Back to You (Sequel to Take Me Away From Here)

Chapter 15

Tim POV: 

I use my crutches to walk down to the basement, feeling the need to songwrite. I need to cleanse out everything that has happened over the last few weeks to keep me from going insane. I start toward the couch, before my eyes linger on the piano in the middle of the room.

 I stare at it long enough to picture her there, gliding her fingers across the keys. I can still hear her laugh from the night we stayed up drinking together seven years ago. There was something so incredibly stunning about the way she let her guard down for me, despite our history. I know our history has only grown worse since then, but I pray for another night like that. 

I sit down on the couch, taking a deep breath after feeling exhaustion hit. I'd consider myself a fairly fit guy, but doing stairs on crutches is still winding. While catching my breath, I notice a scrapbook lying out of the coffee table. Faith is rarely down here, so I have no idea what this is doing out. I lean forward, feeling my nosy side kick in. I open it up, before seeing clippings from magazines early on in her career. I smile, remembering how she used to collect all of them until we had kids, because she really couldn't believe that she was famous. She used to pull some of mine, saying that when we were old and irrelevant, I'd appreciate it. I flip through the first few pages, recognizing that most of the clips are from '93 and '94. I feel myself stop, as I come across a yellowing clipping from a newspaper in '96. 

Her frizzy blonde curls line each side of her head as she stands inches away from me, a spotlight shining between us. Her smile is so bright it warms me, even on the faded slip of newspaper. The headline reads, Sparks Fly at the Salt Lake stop on the Spontaneous Combustion Tour. I slowly turn the page, before seeing picture of us with the girls filling the pages instead. They aren't from news clippings, but instead from us... 

I stand backstage with Gracie on my shoulders, and Maggie in a carrier hanging from my chest, somehow making it look effortless. Gracie's hands are on my cheeks, as she smiles brightly, her blond ponytails tied with bright pink hairbands. I spot Faith in the reflection behind me in the photo. She smiles brightly, clinging to the camera while waving her hand to get Gracie's attention. 

I stare at the photo, feeling blown away by it. Were we really that happy? It seems like that was a whole different world in contrast to where we are now. I just can't seem to remember when I lost the ability to make her smile by simply being near her... 

I shut the scrapbook, feeling like viewing any more of the photos would crowd my head beyond capacity. I can't stop thinking about that one photo... so much so that I can't even think about writing a song. I stand up, grabbing my crutches, and make my way upstairs once more. I stop at the top of the stairs, feeling my heart pound while I try not to break a sweat. Gracie stands in the kitchen, holding a yogurt while looking my way. She stops mid-bite, taking a moment to watch me carefully. 

"You okay?" She asks, sounding a little alarmed. I nod, trying to play it off. I sit down at the kitchen island and think of a conversation to start with her. It's been a while since I've talked to her without a therapist around. 

"Can I talk to you for a moment?" I ask, deciding to just clear my mind. She nods hesitantly, before walking to the cupboard and grabbing a glass, filling it with ice water, and pushing it my way. I take it willingly. "Thank you." I reply, causing her to smile. She stands beside the counter, leaning her elbows on it. 

"So what do you want to talk about?" She questions, seeming rather fearless about it. Normally when I say something like that to her mother, she freaks out, thinking that it's a pivotal discussion (which it normally is when I phrase it like I did). I take a deep breath, nodding slowly. 

"I'm sorry... I know..." I start, before finding a better way to phrase things. "I did a lot of things that were unfair to you, and your sisters, and your mother... Don't you ever think that I don't understand that." I let out, seeing her smile fade. "I drank a lot around you, and I know that you saw me do things that no daughter should ever have to witness. I had a problem, and it took me a very long time to get it under control, and I know that I damaged a lot of relationships along the way." I confess, as she sighs. 

"It's okay." She replies quietly, now seeming hesitant. I shake my head, knowing there's more to be said. 

"I know it's not. The car accident... honey, there isn't a day that night doesn't cross my mind. There's no good reason you and I aren't dead because of my piss pour decision making. It terrifies me how close I came to losing you. That should've been the final straw, and I know that. I know that it's been hard for you to move on past that, and that's understandable. Your mother and I were too busy fighting with each other to give you the attention you needed after an traumatic event like that..." I ramble, feeling like my head is pounding. She takes a deep breath, like she has something to say. 

"You said you knew it should've been the last straw..." She starts, biting her lip as she looks at me with moist eyes. "so why wasn't it?" She asks, leaving me a little stumped. I think carefully, knowing my answer needs to be crafted with care. 

"I lost everything after that... I lost you, your sisters, your mom... and I just.... I couldn't handle it. I was sober for a week or so, and then that sense of loneliness hit, and I lost self-control. I'd still have to go on stage, and do something that terrified me, only now without anything in my system to help ease the nerves. I could've quit my job, but Craig wouldn't let me, so I decided to numb myself again, since there wasn't anyone around to stop me. It was childish, but there was no way I could quit on my own. Your mother has been the only thing that's made me quit, and she doesn't even know that." I explain honestly, watching her nod. 

"Rehab didn't make you quit?" She asks. I shake my head, feeling a pit in my stomach.

"No." I answer, knowing I have to elaborate. "There were a lot of other people there who suffered from the same things I did, and they would find ways to smuggle things in, so I still would use while in rehab. Then your mom came in, and I remember I had just shot up, because I was terrified of what she'd say... She couldn't even look at me. There's never been a day where your mother hasn't been able to look at me, and I just felt so sick. Toward the end of the session, I asked if we could at least be civil and she said if I stayed sober, she'd think about it. I went back to my room, and I came apart. I gave myself an assortment of drugs, and wound up lying on the floor, staring at the ceiling with the radio on. I remember that I had a bottle of vicodin hidden under the bed, and debating whether or not I should take it, and end things right there... I had the pills in my hand, when I passed out from the drugs already in my system. When I woke up, When The Lights Go Down was playing on the radio... So I flushed the pills and cleaned up my act." I admit, watching her look down at her hands. "Your mom is the only person who knows how to hold my hand and kick my ass at the same time, even if she isn't aware of it."

"I didn't know that." Gracie confesses, glancing up at me. I nod, biting my lip for a moment. 

"I just want you to know that I'm sorry... and I know where I went wrong. I just don't want you to ever think that you can't talk to me because of the past. Being your father is what I'm most proud of, and something that I value over everything. There is nothing you could say or do that would change that, and I hope that everything I've said and done hasn't stopped you from trusting me." I conclude, watching her nod. I grab her hand, giving it a squeeze across the counter. She smiles down at our hands, as I clear my throat. 

I get up on my crutches, not wanting to be too overbearing. She came down to eat yogurt, and I just bombarded her with the I'm sorry I was a drug addict conversation. It went surprisingly well, given all the ways I imagined it going over the last few months. 

"Hey Dad?" She calls out as I start toward the stairs. I turn, seeing her stand while looking rather nervous. "There's something I actually wanted to talk to you about..."