I blink.“What?”
“It worked for Aly and me,” Dexter says proudly.“Trust me.Nothing breaks tension like having to sway awkwardly while avoiding eye contact.”
Barret nods.“He’s not wrong.”
“I’m not dancing with her,” I mutter, more to the air than to either of them.
“You will,” Dexter says with the confidence of a man who’s seen too much and learned nothing.“It’s inevitable.”
“It is not inevitable.”
“Oh it absolutely is,” Barret agrees, smirking like he already has bets placed on the outcome.
Dexter stands and stretches, pushing back his chair.“Look, man.You’re doing the work.You’re going to therapy.You’re showing up.You’re not shoving your emotions into a vault like you used to.And if you’re already attached?”He shrugs, unbothered.“Maybe that’s not the worst thing.”
I rub a hand over my face, the truth scraping at something inside me I don’t like touching.“I don’t know how to do this.”
The admission surprises me.It rattles me how much I mean it.
Barret’s voice drops a notch, quieter now.“Nobody does.Not at first.”
Dexter, ever the soft punchline, adds, “Confront your fears and enjoy.That’s all you have to do.”
I look up.
And I realize that I don’t want to run.In fact, I haven’t even when she’s crying, or the kid thinks I should be the one in charge of breakfast.I don’t even want to run when I think of Mila’s tiny hand adjusting my damn mug because “my calming energy would spill.”Not when I think of Mara crying into me like she didn’t believe she was allowed to.
I’m not retreating.In fact, I’m doing the exact opposite.
I exhale long enough that my chest aches around the thought.
Barret’s eyes soften.“There it is.”
“Where what is?”I snap, defensive on instinct.
Dexter grins like he’s been waiting for this moment since the turn of the new millennium.“The beginning.You’re more zen than any of us.And the funniest part?You’re asking for advice from the two idiots who make you question your life choices daily.”
“He’s scared of love,” Barret says plainly, like he’s diagnosing an engine problem.“Love doesn’t ask for permission or explanation.That’s why he’s spinning.Because it’s already happening to him.”
The words hit a place deep inside me I’ve kept sealed for years—long before the band, long before the touring, long before the first time I ever punched a wall because ...well, I can’t even remember.
Love.
Love.
That huge, unraveling, impossible thing people—like me—write songs about because talking about it isn’t enough.A desire that doesn’t wait for permission—it slips into your bloodstream and rearranges the rhythm you’ve lived by your whole life.
It feels like a drumline starting somewhere deep, a pulse that shifts direction without asking what you want or whether you’re ready.One minute you’re standing still, convinced you’re safe.The next, everything inside you is moving—louder, faster, toward someone you swore you’d never risk yourself for.
Want.
Fuck, it’s worse than want.
It’s need.
That pulse that drags you forward even when you tell yourself you don’t want more.I’ve spent my entire life avoiding it.I’ve told myself I’m better alone.That I’m too damaged.
Too unwilling to risk the crash.
