Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
GRAY
Two hundred and forty-seven days sober, and this is the most terrifying step yet. The ring presses against my leg. This isn’t just about love. It’s also about proving I can be the man Rhea believes in. One wrong move could ruin everything.
The ring has been a secret in my sock drawer, next to my meditation mala and the wool socks Rhea bought me. It’s a vintage Art Deco, a round diamond catching the light, flanked by two smaller stones—one for who we were, and one for who we are now.
I've carried it for three weeks, waiting for the right moment. Every plan gets interrupted. Either Rhea is covering for Emma, or I’m home late after band sessions. The anticipation only grows, making this proposal feel electric.
“You're overthinking this,” Andrew tells me for the fifteenth time this month as we pack up equipment after another recording session. “Just ask her to marry you. She'll say yes.”
“It's not that simple,” I reply, carefully placing my guitar in its case with the kind of precision usually reserved for handling explosives. “This moment matters.”
“Why?” Parker spins his drumsticks with casual precision. “You guys are already perfect together.”
“Because she deserves extraordinary.” I close the guitar case and turn to face my bandmates, all of whom are wearing looks of fond exasperation.
“She's endured my recovery, supported me without coddling, and helped me become a man worthy of love. The least I can do is propose in a way that honors all of that.”
“So, what's the plan?” Wyatt settles onto the couch next to Duke, who's claimed his usual spot as studio supervisor.
Planning is complicated. For weeks, I’ve been searching for a proposal that fits Rhea and my story—dinner feels generic, while a getaway would pull her away from her home. Proposing at home feels too small.
At this point, we’ve finished The Ballad of Us, and relief sweeps over me.
Suddenly, my uncertainty about how or when to propose fades.
Completing the song doesn’t replace my doubts, but it helps me decide what to do next.
“I need to perform the song. The Ballad of Us tells our story of struggles, wins, and the love that brought us back together.
One line says it all, 'With each shadow overcome, we find the morning's grace, two hearts intertwined in this endless warm embrace.' I want everyone there. Rhea would want a celebration for us and those who’ve supported us.”
“A proposal concert.” Zep nods with growing enthusiasm. “That's actually brilliant.”
“But how do we get her there without her suspecting something? Rhea's not stupid. If we suddenly announce a random concert, she's going to know we’re up to no good.” Cody asks practically.
“Leave that to me. I've got this.” I pull out my phone and call the person who can help me with Rhea - Emma.
“I need your help with something,” I tell her as I sit in my truck outside Mountain Mornings, watching Rhea through the window as she serves Mrs. Patterson her usual black coffee and blueberry muffin.
“If this is about proposing to Rhea, I'm already in. Leslie told me you've been carrying a ring around for weeks like a lovesick teenager.” She laughs.
“Leslie knows about the ring?” How does he know about it?
“Honey, Leslie knows about everything. He's like the village CIA, but with better fashion sense and more emotional intelligence.”
I laugh despite my nerves. “Of course he does. Anyway, I need to get Rhea to the village square on Saturday evening without her knowing why.”
“What did you have in mind?” she asks.
“Let’s call it a thank-you concert for the community. I’ll propose to Rhea during it.”
“Perfect. I'll spread the word starting today. Make it sound like it was the band's idea to give back to the community.” Emma pauses. “What do you need from me specifically?”
Here’s where I need Emma’s help on the big day. “Keep Rhea busy on Saturday afternoon so she doesn't have time to overthink her outfit or get suspicious about why everyone seems excited about a random community concert.”
“Done. I'll schedule an inventory day and encourage her to reorganize the storage room. By the time we're finished, she'll be too tired to question anything.” The delight in Emma’s voice is infectious.
Now, for Mrs. Chen. Her excitement is genuine. She’s been completely invested in our story since the beginning.
“Oh, this is wonderful!” she exclaims when I stop by the bookstore later that morning. “I've been waiting for this moment ever since you two found your way back to each other.”
“I was hoping you might help with decorations.” I pull out a notebook where I've been sketching ideas. “Nothing too elaborate, just something that makes the square feel special without screaming 'marriage proposal happening here.'“
“Leave it to me.” Mrs. Chen is already moving toward the back of her store where she keeps her party-planning supplies. “I've been saving some beautiful string lights and fabric bunting for just such an occasion.”
“How did you know there would be an occasion?” I ask, genuinely curious why she has these items readily available.
“Sweetheart, I've been reading romance novels for over fifty years. I know how these stories end.” She pats my arm with grandmotherly affection. “The question isn't whether the heroine gets her happy ending. It's how spectacular the hero wants to make it.”
“No pressure there,” I mutter, but I'm smiling.
“Oh, there's pressure.” Mrs. Chen smiles cheerfully. “But the good kind. The kind that makes you rise to the occasion.”
The most crucial conversation is with Leslie, whom I find on his front porch that afternoon, conducting what he calls his “daily aesthetic assessment” of the village's visual harmony.
“Gray, Suga Bear! Perfect timing. I was just thinking about how the light hits the fountain at sunset and whether we need additional ambient lighting for outdoor events,” Leslie says as he checks items off on his trusty clipboard.
“How do you always know exactly what I'm going to ask you?”
“It's a gift.” Leslie gestures for me to sit in the wicker chair beside him. “Also, I may have overheard your conversation with Emma this morning. These mountain breezes carry sound in interesting ways.”
“So, you know about the proposal concert.”
“I know about the proposal concert, and I have thoughts.” Leslie pulls out his ever-present notebook and flips to a page covered in detailed sketches and color-coded notes.
“First, staging. We'll need a proper platform for the band, not just the portable stage the village uses for festivals, but a structure with actual presence and visual impact.”
“Where exactly are we going to get a proper stage on four days' notice?” I’m already trying not to freak out.
“Oh, Suga Bear, you underestimate the power of small-town resources and one determined interior designer with excellent connections.” Leslie makes a note in his book.
“I have a friend in Asheville who owes me a favor involving a disastrous color scheme and a society wedding. He'll deliver exactly what we need.”
“What about seating? Lighting? Sound equipment?”
“Already in the works.” He’s on top of my proposal.
Leslie’s confidence settles my racing heart and frayed nerves. In four days, I’ll perform “The Ballad of Us” for Rhea and propose in front of everyone who matters most and have become like family to us in our chosen hometown.
“There's just one more thing. I need to make sure the song is perfect. We've been playing it in rehearsals, but this is the most important four minutes of my life,” I say.
“Then you'd better get practicing. And Gray? Stop trying to make it perfect. Make it real. Rhea doesn't need perfect. She needs authenticity. She needs you, exactly as you are, singing your truth.”
I pause, letting Leslie's words reach me.
The drive for perfection has always covered a deeper fear of not being enough, the fear of losing all I've crawled back from the depths of hell to achieve.
I recognize now that my desire for flawlessness comes from anxiety, not ego or pride.
I remember my embarrassment in rehab when I forgot lyrics, and how others joined in instead of judging me.
That moment of shared vulnerability showed me that being authentic, messy or not, creates connection and a sense of just being human.
The band is at the Belvedere Street Studios for our most important rehearsal, not for a deadline, but because Saturday night, I'm going to bare my soul in song and ask the woman I love to spend her life with me.
“How many times are we going to run through this?” Parker asks after our fifth consecutive performance of “The Ballad of Us.”
“Until it feels right,” I reply automatically.
“Gray,” Andrew stops watching from the couch and looks at me. “It's already great. You wrote a heartfelt song, and y’all are playing it beautifully. Rhea is going to love it. Running it twenty more times won't change that.”
“But what if I forget the words? What if my voice cracks? What if—”
“What if you remember that you're a professional musician who's been performing for fifteen years and trust yourself to do what you do best?” Zep interrupts gently. “This isn't about technical perfection, brother. It's about meaning.”
Wyatt nods in agreement. “The song is about your journey together, and that includes your recovery, her patience, and the life you've created together. All of that is true whether you hit every note perfectly or not.”
“And,” Cody adds with a grin, “if you do mess up, it'll just make the moment more real. More human. Rhea loves your humanity, not your ability to perform flawlessly under pressure.”
Duke, who's been listening to our conversation from his spot on the couch, chooses that moment to walk over and rest his head on my leg with the kind of gentle pressure that somehow conveys complete confidence in my ability to not screw this up.
“Even Duke thinks you're overthinking this,” Parker observes.
“Duke is very wise. Okay, one more run-through. This time, focusing on Rhea.”
The final rehearsal feels different. Instead of tension, I let memories and emotion fill me.
I remember why I wrote this song—the loneliness after Rhea left, the hope her calls gave me in rehab, and the joy that came with her saying she loved me again.
Each feeling of loss, longing, and renewal moves through me as I play.
My voice is rough with emotion, and my hands are shaking slightly on the guitar strings.
But for the first time all week, the song feels exactly the way I wanted it to.
“That's it. That's the version she needs to hear,” Andrew comments from the couch.
“Think she'll say yes?” I ask, and despite everything— the ring, the planning, and the certainty that we're meant to be together, there's still a part of me that needs reassurance.
“Gray,” Zep packs up his guitar slowly, like something is weighing on his mind. “That woman stayed with you through addiction, left you when staying would have destroyed her, and then came back when you got healthy. If that's not a love worth creating a life together, I don't know what is.”
“She's going to say yes. Then we're going to play the most celebratory set of our lives,” Wyatt adds confidently.
“The village is going to lose its mind. Mrs. Patterson is probably going to cry. Mrs. Chen is definitely going to cry. Leslie might spontaneously combust from the sheer romance of it all,” Cody says with obvious delight.
Walking home, certainty begins settling in. There’s a new steadiness overtaking all the months of worry.