I regret everything immediately. I already want to take the text back, but I can’t. This is how things have to be. I cannot allow myself to get wrapped up in River again.
Later that afternoon, I meet up with River to talk about last night, this morning, and how fast things have escalated. River tells me he wants me, and I feel more alive than I have in years. But at the same time, I know we have to pump the brakes.
“What? Do you think it’s just by chance that we ran into each other last night, Ave?”
There’s a sadness in his green eyes that I placed there. It makes me feel like the biggest asshole in the entire world. I’m trying to avoid either of us being hurt, but just five minutes after sitting down at the coffee shop I frequent, I see I’ve already sabotaged that idea.
“I think it’s crazy that in this big city, with a million dingy dive bars, we walked into the same one, yes. I don’t think I believe there’s some divine reasoning behind it, though,” I say.
My head used to fit perfectly into the crook of his arm, and I always loved being there. I want to be there now, instead of sitting across the table from him, hurting him. I can’t look into his eyes for long because when I do, I give in. I always have.
Last night brought it all back. The love, the tears, the heartbreak, the dreams we shared together.
“It just isn’t the right time. I’ve been through so much in the last few weeks.”
River refuses to look at me. Instead, he runs his hands up and down the scruff on his face and sighs as he sits quietly, gathering his thoughts before speaking again. “I get it. We’ve been out of each other’s lives for a long time. We had a really good night together, and it’s too soon for anything else. I can respect that.” He takes a breath and says, “Was the sex at least as mind-blowing as you remember?”
We both laugh then, and I ease back into myself. This is the River that I loved, the relationship and dynamic and playful banter I always felt I couldn’t live without. But I have. And I am.
“Sure was. I see you’ve been practicing your skills.” A small knife twists in my chest at the thought, but I remind myself I’ve done my share of fucking other people as well. We’re grown adults, and that’s part of it.
“I liked it too, Ave. I know you’re scared, but look, we’re both here now. Why can’t we just see where this goes?” He runs his fingers through his hair again, a habit that I love.
“I don’t think I can continue getting over Brady and clear my head while seeing you. It isn’t that easy. You’re just…” I sigh, deeply, sadly. “You’re not someone I can just see and not want to be all over. You know?”
He reaches his hands out toward me, over the table, and I grasp them. “I get it. I do. But I want you to think about it. Because I’m here and I’m telling you I want this. I won’t ever stop thinking about last night. The way we fit together so fucking perfectly, Ava. You can’t deny that.” He lets go of my hands, stands up, and gives me one last look before he turns to walk away—his eyes, his soul, his love, all pleading with me to change my mind. “I’ll be here when you’re ready. I hope you’ll call.”
And with that, River walks away from me again, this time leaving the decision of our fate in my hands. The impact of that knowledge burns a hole right through me that I know will be hard to get rid of.
Track Twenty-Two: Holding Her and Loving You
by Earl Thomas Conley
RIVER
“Wait…so like, you just let her go? Are you a fucking moron?” Jesse says, our lovely lead singer apparently making sure I know I probably just lost Ava again.
“What should I have done? Brought her to my place and locked her in a closet?” I’m kidding, but Jesse raises his eyebrows.
We’re at sound check for one of our first sets back in our city. Secretly, I’m hoping I can convince the guys to move back home. Maybe they’ll appease me if I coax them with beer and a sob story about needing to be here for my family—despite hardly communicating with them throughout my years in California.
In truth, we have nothing tying us to the West Coast. We can play our music anywhere. After seeing Ruby, I know I want to be there for her more. That means being here, in Chicago.
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t think Ava might have a little something to do with it, too.
Unable to help myself, I send a text to her. I know I shouldn’t, but I’m just a man—with too much access to his phone—asking a woman to please give this another shot. I know it’s too soon for her, but is it too soon to simply be in each other’s presence?
Me: Hey, Aves. Got a show tonight in the West Loop. You and Hailee could come out. As friends only. I’m not trying to rush you.
“You’re texting Ava, aren’t you?” Jesse laughs at me and my lack of impulse control. “I’m pretty sure you’ve talked about her more the past few years than any of the girls you were seeing—or screwing, or whatever it was.” He’s not wrong. “I think, by the way you talk about her, she’s probably better than you-know-who. The one that’s tagged along on our little trip here. When is she going back to California, anyway?” He winks at me and Charlie throws in his two cents.
“She Who Must Not Be Named!” my bandmates shout in unison.
A fucking Harry Potter reference? “Guys. Sore subject, all right? I’ll have you know it wasn’t my idea for her to come back here. She’s from Chicago, too, remember?” I’m not in the mood to talk about her.
We gear up then to start sound check. This gig is last minute, something Jesse lined up with a music venue owner he connected with through social media. I sling my guitar over my shoulder and run my hand up and down the strings, feeling the cool metal glide beneath my fingertips.
This is home. My city. My guitar. The band. I fall in love with playing even more every single time we have a show. If my parents did one thing right for me and Ruby, it was setting up our trust funds. I feel like a bad human sometimes, not needing to make an income, but most of the time I just feel abundantly lucky and grateful. I get to play music and try to make a career out of it while still being able to pay my bills.
An hour later, the crowd shuffles in, some heading to the bar to order drinks, others making their way to the stage to get a good spot on the floor. When the lights explode to life, a burst of energy flows through my body and I’m ready to put on a show. Just as my fingers strum the first chord, I scan the crowd for one particular face.
I try as hard as I can to lose myself in the music, to regain my composure doing what I love the most, but I feel like I fail miserably. I spend the entire set glancing up, gazing out at the sea of people, hoping she’ll show.
But she doesn’t.
In fact, she ignores the text I sent. And the one I send after that. This feeling is familiar. I felt it when I first left for California, when she declined my calls and stopped responding to all my texts.
I ask her how she’s doing. I even ask how the breakup shit is going, but nothing. All I get is radio silence.
Maybe she’d have had more words for me if I stayed gone.