Page 30 of The Ballad of Us
“I'm ready,” I tell him, and as I say it, a new kind of certainty washes over me. For the first time, the hope I feel outweighs the fear that has lingered since I arrived here. I believe it might be true.
At eight PM sharp, I’m in the phone booth, dialing Rhea. The time I have to talk to the woman I love is my favorite time of day. I love sharing progress, hearing her voice, and pretending, for a moment, we’re still us.
She answers on the second ring now, having done so for the past week. There’s no more hesitation or anxiety about hearing from me. Her sweet, warm voice just picks up with a, “Hey, you.”
And that’s all it takes to make my heart race. “Hey, baby. How was your day?”
“Good. Really good. Emma taught me how to make that fancy latte art today. Turns out I'm terrible at it, but Mrs. Chen said my attempt at a heart looked like a deformed sloth, which made everyone laugh. What about you?” Her voice carries the quiet contentment I've grown to love hearing.
I tell her everything about the band’s visit—the group session, the sharing circle, and the afternoon by the lake with my guitar. I tell her how nervous I am about leaving rehab, but I'm also hopeful about the future of Case in Point. “They really liked the new songs, Rhea. Especially the one about you. Zep said it was some of my best writing, and coming from him, that means everything.”
“I'd love to hear it sometime,” she says softly, and the heat spreads through my chest.
“Maybe you will. Maybe when I get out, we can...” I catch myself before I venture into dangerous territory. We're still crawling, still learning to trust these tentative steps toward friendship. “Maybe someday.”
We discuss her book club and the thriller novel she's reading that's keeping her up at night. I tell her to change genres with a laugh. We talk about the fall weather and the mountains we can both see from our respective windows. We discuss ordinary and easy things. The conversation feels like coming home.
But I need to ask her about something Bruce and I discussed in our session yesterday. “Rhea, I have a favor to ask, and you can absolutely say no.”
“What is it?”
“Bruce, my therapist, thinks it might be helpful if you came in for a session. Just once, to help me work through some things about our relationship, about the damage I did, and how to move forward in a healthy way.” I'm rushing through the words, nervous as hell that she'll say no. “It's not about getting back together or trying to manipulate you into forgiving me. It's about me understanding the full scope of what I put you through so I can make sure I never do it again. To anyone.”
Rhea takes a moment before responding, her tone steady and clear. “I appreciate your honesty, Gray. However, I need you to understand that I still require my space, and I'm not ready to rush into anything beyond a friendship yet. I worry about opening old wounds without fully healing them first.”
The silence stretches long enough that I start to worry she's hung up.
“When?” She surprises me with her question.
“Thursday afternoon, if you're willing. Two o'clock. I know it's a lot to ask?—”
She interrupts. “I'll do it. I think it might be good for me too. I’d like to maybe say things I've never been able to say.”
Relief floods through me so completely that I have to sit down. “Thank you. God, Rhea, thank you.”
“It's okay, Gray. I want you to succeed in recovery. Even if we never...even if things between us never go back to how they were, I want you to be healthy and whole.” Her tone is sincere, telling me she really does want me to kick recovery’s ass, but that’s just Rhea. She can see the good in almost anyone.
The phone crackles with the warning that we have one minute left.
“I love you. I know you can't say it back, but I need you to know—” I start, but she intercedes again.
“Gray, wait. I want you to know how proud I am of you. Seventy-five days clean and sober, working with a therapist, rebuilding relationships with your band, and all to become the man I always knew you could be. I’m so glad to see you become the man I fell in love with again.”
Her words move and affect me deeply, and I have to press my hand against my mouth to keep from sobbing into the phone.
“Thank you. Thank you for seeing that, even when I couldn't see it myself.” I know the overwhelming emotion can be heard in my voice.
“Good night, Gray.”
“Good night, baby.”
As the line goes dead, I sit in the phone booth for a long moment, letting her words wash over me. The familiar emptiness I used to brace for after a call has transformed. Now, it’s filled with pride and relief. She's proud of me. For the first time in years, I've done something that makes the woman I love proud, rather than disappointed. The ache in my chest is softer and more hopeful, rather than an unsettling longing.
I only have two weeks left here. I’m in awe that I’m seventy-five days sober, and that I have a band that believes in me. It’s almost unbelievable that a therapist is helping me understand myself. And Rhea, my strong, beautiful girl, is even willing to help me heal. I take a deep breath, cool autumn air filling my lungs. So different from my anxious first days here. Perhaps I will finally make it this time.
Eleven
RHEA
