OUT OF THE RED ↝ dave grohl

one-hundred-eleven.

OCTOBER 23rd, 1998, LOS ANGELES, CA

IT DIDN'T SURPRISE Reagan that Taylor was the mastermind behind the trip. Only Taylor would orchestrate an extended weekend away in Mexico, picking Cabo San Lucas of all places, as if the lot of them were a bunch of tequila-guzzling college kids.

Dave had told her that it'd been planned in honor of their tour ending. He'd said that it wasn't just members of the Foo Fighters going, either. They'd invited several of the bands who'd either shared a line up with them or served as supporting acts. Reagan suspected though that the went beyond just celebrating the cessation of another tour. She didn't doubt that Taylor was doubly trying to get Dave away from the unhealthy situation that she'd plunged him into.

She was at a crossroads with his decision. He'd been home for good since late August and ever since, they'd co-existed like roommates, occasionally talking but only when it had been necessary. Usually, conversation between them was reserved for when Gracie was there.

It didn't upset her to have Dave out of the house for a few days. Any small shred of hope that she'd had that they could work things out in each other's presence was gone. Trying to be with each other twenty-four-seven was only pushing them father apart.

It was another case of disappointing irony. Reagan had longed for him to be back home since nineteen-ninety-five, only to now want him as far away from her as possible.

She sat on their bed with her legs crossed, watching as he messily packed a suitcase full of clothes. It appeared that he wasn't being selective with what he was bringing; she saw him throw down a tie on a pair of swim trunks.

"So you're cool with this?" he asked, pausing to stand up and face her.

Reagan gnawed on the inside of her lip, angling her eyes away from his. She really wasn't sure how to feel. It did seem callous of him to leave her for fun in Mexico when they were in the midst of a marital crisis, but then again, she'd practically made the choice for him with her no-speaking policy.

"You should do what you want," she said.

She thought that would be the end of it — that he'd go on packing, ignoring her ambiguity as usual. But Dave stayed turned towards her, his eyes burning holes into the side of her face.

"You really don't have anything else to say?" he pressed.

"Not really. If Taylor wants to organize a guys trip for you, you should go."

He scoffed and shook his head. "Alright, Reagan."

"What?" she asked, feeling a prickle of annoyance. "What do you want me to say?"

"I don't know. Something other than the bullshit answers you've been giving me for over half a year."

He couldn't have not possibly seen how deteriorated their relationship had become. By then, Reagan had started assume that they both knew how things would end, even if they weren't willing to say it to each other.

Yet as she edged closer and closer to feeling like it was time for her and Dave to throw in the towel, she pulled back. Every single time that she broached the most painful conversation that they would both ever have, she couldn't follow through with it.

Something kept her hanging on despite how shattered everything surrounding them had become.

"I'm sorry," she said lamely.

It wasn't what she'd really wanted to say and Dave looked as if he knew that, too. He paced once around his suitcase, stopping to collect his thoughts, before climbing onto the bed with Reagan. He grabbed her hands in his and touched their foreheads together.