope? Relief from how I’d been feeling? I knew better than to go there, but my heart was already three steps ahead of my brain. Trying to stay cautious, I only said, “Hello?”
“Hey. I, um, I got your message.” What could I say to that?
Everything I’d needed to say was already there.
“I’ve been mulling it over and I, um, haven’t been good at communicating.
” He was silent for a few seconds, but I knew he had more to say.
“I need you to know I didn’t want to keep you at a distance.
And if you need us to keep things between us strictly professional, that’s fine—but I don’t think that’s what you want. ”
“Right.”
“I do want you in my life—but I need to go slow. And I don’t want anything public.”
Relief washed over me like a waterfall, soft and cool and refreshing.
Had I heard him right? I muttered something like “That makes sense,” but my brain was rapid firing.
Braden hadn’t rejected me; he’d just been trying to protect himself.
And, God, how stupid had I been? Had I known months ago that he felt this way for certain, I would have gone the limit…
because accepting his limitations would have meant not losing him.
I could have handled that.
But, until now, it had felt like something insurmountable.
“I get it, Braden. I care about you too.” For a second, just knowing that warmed my heart…and I almost gave in, ready to commit to something I didn’t want. Part of me wanted to, but I wasn’t going to accept a portion. I wanted it all.
All or nothing.
I’d left my family years ago because the only way I could be fully loved and accepted was to be someone I didn’t want to be.
And, as I discovered who that was, I also found that I no longer belonged with them.
They knew it and I knew it. I had become the proverbial black sheep, a pariah who, because of blood, was tolerated but no longer fully accepted or loved.
They only loved me partly and only out of duty.
I was done with partway.
So I added, “I understand that you might not be in the right place right now…but I can’t do tentative or secretive or anything like that.
” He didn’t say anything, and I could sense what he felt through that damned phone.
My chest grew tight as I forced the words out.
“This won’t work if we’re just tiptoeing through it, and I can’t do it.
Look, I’m not asking for forever…but I am asking for full commitment.
And if you can’t do that, I understand, and I won’t harbor any hard feelings… but I just can’t do halfway.”
He was silent for so long that I began to wonder if he’d disconnected, but when I pulled my phone away from my ear, it looked like he was still on the line.
Finally, I heard him draw in a long breath before he spoke.
“Roxy, I appreciate your honesty and I respect it. But I can’t do that right now.
I’ve learned that I can’t trust my feelings.
” Jesus—and I could read the subtext…that this was all based on the fear of loving and losing.
“And after the past year of having my entire life be made a mockery of…I just can’t. ”
“Okay.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay.” I too took a long breath and stared at the abstract painting with swaths of pink and orange hanging above the bed in my hotel room. “I get it. The timing just wasn’t right. But…like I said in my text message, I wish you all the best. If you change your mind, you know how to find me.”
I wasn’t going to repeat that I would no longer be available for phone calls and text messages and that I would be going through their publicity manager for professional reasons—because he already had that in writing from me.
After we hung up, my heart felt like it had been squeezed like an orange for its juice, and my eyes got watery for a few seconds.
Then, somehow, I felt better, like when a deep gash in your flesh still hurts but is finally starting to heal.
That initial text had felt cold and impersonal and talking with him helped us really hash it all out.
At least we’d had a chance to talk to each other, and we both understood each other’s positions better.
Somehow, that seemed to help.