LL has been neglecting his disease in order to play rock star and keep up with the band and the lifestyle. He wants it so badly that he’s risked his life for it and holds a grudge against me for not stepping up. He’s been worn out the entire tour. Guilt sets in from the way I’ve categorized and dismissed him so easily. I’d pegged him as a functioning druggie of sorts. All the while, his body was betraying him. Even if his fucked-up behaviors warranted certain reactions from me, it was his envy to be in my shoes, with my opportunities and my advantages, that put us at odds. He wants what I have—my health, my career, my stage presence, and the love of a worthy woman.
Since my split with Natalie, I realize—to a degree, he’s right—I’ve been slowly imploding. As long as this goes on, the closer I get to becoming the musician I swore I wouldn’t be.
It ends now. Tonight.
I can’t let any more of my life slip through my fingers, no matter how bad my heart is aching. Broken I may be for the moment, I would do it all over again, just to feel what I did when I had that time to love her. As disastrously as it’s ending, I know without a doubt that I would do it all over again.
Running my hands through my hair, I dig for the bag of food Dad stashed, my hand hitting the edge of the manuscript that’s been sitting in it for months. Glancing back over at LL, I table the sub and flip to the plastic cover.
Drive
A memoir of a love story through music
by
Stella Emerson Crowne
As I flip through the first few preliminary pages, a small envelope addressed to my mother slides to the edge of the script and into my lap. Opening it, I immediately notice my dad’s handwriting.
Stella,
I’ve been sitting in this hotel for two days, waiting to marry you.
It’s irony at its finest. I’ve been waiting for you so long that sometimes my mind treks back to when we weren’t together. When I felt helpless, hopeless, and that life would never give me a chance, no matter how hard I fought back. You became that chance and losing you was agony.
The only thing that kept me going was the possibility that this day would come and the hope there would be no hesitation from either of us to claim what’s always been ours.
I missed you to the point my soul bled.
I missed you when I didn’t have to.
I miss you now.
I’m okay with how it fucking stings because it’s a reminder of how hard that part of my life was without you. The silver lining is that in a few hours, you’ll claim my name. Nothing has ever meant so much to me, and nothing will ever mean more.
This day is about us. But it’s still tainted with my regret.
I got us lost.
I should have fought harder for you. I thought being selfless and letting you go made me the bigger man. I should have been a little more selfish and heavy-handed. I wish I had done more to ensure you knew your place was with me. I would give anything to erase the years we missed, but I can’t help but to thank those years…and as much as I fucking hate it, thank him for being there when I couldn’t—encouraging you to become the woman you are now, the woman I was meant to be with, no matter how we grew.
Thank Christ we grew back together. And fuck me that I didn’t have more of a hand in it.
But if fate can bring us back full circle and gift us a new life where I don’t have to miss you, I can only try to forgive.
My expectation is this, us, nothing more. It’s so simple but a means to an end to the most complicated journey I’ve ever taken. Forgive me for being blind to the fact that your love was bottomless, and I’ll forgive fate and the hard road we had to travel.
You are my destination, my life. I don’t need anything else.
Take those steps toward me today and put your hand in mine, and with a stinging soul, I promise never to get us lost again.
I love you, and I’m waiting.
Reid
Chest burning, I turn the page.
I Still Love You
NIGHT TRAVELER
Natalie
Quarterback Sneaks Out On Media Princess.
“Well, this is just fucking embarrassing,” I admit, handing my father’s tablet back to him as he eyes me with concern across my desk. “Gotta admit, the headline is pretty clever and a nice play on words.”
His eyes flare with a fury that I know he’s trying his best to temper. “Do you want to take the day?”
“Hell no. I’m not cowering away from this.”
The lines begin to light up more aggressively on my phone console, no doubt another nightmare for the paper. I’ve gone and done it again—making Austin Speak a media target. Dad has probably already hired the same security he commissioned months ago, at the end of my last disastrous relationship. I wince when every line goes red. “Crap, Dad, I’m sorry.”