Listen to Your Heart

Chapter Eleven

            "Do you ever think about the why of things? I mean, they say everything happens for a reason and I know sometimes that reason isn't really up to us. It's a divine thing, right? It's a part of God's grand design but I don't know...I think about it all the time. Why we're put in a certain place at a certain time. Why people leave, why other people come in..."

"This is deep for," Bradley glanced at his watch, "4:15 in the morning." He rubbed at his eyes. "But to answer your question, yeah, of course, I do. I think it's human nature to question our circumstances."

The sun had not quite risen over the horizon, the moon still sending its light through the blinds of the basement studio. Mark and Lukas had left an hour ago and remnants of them remained; crumbled pieces of paper, a guitar pick, errant half-drunken cups of coffee. They'd made significant headway on the album and she was pleased with their progress, albeit exhausted from a  full day of filming beforehand.

She'd stayed behind and they'd discussed music for a while, tossing out ideas, playing around with melodies. Bradley's enthusiasm was almost childlike, and she loved his excitement, his eagerness to learn. The night he'd texted her the lyrics to Black Eyes, she could envision him in this very studio, his hand on his guitar, strumming the chords he'd painstakingly practiced daily, spilling words onto paper in his chicken scratch. He had told her later, almost sheepishly, that he was afraid she wouldn't like it. His yearning for her approval warmed her. It echoed how she (and she imagined everyone on the film) felt about him...she only wanted to make him proud.

They had to resume work in less than six hours and realistically, she knew they both needed rest, but there was no one to go home to and she knew she probably wouldn't sleep anyway. The studio was inviting, and she liked talking to him. She liked when they didn't talk,too. Sometimes, it was just being in his presence, leaning against him as he hummed songs they'd written or some Neil Young, her head against his chest as he smoothed his hands over her hair or traced absentminded patterns on her shoulders.

Other times he'd ramble about nothing and everything all at once...his childhood, grad school, his first acting gig, how Lea was getting bigger every day, the way Irina was strained and distant now. He would talk and she would be content to listen, reverberations tickling the ear that was pressed to his heart.

There were days on set that were so emotionally draining, she couldn't say anything for hours afterward and he could sense it. And there were other days, she needed to let everything out, whether it was by crying or emitting a single, long scream of frustration. He'd let her borrow Charlie to cuddle with on set without her saying anything because he knew she needed him.

It became where she could convey anything to him with only a look, a solitary gesture, which was simultaneously a little scary and absolutely reassuring. Perfect, she knew, for Ally and Jackson, but uncharted territory, certainly, for her.

"I believe in fate," Stefani stretched up, encircling his bicep and settling her head into the dip of his shoulder. "Why else would you have been at Sean's event? Why else would I have been performing, right when you were looking for your Ally? It's full circle, Bradley. Everything was so fucked up when you offered me the movie, all I could see was darkness. This film coming along...someone knew I needed this." She shrugged apologetically. "It's so late, my brain is short-circuiting...you can tell me to shut up."

"No, no," he tucked his hair behind his ears, "I get it. And I think you're right. There's some kind of plan, I guess you could say, for all of us. I truly believe it... obviously, part of mine was directing this project." He looked down at her, his eyes full of tenderness. "And most importantly, you coming into my life."