Over the next couple of weeks as I got ready to go on tour again, I had nothing but time to think, to keep running my brothers’ words through my mind over and over. I had my groceries and the occasional takeout meal delivered so I could avoid the paparazzi still camped out in the complex’s parking lot. I also ordered some books online about forgiveness.
I found some measure of relief after I confessed to Angie the truth of everything that had happened. She told me she’d be there for me but didn’t have much else to say about it.
It left me even more time to sit and think, and to read advice from a number of different experts. Eventually it dawned on me that my idiot siblings had been right.
Ryan didn’t need my forgiveness.
I needed his.
With some time and distance, I was able to think more clearly about that situation with CeCe. Ryan had been shocked. He hadn’t known, hadn’t kept me in the dark. He hadn’t betrayed me or cheated on me. Something life-altering had been dropped in his lap, right after I’d told him I wanted to be his wife. Where I would promise to love, honor, and support him. Instead of doing any of that, I took off.
I was.
Leaving when it suited me, not standing and fighting for my relationship when I should have. Walking away when things got too hard. That wasn’t how relationships were supposed to work.
My Harrison temper had made me do something so dumb.
No, I mentally corrected myself, not willing to keep passing the blame. It wasn’t my DNA that was to blame. My father hadn’t forced me to be a terrible girlfriend. That was a choice I’d made.
A choice I needed to beg Ryan to forgive me for.
Like my mom had said, it was all a waste. Of time, energy, love.
Forgiveness, obviously, had never been my strong suit, and now I was the one who needed it from the man I loved. If he couldn’t forgive me, it was what I deserved for reacting so badly. For saying things to him that were so blatantly untrue. Ryan had never been, and never would be, like my father. Ryan had been attentive, loving, and devoted to me the whole time we were together, despite what the tabloids were saying. And he was that way even before things were official between us.
I also realized I needed to learn to forgive before I could ask for it from other people. Not Ryan. He didn’t need my forgiveness.
My father did.
Or, more accurately, I needed to forgive. Parker had been right. I’d never be in a functional relationship if I couldn’t get past my anger at my father. Because the only person my anger was hurting was me. My father was who he was. I didn’t have to let him be a part of my life, but I wanted to stop giving him power over me.
I had to find a way to let go.
I knew it wouldn’t be easy, but I used my new forgiveness guides to help me. To make me into a better person.
Admitting my own faults, that I was the one to blame when it came to Ryan, made it so that I could write music again. Like I’d unlocked some door that had been sealed shut because I wasn’t being true or authentic. Creation couldn’t come from lies.
It came from truth.
And pain.
I also started looking up information on Ryan so I could see what he was up to. I saw more pictures with Skyler that made my stomach twist and turn. After a few calming breaths, I told myself that if he’d moved on with her, well, I deserved that, too. I wanted him to be happy. If it was with someone like her, I’d have to learn to accept it.
My books were making me very Zen.
Then I found a press release where his label announced an upcoming single, a duet between him and Skyler.
That gave me a sliver of hope, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
If they wanted him to do a duet, maybe all this “Skyler and Ryan are dating” stuff was just publicity.
Maybe, if I could earn his forgiveness, we could find our way back to each other.
I found a recent clip from an entertainment show. An interview. I both wanted to watch it and didn’t want to.
I gave in and pressed PLAY. It hurt my heart to see the animated expression on his beautiful face, to hear his voice. To hear the laughter in it, like he’d totally moved on and wasn’t sitting in a small, dark apartment feeling sorry for himself.
The interviewer asked him about the Moonstruck tour, and I actually forgot to breathe. Would Ryan talk about me?
He told a couple of stories about his bandmates, one about Anton always sleeping, but nothing about Yesterday. Nothing about me.
Until the interviewer asked, “What about you and Maisy Harrison? The lead singer of your opening act? Are you two still together?”
As my heart cartwheeled like an Olympic gymnast in my chest, all the emotion left Ryan’s face. He looked like he’d been carved out of granite. “Next question,” he instructed.
Freezing grief—all-encompassing, numbing, and painful—swallowed me up.
I’d lost him.
And it was all my fault.
Then they talked about Ryan’s next album, and he spoke excitedly about how different the sound would be. More adult. More rock. More real instruments.
It was everything he’d wanted. The reason we’d had a fake relationship in the first place. Despite my own pain at losing him, I was happy for him.
I wanted to tell him.
Why couldn’t I tell him? There was nothing to stop me from texting him. We were leaving for our tour the next day. I didn’t know how texting would work once I was in Europe. This might be my last chance.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I grabbed my phone and entered his number.
I pushed SEND, my fingers shaking. I waited. And waited.
No response. Maybe I needed to stay away from small talk and tell him how I felt.
Still nothing.
What was he thinking? Had I really screwed things up so badly that he wouldn’t even respond to my text?
Finally, two hours later, I put my phone away. There wouldn’t be any response.
Ryan had just let me know, loud and clear, that we were 100 percent over.