Chapter 11
When we didn’t see each other, Braden and I talked and texted quite a bit. I’d gotten in the habit of, when I remembered, to send him a message either before or after shows, wishing him best of luck or asking him how the show had gone. Sometimes, I did both.
And one night, when he texted Wish you were here, I realized I wished the same thing.
We made plans to meet for dinner in early September. Once Upon a Riot had a show in L.A., so it was a natural fit—and that he reached out to me told me he wanted to pursue something.
Two days before, he sent me a text: Looking forward to seeing you in L.A.
I replied, Where are you guys now?
We’re in Portland, playing a show tonight. It’s been pretty nice here.
It’s still pretty warm here too. Really nice.
About an hour passed before he responded: Sometime I’ll have to have you take me to the beach.
I teased, If you guys would ever spend a day off in L.A.
And if you were ever home. He followed it up with a winking face emoji.
That night, I sent him the usual text: How’d the show go? But he didn’t respond. That was okay, because he sometimes wouldn’t. I knew there were a number of reasons, but he’d always respond the next day.
When he didn’t, I still didn’t stress. Instead, I just sent a different text: You’re in Sacramento tonight?
And I went on with my day. I started to get a little worried about him, though, so early in the afternoon, I sent another message: Everything okay?
Several hours later, he responded with a simple Yes.
I breathed a sigh of relief. He must have just had a busy day. I texted him back. Maybe you’ve found some places where you can connect with nature on the tour. After I sent it, I knew that couldn’t have been it, though, because Portland and Sacramento were a long distance.
Maybe they’d driven that distance during the night, though.
But later he sent a simple text: Looking forward to seeing you tomorrow night.
And I replied by telling him good luck for their show that evening.
The next day, I was ridiculously excited, because I hadn’t seen him in person since the night he’d taken my hand before dropping it like a hot skillet. Texting and talking were great, but when we met in person, I could feel his energy, see his face.
Confirm that I was really falling for him and not an idealized version of him in my head.
Normally, my outfits were what you’d expect someone like me to dress in, constantly validating to rock stars that I was legit: blue or sometimes black jeans, rock t-shirts, and Converse or boots. I now had two Ferocity t-shirts—one in black and the other in red—that I started wearing to festivals.
But tonight I’d be seeing Braden again for the first time in what felt like forever, and I hoped to decide once and for all if what we had was real…
and worth pursuing. Even though I rarely wore dresses nowadays—mainly because I’d never been allowed to wear pants back at home—I wanted to emphasize my feminine side.
I’d spent hours searching for the perfect dress and settled on one that fit me—black lace, tulle, and satin.
The top was a corset while the skirt was big and flowy, something I imagined Amy Lee might have worn early in her career.
To go with it, I chose ankle-high boots with a heel, not like the ones in my closet with the tough-girl vibe.
It turned out that all that effort was for nothing.
Right before the concert, I was pulling on a pair of fishnet stockings when I heard my phone ping with a notification.
Walking to my dresser, I saw a text message from Braden, short but not-so-sweet, and I didn’t have to unlock my phone to read it.
Something came up. We’ll have to meet some other time.
That didn’t feel right…but I knew if I called, he wouldn’t answer. So I just typed Okay. Another time then.
And I tried not to think about it.
It was hard, though, because I was fully dressed and ready to go. Without debating about it, I called him—but it rang and rang and rang and finally went to voicemail. So I hung up.
Something was wrong, but he wasn’t going to let me in and tell me what it was.
My balloon, deflated, I pulled off the stockings and the small lacy black bra I’d chosen especially for the outfit, and got into my comfiest pajamas.
Then I popped a bag of microwave popcorn with the intent of watching a movie for distraction.
Braden texted me again about an hour later, not even mentioning missing my call. Thanks for understanding. I overdid it in the gym today and we have an early call to get back on the road tomorrow.
Really? I didn’t have a response.
As I tried to sleep that night, I couldn’t help but wonder if maybe Braden wasn’t the guy for me.
It was beginning to feel as if I were trying to shove a square peg in a round hole—and Braden clearly wasn’t ready for any of it.
It didn’t matter that it had been more than a year since the cancelled wedding.
But I overanalyzed that last text and, close to midnight, I realized that Braden seemed to be focusing hard on his routine rather than relationships. Did he feel unsafe around me?
Sitting up in bed, I felt for my phone on the nightstand and unlocked it. Opening up our text exchange, I stared at his last message and decided to respond to it. Is everything OK?
But, before sending it, I backspaced, deleting the letters I’d just typed. I started to type something again and then thought better of it.
With a sigh, I placed the phone back on the nightstand. If Braden needed to back off, I wouldn’t push anything. It was his choice and I’d respect that by making my own choice to stay away.
Still, it was long after that when I finally drifted off.
When Dani and I talked two days later when the band had a day off in San Francisco, I finally told her everything. “Look, D, I think you should know that nothing’s happened between Braden and me—but it’s been feeling like it might. Are you okay with that?”
“Oh, my God, Rox. I would be so happy about that. Braden just can’t seem to pull out of his funk—and, until he does, Zack and I won’t go public. You would be perfect for him.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well…like I said, it feels like—I mean, we’ve talked about it, but we haven’t kissed or anything.”
Dani said, “Hold on a sec.” A minute later, she finally said, “Sorry. I had to get away from everybody. I’m in the bathroom now.”
I laughed. “Where are you?”
“On the tour bus. Nobody was up front until you called and then, all of a sudden, there was everybody. So…you said you guys haven’t kissed?”
“No. I’ve been trying to respect his space.”
“I get that.”
“When you guys were playing in L.A., we’d planned on dinner—but, at the last second, he cancelled. So I have no idea what to think. I’m just…giving him his space but I’m wondering if maybe I’m trying to force something that’ll never happen.”
“Oh…I think I might know what happened.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“At the show—we had a radio interview yesterday afternoon and the guy was digging, you know? Asking about the ‘incident’ and how we managed to survive. Braden seemed okay until the guy said something about Braden being such a ‘loyal, steady’ guy.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Yeah. Braden hadn’t said much anyway, but he kind of clammed up after that.”
“He hates that narrative they keep pushing on him.”
“Yeah,” Dani said, lowering her voice. “Even though it’s true.”
“But here’s the thing,” I said, thinking back to my interview with him. “He’s way more than that, and these interviewers keep trying to push him into that confining box.”
After a few seconds, Dani said, “You really do have a thing for him.”
“I care about him—and I know you do too. And it’s stuff like that that keeps him from moving on.”
“Yeah.” And if he was stuck, I wouldn’t be able to pull him out.
And that meant maybe it was time to move on.
Braden and I usually texted back and forth quite a bit, but what I was getting now was radio silence.
I usually sent him a text after a show, asking something like “How’d it go?
” or “What was the crowd like in Boston?” or wherever they’d performed.
But after he’d cancelled our dinner plans, it didn’t feel right.
What had felt like giving him distance now seemed to be a door that was closing.
So, at a music festival in Austin a couple of weeks later, I didn’t expect to see him.
I knew Riot was there and, although I kept my late-night calendar open, I had a feeling I wouldn’t hear from him.
But Once Upon a Riot was one of the last shows of the night, meaning I could pack up my shit and call it a day—and, when I did, I decided to watch them play.
I hadn’t watched them live in a couple of years, and their maturity as a band showed.
They were polished and practiced but not overly so—and Zack had a charisma that you could feel from the back of the crowd, even when you could only see him on the monitor.
But this particular event didn’t have assigned seating, so I slowly made my way through the crowd to the front.
Up close, although I watched all the band members, I kept focused on Braden.
No one looking at him would be able to tell that he was still bleeding inside, still stuck somehow.
And there was no way anyone would know that, just days earlier, he’d been reminded of one of the most painful events of his life.
But, what I knew of him, he’d moved on from it.
Instead, what gnawed at him was how people viewed him.
He was the good steady guy—and sometimes he was portrayed as a victim.
Neither were what Braden wanted people to think of him as and yet he couldn’t stop people from saying that about him.
It didn’t hurt that he really was a good man.