The Mighty Fall In Love

Chapter Three

CHAPTER THREE

I knock on the bathroom door, expecting to see Pete still hugging the toilet bowl, but instead, once I open the door without waiting for a response, he sits on the sink. His knees are pulled up to his chest, where tears drops have fallen.

"Trick?" He asks, pulling his head up from his knees. He looks up at me with pleading eyes and looks almost hopeful.

"Yeah, Pete?" I answer.

"How much did that kiss mean to you?" he asks in a hush voice. "And be honest."

I put down the toilet seat, where inside I see more than a half dozen colourless pills and more liquid, probably the alcohol, and sit down. Pete's only a few inches away from me on the sink.

How much did the kiss mean to me? I want to say. I've been waiting years trying to figure out where we've stood with each other. I know we have an inseparable connection, and like the pieces of a puzzle, we click. We've known each other inside and out for 12 years and counting. Our friendship consists of us staying true to each other no matter what else changes around us. We never fight more than a couple days, and always end up forgiving each other with opened arms. We get on each other's nerves but we know how much we can take, we know when to stop, we know the boundaries. We joke around, protect each other from useless suckers and paparazzi, and save each other during interviews. You defend my insecurities and I to you. I've never known if fate wanted Joe to introduce each other so we could be together, and I've been wondering that ever since our first jam session in Joe's attic in 2001. I knew there was a certain connection between us that lit a fire under our asses, and we're the best of friends. Who knows if we're meant to be together? I think we should try.

I take a deep breath, and prepare to tell Pete the "truth".

"Honestly," I start. "It didn't mean much. You have a 2-year committed relationship and I'm married. You have a son. That kiss was experimentation. It was a test and we failed. It was spur of the moment and didn't mean anything..."

There's an extremely hurt expression on his face, and my heart breaks in two.

No! I want to scream. I love you! Can't you see?

But I can't. I'm right. We're already in relationships that we couldn't just break off. They mean a lot to us, but maybe I and Pete were more meant to be than me being with Elisa or Pete being with Meagan. Maybe fate wanted us to fall in love and live happily ever after playing great music together and spending the rest of our lives in each other's arms.

Or maybe not.

Pete's lips quiver. Tears fill his eyes again. I look away from him before I start crying too.

We sit in silence for a few long minutes. I regret everything I said. I want Pete so bad. I want his love so bad. He needs me and I need him. But being together would put a damper on our relationship, band and music. And it sucks, but I know this is the right thing to do.

He pulls his head from his knees and wipes his face with his hands.

"Just so you know," he says sourly. "I fucking loved that kiss and I fucking love you. Too bad you don't feel the same..." he trails off, puts his head back down on to his knees and shuts his eyes.

I knew I pissed him off and hurt him, but couldn't he see that if we did try to be in a relationship it could ruin our friendship forever? That it could tear us apart? That it could tear the band and the music apart? That would obviously ruin our relationships with the women we love?

That if it ended badly, it could ruin our lives?

He points at the door and I guess that's my queue to leave. I stand up, open the door, and step out, but glance back at him over my shoulder as I leave.

He let his defense down before I looked back, and I can see how hurt he is. The slump in his shoulders, the way they raise and fall with each silent sob. The way his arms pull his knees even closer to his chest for comfort. The way he let the tears just slip down his face until they fall.

And I think about going back and professing my love to him, telling him he means everything and more to me. I think about going back and comforting him, leaning him against my chest and wrapping my arms around him.

But I can't.

I shut the door and go out and ask the night driver to stop at the next gas station. He looks at me with a curious expression, but nods without saying anything. 

Once the bus parks, I grab my jacket and slip outside, tears fogging up my glasses and falling down my face.