They were just a way to remind myself that I used to feel something other than numb.That I used to love someone who made me want to be a better version of what my father pushed me to become.
I don’t remember exactly what I wrote, but I know I bled through them.Poured out every ugly truth, every fragile hope, every fractured version of love I couldn’t say out loud.I wasn’t sure if she’d ever read them—or if I would ever send them.But I kept writing, hoping her soul could hear the apology I was too cowardly to say to her face.
If they’re still somewhere—tucked away in my old room, forgotten in some drawer—I could maybe piece together who I used to be.Who we were.But odds are, they tossed everything.Every trace of me.Every broken thing I left behind.Still, I could ask.Call Barret or maybe Dexter.Fuck, I could even try Alec.
No, not Alec.
He was the one who broke my nose when they finally had enough.He was the one who looked at me like I wasn’t just fucking up—I was poisoning everything we’d built.And he wasn’t completely wrong.If I called him now, he might finish what he started.And maybe that wouldn’t be the worst thing.
But eventually, I’ll have to face them.Accountability isn’t optional—it’s the whole point.It’s the price of healing, and so far, I’ve been skating past it like I still deserve to be let off easy.Not a great start.I haven’t done the work.I haven’t made the calls.I haven’t apologized.Not to the band.Not even to her.Not for the way I set fire to everything we were and walked away like I wasn’t the one holding the fucking match.
Instead, I kissed her.
And it wasn’t planned.It wasn’t rational.It sure as hell wasn’t part of any twelve-step redemption arc.It was instinct—desire, and ache, and history detonating at once.Her mouth on mine felt like the missing note in a song I hadn’t been able to finish since the day she left.Her lips tasted like a memory I wasn’t ready for.And when I touched her—when I felt her body press against mine with that wild, trembling energy like she wanted to crawl inside my skin and scream at me for everything—I couldn’t stop.
I didn’t want to.
There was hunger in it.Fury.Lust that had nowhere else to go.Her fingers dug into my chest like she was trying to break me open and see if anything was still alive inside.My hand was in her hair, my other pulling her closer, locking her to me like I could still make her mine.We didn’t breathe—we devoured.
Kissed like it was our last language.
Like every second apart had been a lie, and this—the heat, the friction, the fucking gravity—was the only truth that mattered.
And then she pushed me away.
It was like the moment shattered something in her, and she couldn’t let it go any further without losing whatever fragile scaffolding she’d built to survive me.Her breath hitched.Her eyes were wild.And I knew.I fucking knew I had ruined it again.
Because I never even said I was sorry.
Not once.I haven’t told her I hate myself for every choice that carved distance between us.That I’d take it all back if I could.That the silence between us has been the loudest goddamn noise in my life.
I kissed her instead of apologizing.
And now all I have is the memory of her mouth, the aftertaste of need, and the silence she left behind—again.
Not exactly the cleanest way to start a second chance.
Not when I’ve done nothing to deserve it.
To deserve it, I have to start by fixing everything I’ve done wrong, right?Start from scratch and show myself and the world that I can be more than a washed-up musician.
If I want anything close to a second chance, I have to earn it.Not with another kiss.Not with another fuck.But with honesty that splits you open—exposes everything you’d rather keep buried.
Because if she ever lets me close again, I have to be myself.And it has to start with me becoming someone worth forgiving.A version of myself that will love her and never break her ever again.
ChapterFifty-Five
Roderick
May 17th, 1997
“Well, well, well.Isn’t this a surprise, asshole?”Eddie answers, his voice cutting through the static.
Maybe this call is a bad idea.I’m pacing.My bare feet slap against the cool wood of my apartment floor.
The moment they said they’d patch me through to Eddie, I should’ve hung up.Made an excuse.Pretended I’d called the wrong number.
But I didn’t.
