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“No. Now, I just want your forgiveness.”

It’s a small confession. A big secret and more vulnerable than I feel comfortable with, but I know he likes secrets and vulnerability, so I offer it to him in hopes he accepts it.

“My forgiveness?”

“Yeah.” I nod softly.

“I’m the one who should be begging you for forgiveness, not you.”

“I forgave you weeks ago.”

“Without letting me apologize?”

“You did apologize, though, don’t you remember?”

“I don’t think that was a good enough apology.” He sighs.

“His bloody body was more than good enough.”

He grimaces, looking away. “I shouldn’t have done that, least of all in front of you. I’m sorry.”

“I’d be more mad if you didn’t do it in front of me.” I shrug. “Though that’s probably not healthy.”

“Yeah.” He nods, his eyes shifting back to me. It makes me feel warm when he looks at me. “But sometimes it’s okay to be unhealthy. To be damaged.”

“I’m still trying to accept that.” I sigh. “Hard to push through all the pain knowing it never fully goes away.”

“Yeah.” He glances down again. “Listen, I’m running late for this meeting, and I’m supposed to be kissing ass right now, but it was good seeing you, Tues.”

“Yeah.” I nod, forcing myself to smile.

“See you around,” he says, starting to walk away.

“Wyatt?”

“Yeah?” He pauses, looking at me.

“Thank you.”

He nods once before starting to walk away again.

I sit there for a little longer. I’m glad I got to talk to him, but it doesn’t feel like enough. There’s so much left unspoken, but maybe that’s how it has to be.

I finally force myself to go inside of the building. I’m like twenty minutes late, but I know no one will complain.

They don’t even bat an eye when I walk in the conference room. The lesson has been learned—I am not to be fucked with apparently. I’m sure eventually that will change, but for now, I can get away with almost anything.

As long as I’m a liability, they will leverage me for profit. So maybe I’m not completely free, but at least now, I have the power to make my own decisions.

I take an empty seat as someone places a glass of water in front of me. Someone else drops a stack of packages in front of me.

“Tuesday,” Helen greets me from the head of the table. “We were just looking over available band members for you to choose from. Why don’t you scan over the packets, make some notes, and tell us what you think.”

They go back to talking about something I couldn’t care less about as I flip through the packets. It’s hard to know for sure who will be good without hearing them, but I know some of the names I read.

I mark Xs over a few people I’d rather never see again, most of whom I’ve fucked, or just made me mad.

I star a few drummers I know to be decent. X far too many rhythm guitarists, but star a few that I think may fit.