Part III: Chapter 9

1/8/13

London

All those promises of wining me and dining me and flying me around the world, and this was how I was finally getting a stamp in my passport. The glass and steel, damp under a silver sky, could have been anywhere. Only the PA announcements carried a British accent, so strong and distinctive that so that as I left customs, I half-expected to hear the queen’s fanfare, or to round the corner and see Alan Rickman lounging against a wall.

I ducked into a bathroom and pulled out my phone. It was a bit after noon local time. I’d tried to sleep most of the flight, but I felt like I’d been awake for days. I connected to the airport’s wi-fi, tapping my foot impatiently. Not all of us had world phones. A woman in a pink velour sweatsuit eyed me as I leaned against the sink. When my phone was finally online, I slipped into a stall and sent a FaceTime request to Nick.

He answered within seconds. “Well, Miz Michaels, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“Go in the other room.” My voice came out low and hard.

Nick frowned down at me, but his voice dropped as well. “I’m alone. What is it?”

“I need to know exactly where the London house is,” I whispered slowly. “I need to know how to get there on the tube. And I need you not to tell anyone I’m coming.”

He looked confused. “Where the hell are you?”

I took a deep breath. “In the ladies’ room at Heathrow.”

“Awwww, shit.” Nick rubbed one hand over the lower half of his face, but couldn’t quite stifle a grin. “Well, good. This is good.” He dropped his hand and smirked up at me. “Maybe if we work together, we’ll be able to actually, physically pull B’s head out of his ass. It’s stuck up there pretty good. We’re ‘bout to vote his ass off the island.”

I sighed, my heart squeezing painfully. “Could we, Carter?”

“OK.” Nick ran a hand through his hair. “OK. Are you on wi-fi?” I nodded. “I’m gonna send you a thing from Google Maps. If you share it with anyone,” he growled, “you are dead to me.” I nodded my assent. “OK. I need to hang up.”

“OK. And Nick?”

“Yeah?” He paused.

I smiled, though it felt foreign to me. “Thank you.”

Nick half-smiled. “You guys are gonna be OK.” His thumb loomed large on the screen, and then he was gone.

The tube ride to the guys’ house, which looked from the map to be near Kensington Palace, seemed to take four hours. I closed my eyes, leaning my head against the glass. What were a few more hours to think about this day?

I’d had to get to the airport at 4:30 yesterday afternoon, and even though the sky was light, my body felt like it was the middle of the night. Everything was too close to the surface again. Too many memories. Too much at stake.

I couldn’t change that Brian was here. I didn’t even quite know what my being here would accomplish. My flight back, in theory, wasn’t until Saturday; it was Tuesday morning now. I wondered if I could check into a hotel and just wander around the city, feeling sorry for myself. What was a little more money? I wondered if the guys would let me in, if they’d bother ever speaking to me again, how much they knew and how skewed it was, what they thought of me.

It occurred to me that the same things could have been running through his head a year and a half ago, when he’d shown up at my apartment in New York to convince me to give him a shot. Look how that had turned out. A ragged sigh escaped me. I waited for the tears, but they didn’t come. Perhaps I’d cried my lifetime allotment of tears. It seemed plausible.

When at last I stepped off the train, minding the gap, and climbed the stairs to the street, my mouth formed an involuntary O. The buildings didn’t look so strange, and yet everything felt a little off, the cars on the wrong side of the road, the double-decker buses, the car brands I didn’t recognize. I almost dared to think the air tasted different. It wasn’t just that I was finally in the city to which I’d tracked my man, the city I’d spent so much time imagining, though that part set my heart pounding, pulling the blood out of my fingertips.

Only then did I notice that the silver skies had opened into a steady, frigid rain. It made sense, I supposed. I pulled up the hood on my coat and started the long trudge.

It was only a few blocks to the guys’ house on a quiet, narrow street, though every step felt like a marathon. I could spot the place a mile away. There was a small clump of women, buzzing with conversation, their faces shaded by umbrellas. A security car was parked outside, and a brawny guy stood on the sidewalk, pacing back and forth. Nick’s threats, it seemed, had been misdirected; someone had already figured out where the guys were holed up.

The brawny guy held up a hand as I finally approached. “I can’t let you in here,” he said in a brusque, rough British accent, blocking the front gate with his body. Water glistened on the hood of his blue rain jacket.

I lowered my hood, taking a vain leap of faith that he’d recognize my face or my hair or something. “Please. It’s urgent.”

He pointed to the girls across the street. “That’s as close as I can let you get.”

“Pete, it’s OK,” came a voice from behind him. “She can come up.” I peered around the guard to see the door cracked open. Howie had poked his head out.

The guard grunted and stepped aside. I scurried past him to the foot of the steps. Howie had opened the door. He leaned against the dry doorframe with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable.

“Hey, Meg,” he said, his tone cautious but a little surprised. Nick must have tipped the guys off after all. I made a mental note to kick him in the shins.

I tried to smile, but it seemed my very face was shaking, and not from the cold. “Hey, Howie. Can I come in?”

Howie looked nervously over his shoulder. He lowered his voice. “I’m not sure I’m supposed to.” He offered me a small smile. “It’s nice to see you. You came a long way.”

I crossed my arms against the cold. Fat snowflakes had begun to intermingle with the rain. My sneakers and the bottoms of my jeans were soaked, and I was losing feeling in my fingers. I hated Howie just then. It was his fault I was here, wasn’t it? His fault for daring me to pursue his buddy, who had broken my heart, whom I now wanted so desperately to walk out here and love me. I wondered if I was looking upon Howie for the last time. The idea made me want to be less angry at him.

A Southern-fried voice, barely audible, came from behind Howie. “Jesus, D, are we heating the sidewalk?”

I squeezed my eyes shut at the sound of Brian’s voice. My heart physically hurt. It had been pounding for so much of this endless day that I was sure that it would just give out right here, that I would just drop dead. I’d been turning this moment over in my mind for a week, and it was here, and I couldn’t speak.

“Gotta go,” I heard Howie say quickly. I opened my eyes in time to see him bolt out of sight.

Behind him, Brian was walking toward the front door, fumbling with the zipper on a cozy-looking blue hoodie. Without looking up, he closed his hand around the doorknob, pushing the door closed.

This was my chance, but my feet felt rooted to the spot. My mouth felt so dry that I could not speak. I wouldn’t have known what to say. The million options I’d rehearsed in my head floated away. He was just going to shut the door on me and walk away.

“Brian.” It was almost involuntary. My voice came out in a hoarse squeak.

The door stilled. There was no movement for a few long seconds. Then, in what felt like slow motion, it opened again, and Brian reappeared. He stepped onto the top step, so slowly, and closed the door behind him. I saw him exhale sharply, and he leaned back against the door. A million emotions ran across his face at once – shock, hurt, longing, love, apprehension – but his beautiful face just as quickly went blank. I could have been a stranger.

Of course, it was pretty hard to pay attention to the expression on his face in light of the serious shiner under his left eye.

“What the hell happened to your eye?” I blurted out.

He blinked suddenly, as if a trance was broken. “I…” His voice was scratchy, and he cleared his throat. “Nick jacked me in the face the other day,” he said, a bit sheepishly.

“Why?” It was probably a stupid question. I was pretty sure I knew exactly why.

A wry shadow of a smile crossed Brian’s face. “He said I was a dumb-ass.”

If I got out of this with all my friendships intact, I was going to have to have a conversation with Nick about anger and appropriate responses to his friends’ fuckery.

I could barely breathe. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Brian. The girls across from the house had quieted down. The guard had backed away. We were the only people on the street. We were the only people in London.

Brian shrugged one shoulder. “He’s right,” he said quietly. “But I’m not the only one.”

My throat was burning. “Fair enough,” I whispered.

He pushed back from the door and sat down on the top step, half in the rain and snow, half out. He looked exhausted and, yes, hurt. “What are you doin’ here, Meg?”

“I…” He swam before my eyes. My heart was in my throat, and I could barely speak, but I plunged on. “I need to say something, and then I’ll leave.”

Brian made a vague, prompting gesture with one hand.

The tears and the tightness of my chest threatened to choke me. “Come home, Brian,” I said, as loudly as I dared. He looked down at the sidewalk, shaking his head with a humorless chuckle, and I plunged on. “I…I don’t mean back to Louisville. I mean…” I swallowed hard. “You always say I’m where you call home. So come home.”

He looked up now, and I could see him chewing the inside of his cheek. I blinked, and tears spilled over, mixing with the cold rain and snowflakes on my face. “Come home to me, and we’ll fix this. I know we can. I know we both fucked up, but we can fix this.” The pressure finally escaped me in a sob. “I love you. I’ve loved you since…since before I could even say it to myself. And I need you. This is me fighting for us. Like you did. Please, sweetie.”

I clapped a hand over my mouth before I could dissolve completely, but I couldn’t stop my shoulders from shaking, and it definitely wasn’t the cold. I couldn’t remember ever being so scared – of my own feelings, of his reaction, of losing everything in the blink of an eye.

A long sigh escaped Brian, and his shoulders seemed to sag, as if he were deflating. “That’s just words, Meg.” His voice was barely audible, and yet it felt to me like he was shouting.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I know. I’m not good for much besides words.” I squeezed my eyes shut, and more tears dripped down my cheeks. My voice broke. “I’m not good at loving you. You’re so easy to love, and I’m so bad at it. But I can’t stop.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t move. Neither did I. We stood frozen in time. The rain was almost all wet snowflakes now, but there was still cold water dripping from my hair into my eyes, and I tried to blink it away.

Finally, Brian stood up and walked down to the last step. He held out his hand. “Come here.” His voice was very quiet and tentative. I stared at his hand for a moment. His fingers were shaking a bit. I reached out and wrapped mine around them.

He turned to lead me up the stairs, but suddenly, he froze. His head dropped, his shoulders sagging again. He squeezed my hand so fiercely hard that I gasped in spite of myself.

Brian turned back to me, and I saw for the first time that his eyes were glassy and a little red. I had only a moment to contemplate it before he closed the space between us, wrapped his arms around my waist and kissed me.

I was so shocked that I almost lost my footing. I grabbed on to his upper arms, digging my fingers in as I returned the kiss. I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, cradling my head as his other arm tightened around my waist, his strength surrounding me. He kissed me hard, desperately, his mouth urgent and demanding, his tongue probing my mouth as if searching for an antidote. A small moan escaped one of us. I slid my arms around his neck and held on for dear life. I couldn’t get close enough to him. I couldn’t get enough of him.

He broke the kiss and drew in a ragged breath, resting his forehead against mine. Our lips met again, gentler this time, soothing. I held his face in my hands, stroking his bruised cheek, and felt a tear on my fingers.

When at last we came back up for air, Brian whispered unsteadily, “That’s not gonna fix everything.” I shook my head. “But it’s a start.”

He let go of me, slowly, and took my hand again, lacing his fingers through mine and tugging me up the steps. “I wanna show you something.”

The house was full of old woodwork and great floors. There were jackets and shoes and dishes everywhere, the smell of deodorant and cologne and coffee. It was deserted. I wondered if everyone had escaped out the back, like cockroaches. I unzipped my sodden coat and hung it on the coat rack, which promptly tipped over. Brian chuckled quietly, and my heart soared at the sound. If he could smile, there was hope.

We walked into a room that was totally empty, except for a piano and a system of microphones suspended from the ceiling. Eggcrate was stapled to the walls in strategic places. Through a window, I could see a sound booth. It had been a long time since I’d been in one of these.

Brian sat down at the piano bench and patted the spot next to him. I sat, gingerly, sure my wet jeans would warp the wood.

He lifted the lid on the keys. “I, um, I’ve been messing around with this for a while.” He looked at me, and his eyes were full of apprehension. “I’ve been messing with it a lot more the last few days.”

With one finger, he tapped out a few melancholy notes. He started playing a rough, sad melody, humming, then singing very softly.

Your coat on the chair and the scent of your hair I miss

The clock on the wall, it reminds me of all the better times

When we walked in the park

And we whispered in the dark

And we laughed and cried

And I never knew alone

At the next words, I closed my eyes against a fresh wave of tears.

Wherever you are is home

His voice grew louder now, but started to shake. I felt him scoot a little closer to me.

Without your lips on mine

No, the sun doesn’t shine

And no, I can’t breathe

I can’t…

His voice dropped out entirely. The music stopped. My eyes were still closed, tears trickling through my lashes.

“Hey, look at me,” Brian whispered tenderly. I opened my eyes to find his watching me. They were still a little red. He kissed my cheeks, where the tears had fallen, and wiped them with his thumbs.

“I don’t think I could ever stop loving you, sweet girl,” he said softly.

My heart, what was left of it, melted. A sob escaped me. “That’s what I needed to hear.” I sniffled hard. “This doesn’t fix everything,” I echoed. “But it’s a start.”

He dropped his hands to mine, in my lap, looking down at our entwined fingers. “I’m sorry.” He reached out and ran the backs of his fingers over my stomach. “I… There’s no excuse for what I said. None.”

I shook my head. “No, not really,” I admitted.

He looked up at me. “Will you show me?”

I knew exactly what he meant. I stood up and unzipped my jeans with shaking hands. I slowly pushed them and my panties down on my hips, low, exposing the still-angry scar a few inches from my right hipbone. It was a symbol not just of sickness, but of loss.

He stared at it for a long moment, then leaned forward and pressed his lips to the incision. I closed my eyes, and my chest tightened. It was so very close to a place he’d visited in passion so many times, but there was only pure tenderness here, atonement.

I pulled my pants back up and sat down, not trusting my knees. When at last I regained my breath, I said, “I’m sorry, too. We need to do better.”

“I know.”

“No, we both do.” I took his hands in mine again. “I know it’s words, but wasn’t us breaking up, too?”

Brian bit his lip, pulling half of it into his mouth in an unconscious but grotesque-looking face I’d seen him make when he was thinking. His eyes were in a far-off place. “I need to be there better,” he said finally. “I…I know there wasn’t much I could have done for you, but I could have been better.” He looked down. “I kind of dragged you to my city, and I’ve kind of abandoned you there. It’s all bad timing.”

I tilted my head, struggling to process the disconnect between what he was saying and the reality that kept him here. “What are you saying?”

He met my eyes again. “We probably have another month on the album, and then I’m gonna come home. And I’m gonna see to it we all stay home for a while. I guess we’re gonna have to talk about touring sometime, but…” He laced his fingers through mine. “That’s later. A lot later.”

I squeezed my eyes shut against overwhelming hope. Real time with him. A real chance to fix things. It seemed too good to be true.

“But I need something from you, too.” His blue eyes searched mine when I opened them. “I need you to believe in us. I need you to believe you aren’t alone. I need you to trust me. Trust our future.”

He squeezed my hands, and I dared not look away. “I need you to take me back. I need you, Meg. It’s not just that I don’t wanna stop loving you. It’s that I can’t. Hand to God. I can’t live without you.” His eyes were red again, and his voice was rough, but it was more or less steady. “You can ask the other guys. I don’t think I was much fun to be around this last week. I don’t think they want me to live without you, either.”

Something between a laugh and a sob bubbled up inside me. My shattered heart started to congeal again. The tears in his eyes drew tears to my own. “Yes. Of course. Come back to me.”

The words seemed unbelievable as I said them. How was this my life? This felt like enough drama to last a lifetime. I suddenly felt like I was watching from above as Brian slipped an arm around the wet-haired, wet-eyed, bedraggled girl beside him and kissed her tenderly, sealing their apologies and promises.

When he drew back, he started, “So let me ask you…”

I couldn’t help but laugh again, though I was far from amused. “Isn’t that sort of where our problems started?”

“Lemme finish.” He wasn’t kidding, I realized, and my laughter died away as he went on. “I’m asking… Will you move in with me when I come home? And we’ll work on things, and we’ll…” He reached up with his free hand and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “Maybe then we’ll really be better.”

I wouldn’t have dreamed of turning him down now, but the hope in his eyes made it truly impossible. I cupped his face in my hands and let my kiss be my answer.

We weren’t over. Not by a long shot.