Page 97 of False Promises

“Whoa. This is a lot to take in.” I clenched and unclenched my hands, forcing my breaths to even out. I coughed to relieve the tightness in my throat. “You’re the best, man.”

“Well, I’m just doing my job.”

“You know you’re doing much more than this. And I’m thankful.”

Silence stretched between us.

Taylor spoke first. “The plane is picking you up tomorrow morning at nine. Get some rest while you can. Ed has been briefed already.”

“Hey,” I said, my voice still strangled from the emotions stuck there. “Thank you. For proving I’m not the one losing my mind. For a while, I started doubting I was going nuts. That I was to blame.” I sighed. “Thanks for being my friend, Taylor.”

“Anytime, man. Call me if you need anything. Good night.”

“Night.”

In the comfort and peace of my hotel suite, I lay on my back. Unable to stop the flow running down my cheeks, I let the tears stream down freely. I got played. Big time. I let my guard down and tangled with the devil. How could I have been so clueless? How did I not see the signs?

Would I ever be able to forgive myself?

I lost almost two years of my life to this dead-end relationship.

And I almost ruined myself mentally, and monetarily, in the process.

Sad laugher filled the silence of the night. If I wasn’t so tired, I would go for a run.

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Breathe out.

A last thought invaded my mind before I fell into an agitated slumber. Was any of what we shared real, or was it all a lie?

* * *

After a short stop in Nashville to meet with Riley and Taylor in person, I landed in Portland around eleven the next night.

Stud Burgess, my friend and ex-bandmate, came to pick me up from the airport.

“How is it going, man?” he asked, pulling me into a hug.

“Fine. Hopefully. How’s the family?”

“They’re great. And can’t wait to see you. It’s been a long time, man.”

“I’m sorry. Let’s say things got heated up. There’s so much you don’t know about.” I exhaled. “Bella and you are lucky to have each other.”

In light of the recent discoveries about the woman I used to call my girlfriend, my own words spoke to me more right now than they ever did before.

Stud turned to face me after climbing into his pickup truck. “Quick question while it’s just the two of us.” We settled in, and once we closed both doors, he continued, “And no lies. You know I have a bullshit radar and can smell yours miles away. What’s going on? I’m worried about you, man. You’re usually pretty vocal. You used to fly here for a weekend just for a surprise visit or call because you wanted me to opine on a new song of yours or any other idea that crossed your mind. Now, you’re mostly silent, and it takes you days to return my calls. When you deign to. Your face is plastered everywhere when I go grocery shopping, and we both know it’s very unlike you to indulge in a relationship the press will dissect just for entertainment. We’ve been friends for years. You hate those gossip rags.” His fingers rubbed his bearded jaw. “Man, you’re not being yourself. Talk to me. For over a year, I’ve been waiting for you to say something, but you’ve been mute where it concerns your relationship. And I have a bad feeling about it.”

I ran my hand over the column of my throat. Nowadays, just the mention of Savannah or my relationship felt like I’d been eating shards of glass.

“It’s complicated” was all I said.

“Last time we talked, you were living full-time in LA with that girlfriend of yours. Why do I sense there’s a shitshow going on?”

How could all my friends be so astute about my love life?

Oh yeah, because they all knew I’d been nursing a broken heart since I was fifteen. And they had all been witnesses to the clusterfuck my life had turned into before I cleaned up my act and found my way back.

No way could I pretend with Stud because he’d call me on it.