Chapter 13
Aspen
I spent the entire walk to work trying to figure out what to make of Reid paying off my loans and our call yesterday. When I woke up this morning, I felt lighter, a little freer. I can’t lie and say that it doesn’t feel fucking great to not have that sort of debt on my shoulders anymore.
And I’m not above admitting that the amount of money means significantly less to him than it does me, so I’m not going to try to deny the help that he gave me. Because in reality, it was going to take me years and years to pay them off. And he did it in one simple sweep.
But at the same time, I don’t want him to feel like I’m mooching off of him all the time. The loans, driving me home, buying me the occasional dinner. It’s nice and all, but what does it all mean?
I don’t want to have a hard time trusting that he’s just doing it because he what…cares about me? But no one, with the exception of my friends, has ever done something for me purely out of the goodness of their heart. Or because they loved me.
Luckily, work has been a good distraction from my warring thoughts about it. It’s been fairly slow, but it’s given me a chance to deep clean the shelves behind the bar and reorganize the stock.
I’m busy making a fresh batch of cold brew for tomorrow when the door chimes.
“Welcome in,” I call over my shoulder. “Be with you in a second.” I secure the lid on the giant jug and shake it a few times before tucking it into the fridge.
I’m wiping my hands on my apron when I turn to see who walked in.
“Wow, you’re about”—I crane my neck to look at the clock behind me—“seven hours too early.”
Reid slides onto the barstool with a dark cloud practically obscuring all the lights in the bar, and instantly my mood drops. All thoughts of loan payments and questions I have for him die on my tongue.
“Is everything okay?”
He crosses his fingers on the bartop and cracks his neck. “Can I get a coffee?”
It’s obvious he’d like something stronger at the moment, but it’s not time yet so a coffee it is. I pour him an iced coffee with a splash of milk, just how I’ve learned he likes it, and slide it across to him.
He mumbles what I think is “thank you” but can’t be certain.
I leave him with his drink while I check in on the couple of other customers in here.
Once they’re all squared away, I come back to Reid, still hunched over and brooding, and lean my elbows on the bar.
His cologne overpowers the smell of brewing coffee and draws me closer.
Like spearmint, but spicier.
I draw back before he comments on my proximity. “So,” I sigh. “What’s up? Why the long face today?”
He gives me a dull look and I smile sweetly in return. “You’re in a good mood,” he gripes.
“Can’t say the same about you. What, are you hungover from your big fancy party last night?
” He was worried about arranging a ride home for me since he was going to Nikolai’s party, but I was off.
I spent the evening watching a documentary series with Marley and then freaking out over my loans seemingly disappearing overnight.
“I wish,” he mumbles, taking another sip of his coffee. His thumb traces a drop of condensation on the glass as he gives it a troubled look. I catch myself watching his hands, which is something I’ve noticed myself doing a lot of lately. I quickly check myself.
Something must’ve gone wrong last night. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, obviously debating if he wants to take me up on my offer or not.
“Since you came here so early, you clearly didn’t want to be by yourself today,” I say. “And since you sought me out, I’m assuming it’s because you don’t have anyone else to talk to. Am I right?”
He turns his hard stare on me, and I grin.
“I’m right.”
“Whatever.” He brushes a hand through his hair, tattoos stark against skin. “You’re right. I don’t have anyone else to talk to about this shit. Does that make you feel better?”
“No. Why would that make me feel better? I’m not happy you’re on your own. So that’s why I’m offering to talk. If you want to.”
Tension pours off of him in waves, but finally he exhales and rubs the back of his neck. And once he opens his mouth, he doesn’t stop.
He fills me on the last few years of his life with some things I knew from reading about him and the band online, and mostly details that the press never knew.
Like how Nikolai and Hayden both witnessed a mass shooting at their younger brothers’ high school graduation, and it led to the band taking a hiatus.
How Hayden completely shut himself off from Reid and the demons he witnessed Nikolai battle.
His voice broke talking about that, and there’s clearly a lot of details he left out, but I got the picture.
He starts to tell me about a trip he made back to Pittsburgh during that time, but as if he realizes what he’s about to tell me, he shuts his mouth and doesn’t elaborate any further on it.
I don’t try pushing him on that part.
His vulnerability talking about everything quickly morphs into anger as he tells me how heard through the grapevine on their hiatus that Walker was in the studio with other artists, working on their projects with them.
How he couldn’t wait, how he stepped out on the group, but when the opportunity for the tour they postponed came back around, that Walker was more than happy to jump back onboard.
All I hear the entire time is the underlying fear that he’ll never admit to. That he was trained to prepare for. Being abandoned. Being left behind by the people he loves.
But I don’t say anything as he continues to rage. No, I let him have it all out and listen, because when is the last time anyone listened to all his bullshit just to hear what’s beneath it all?
Then he tells me about their tour, the final one, and how Walker fell in love with their opening act, Scarlett Lane.
But what truly shocks me is when he tells me that he was the one who leaked information to the press about her.
That Reid was the one who found out about her past, and instead of taking it to his best friend, he sent it to the press.
I’m dumbfounded as I listen to him, and it’s no surprise to me that after that the band was pretty much done for.
No dinners, no bonding, no amount of meetings could bring them back from that.
And the entire time he talks about it, I don’t see a single hint of guilt in Reid’s eyes. Only white-hot steel and hostility.
When he tells me that the party last night didn’t go well, I’m not all that surprised at this point. The flash of hurt in his eyes as he tells me he doesn’t think he’s going to get an invite to Hayden’s wedding surprises me because he still seems to be so angry at him for shutting him out.
And yet, Reid hasn’t done himself any favors.
He slumps over after he finishes his entire rant, as if the words overflowing inside of him finally spilling out on the bar are a physical relief. He looks up at me with a silent question in his eye. Seeking validation.
But all I can think to ask is, “Don’t you feel bad?”
“No.” His brow is furrowed in genuine confusion, as if asking if he feels any remorse is some sort of foreign concept. And to him, maybe it is.
“Reid, you can’t be serious.”
“What?”
I cock my head. “You just told me you literally fed dirt about your best friend’s girlfriend to the media, causing more false stories to come out.
You iced out your other best friends because of how they each dealt with a traumatic event they lived through, and instead of communicating that you felt abandoned by them and talking that through with them, you fed your anger and let those cracks run deeper.
And every chance for reconciliation so far, you’ve pushed away.
Which all culminated in Whisper Me Nothings breaking up and you being on the outs with two of your best friends.
But yet you don’t feel any sort of remorse? ”
His jaw ticks and knuckles turn white against the glass in his clutches.
I know I got him.
“It’s bullshit the way you’re framing it—”
“I’m not framing it like anything! That’s how it is.”
“You weren’t there.”
I hold my hands up in surrender. “I wasn’t.
But if you expected me to coddle you and say you’re right about everything and the victim in this entire situation, then you clearly don’t know me.
” Holding people accountable to their words and actions is something I’ve learned the hard way.
If you’re too nice, too forgiving, too passive, the world will take advantage of you over and over again.
If Reid expects that of me, he’s mistaken.
“Well maybe you don’t know me,” he spits.
I angle my head. “I think I know you better than most. And that’s why I can say that I understand where your hurt comes from, more than probably anyone else can understand it. But that also means I’m obligated to tell you when you’re wrong. And in a lot of this Reid, you’re wrong.”
His jaw clicks.
“And I’m not saying that it’s right that they hurt you and that you’re just supposed to take it. But you have to acknowledge that the hurt seems to have gone both ways.”
“I was trying to protect Walker, even after he stepped out on the band.”
“By feeding lies to the press about his girlfriend?”
“They weren’t lies,” he seethes. “Not all of them, at least.” He rubs an angry hand across his jaw. “I was trying—you know what, I don’t have to justify myself.”
I almost laugh. “You kind of do if you want to try to repair any of your friendships. It’s not cute to let issues with the people you love remain unresolved because you don’t want to admit your feelings were hurt.
You can’t hold onto anger just because it’s easier than confronting the hurt and insecurity you’re harboring. ”
He fists his coffee. “I’m sorry, but when the fuck did you become a therapist?”
“You’re not paying me, so clearly I’m not your therapist. I’m just your…friend.” Friend. I guess that’s what I’d call us. We’re not really foster siblings anymore and we’re not strangers either.
Friend it is, I guess.
“And you don’t seem to have many of those right now,” I say pointedly. “So don’t take your anger out on me now.”
He shakes his head angrily, his lips a thin slash across his drawn face.
“If you’re so upset about being left out of your friend’s wedding plans, then do something about it. It sounds like you had the chance to talk about it last night and instead of doing so, you stormed off. That’s not going to fix it.”
“Maybe it’s not fucking fixable!” He slams his palm against the bar, and the noise causes all the heads in the place to turn in our direction. But one seething look from him has everyone turning back to their own conversations.
I probably should be concerned that Kevin could pop his head out of the back at any point and see my attention is pulled away from work, but I can’t tear myself away from Reid.
My tone is softer as I ask, “Do you actually believe that? Do you really believe the damage is beyond repair?” Because from what I remember when we were younger, his friends and his music were the only things that made Reid smile.
I remember waiting up way past my self-imposed bedtime for him to get home from their rehearsals, just to see him in a good mood and to listen to him tell me about the songs they wrote.
Reid’s silent as he stares out the window, face drawn in tight and shoulders shaking. His large frame is practically vibrating with barely contained emotion, and my hand twitches against the bar to reach out to him.
I’m just about to try to give him some sense of comfort, when he abruptly pushes back his barstool and stands.
Without another word, he takes off out of the bar.