Page 70 of Songs for Libby

My face fell; it was an ingrained response as the guilt and shame of leaving him pushed into my chest and tried to squeeze my heart.

He noticed and grabbed hold of my hands. “I needed the kind of help that only a professional could give me.”

I latched on to those words and stared at his face, trying to determine if he was telling the truth or only trying to make me feel better. I wanted the clutch on my heart to ease.

“My mom couldn’t help me. She didn’t have the know-how or emotional fortitude. And she loved me too much to be able to give me the direction I needed. She needed the therapy just as much as I did.”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“And, uh…” he said with obvious emotion and hesitance. “After—” He swallowed. “After what I put you through, the way I acted. And then losing Jonas…you could probably use some too.”

A sharp ache filled my chest at the mention of Jonas, but I breathed through it and gave a weak smile. “I started going a little while ago.”

He let out a whoosh of a sigh. “Good. That’s good.” He bent his head over his guitar again and plucked a melody from the strings.

“Yeah, it is." I watched as he paused and wrote something on a notepad. “What are you working on?”

“A new song.” He looked up, giving me a cheeky grin.

I rolled my eyes. “I figured that much.”

“I think this will be the first single off my next album.”

“When’s your next tour?”

“Not scheduled yet.”

My brow furrowed. “Don’t you have to book those things more than a year in advance?”

“Yeah. I’m just writing right now. Then I’ll start recording on my own time. Maybe in six months or so. But I don’t have plans to tour this album.”

“You don’t?”

He shook his head. “I’m trying to slow down my schedule.”

“Why?”

When he looked up at me, there was a calm and an assurance in his eyes that I envied. “For my own sanity.”

I lifted an eyebrow in question.

“After I got clean and felt stable enough, I agreed to jump back into everything but touring, because my team thought it was important to show that I was really back and could keep producing good music. Then last year, I finally agreed that it was time to show that I could do everything. And I did. And the fans loved it. But it’s done now, and the rehab is old news, and the schedule I’ve been running isn’t something I want to maintain. I’ve been doing fine, but it’s getting harder not to let all the stress and demand get to me. So I’m backing off.”

The shower of relief that flooded over me was almost tangible. Everything he said sounded so reasonable. His words had a maturity to them that I’d never heard from him when talking about his career, and it caused a blast of hopeful energy to swell in my chest, easing some of the ache there.

It was a good start. Sean and I were each moving forward. What we were moving toward—and whether or not we were moving in the same direction—I really didn’t know, but it felt promising.

♪♫♪

I found my extra house key and put it in my pocket as I got ready for the day.

As I was eating breakfast, Sean knocked lightly on my back door and then tried the handle. I had unlocked it already, so it opened easily and he came in, grinning when he saw me. “Good morning,” he chimed.

“Morning,” I answered, then fished the key out of my pocket and set it on the table.

He walked over and picked it up. “What’s this for?”

“It’s getting harder to heave myself off the couch, so it’s a key to my back door. If you want to come over, then just…come over.”