to be spoken. “But I think I ruined you when I pushed you into this. And I’ll never be able to make that up to you.”
“Libby,” he said with so much love and concern in his voice that I had to look up at his face. “What are you talking about?” He looked honestly confused, which befuddled me. “You didn’t push me into this. I didn’t follow you blindly into fame. I wanted it just as much as you did. I pushed myself because I loved it. My songs were better because you loved it too. You know music runs through my veins, and I was so happy to have you there with me.”
“But—”
“No. You say no adults ever sat us down, and I guess that’s true for you, but I had plenty of warnings going into this. My mom was excited when I first got the call, but then she got really worried really fast. She made me think about it for weeks longer than I wanted to before she’d let me sign the contract.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “Maybe she should have made me wait longer…” He stared at his hands. “I know now how young I was, how ill-prepared. It’s amazing how clearly you can see once you’re on the other side of something. But back then…” He slowly shook his head back and forth. “I was riding high. I was invincible and nothing was going to get me down. And I really did love it. When it was good, it was so good. But when it was bad…” He trailed off, his eyes glazing over.
I wanted to ask him what rehab was like, but I didn’t have the time. I had to leave if I was going to make it to Dr. Mory’s office on time. I sniffed. “Thanks for telling me that.” I reached for his hands. “I need to go.”
He heaved me carefully out of the couch cushion abyss and then squeezed my hands. “Can I drive you?”
I shook my head. “As nice as that would be, I’d rather not have someone snap a photo of us and start a feeding frenzy.”
He stroked his beard. “You don’t think this would protect me?”
I shook my head. “Not quite. Thanks, though.”
He gave me a sad smile and slid his hands into his pockets. I could feel his eyes on me as I left.
During the drive, I tried to think about everything he’d said only a little at a time. I needed to process slowly. I’d believed for so many years that I was the reason. I was the impetus of his fame and fortune and downfall. I was the match that lit the fuse.
But what if all of it would have happened without me anyway? What if I wasn’t the linchpin? I had plenty of time to contemplate the implications as Dr. Mory put about twenty needles in my right hip, lower back, and butt cheek. Pregnancy was glamorous.
I went to work with my hips in much better working order and focused my mind on the music and my students. When I got home that evening, Sean was nowhere to be seen, for which I was grateful. I walked around my kitchen on autopilot, gathering a small dinner as my brain churned with memories suddenly cast in a different light. The implications were…big, and I was happy to open my window and climb into bed with Sean’s serenade floating through the window.
After work the next day, I had another appointment with my therapist. In my previous sessions, we’d been talking through my hurt and anger, but at this appointment, I mentioned the guilt.
That one mention of my guilt turned into the most surprising discovery that I’d made in therapy yet. I’d always known I felt guilty for leaving Sean. The guilt being there was nothing new. But as I started to talk about it, I was shocked by just how vast it was—the way it crept into every aspect of my life. That was surprising. I’d done a good job at shoving it down. I’d been functional. I’d been happy, especially with Jonas. But acknowledging it…trying to pull it out, unpack it and look at it in all its dark, twisted glory left me wrung out and limp.
When I got home that evening, I didn’t even have the energy to get out of the car. I sat there, trying to acclimate myself to the idea that my guilt had been unfounded and I