30. Connection

I can feel it—that burn under my skin, the kind that makes my hands shake.

My body, my choice.

I want to yell, to smash something, to make her understand how bad this hurts. But if I let the anger take over… I might say something I’ll regret, destroy the smallest thing that’s still left between us.

“Fine,” I bite out, my voice shaking.

I grab the door and shove it open so hard it slams against the wall. I run down the stairs and I swear to god I can hear her say my name. But I don’t look back.

In just a few seconds I’m standing next to my car. I press my palms to the roof of the car, trying to breathe, but I can’t. My heart’s racing too fast.

I get in, start the engine. The noise is the only thing loud enough to drown out the rest.
I shove it into gear and hit the gas. Gravel spits out behind me as I tear down the street, hands locked on the wheel.

A parked car flashes too close. I swerve, tires screaming, missing it by inches. My heart slams in my chest, but I don’t slow down.

The car growls beneath me as I push it harder, faster. Evi’s voice keeps replaying in my head.

I’m pregnant.

I take a turn, and another one. Barely slowing down. Then— “Shit!”

I slam the brakes. The seatbelt cuts into my shoulder, and the car jerks to a stop just inches away from her.

For a second, we just stare at each other. My heart’s still hammering, adrenaline roaring in my ears. I throw the car into park and shove the door open. “Jesus, Bren—what the hell are you doing?!”

She doesn’t move, doesn’t flinch. “What the hell am I doing!?” she yells. “You nearly killed me!”

“I didn’t see you. I wasn’t—” I stop, because there’s no excuse.

“Clearly,” she says, stepping closer, her arms crossed. I fix my eyes on the steering wheel but I can feel her eyes on my face.

“She told you, didn’t she?”

I look at her, my eyes open wide. She already knows… Of course.
“Yeah,” I mutter, my voice low. “She told me.”

Brenda studies me for a moment, her expression softening. “And now you’re out here trying to kill yourself? Or worse, someone else.”

I exhale, shrugging. “I needed to get out of there.”

She exhales slowly, then walks around the car. “Unlock the door.”
I look at her confused. “Unlock the door, Bill.” She repeats herself. So I do. Mostly because I don’t have the energy to argue. She opens the door and slides into the passenger seat.

For a moment, neither of us speaks. The dashboard light throws soft shadows across her face. I hadn’t even noticed it was already dark outside.

“She didn’t tell you sooner because she was scared,” Brenda says finally. “You know that, right?”
“Scared of what?” My voice cracks. “Me? What I’d say?”

“Maybe,” she answers quietly. “She left you and then she also had to tell you she’s pregnant? That’s a lot.”

I scoff. “Trust me, I know.”

I stare out the windshield, a lump forming in my throat. “She doesn’t wanna keep it.” I say softly.
Brenda turns towards me. “The baby.. she—“ the words get stuck, tears filling my eyes.

“I know.” She sighs and gets out of the car. I look at her confused as she walks to my side of the car.

She opens my door. “Get out.”
“What?” I say confused. “Get out. I’m driving.”
“You are not driving my car.” I say, shaking my head. “Just get out.” I sigh, still shaking my head as I do what she says.

She takes my place on the drivers seat and I get in on the passenger side. “Now what?”
“You’ll see.”


We drive for I don’t even know how long. And it’s only when she parks the car that I realize where we are. “Bren, what are we doing here?”

Without saying a word she gets out of the car and walks away. I follow her lead and walk behind her. I haven’t been here in years.

Brenda lowers herself onto the grass, tucking one leg under her. She stares towards the lake, her face relaxed.

It’s strange how someone can go from being your best friend… to a complete stranger.

I exhale, before I sit down next to her.

Brenda doesn’t look at me, her eyes stay focused on the exact same spot—but she smiles faintly.

I close my eyes for a second and I instantly feel calmer. We used to come here every summer. Just sitting by the lake. Watching the sun go down. Talking about everything and nothing.

I hate to admit it, but this is exactly what I needed. And I didn’t realize how much I actually missed her.

“I’ve missed this,” I say before I can stop myself. I open my eyes. “How easy everything used to be.”
Brenda turns toward me. “It was never really easy,” she says softly. “We just thought it was.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “For everything I did..”
her eyes meet mine, her lips curled in a small smile. “Me too,” she says.

“You think we can be friends again?” I ask and she looks away, shrugging. “I don’t know,”

Brenda plucks a blade of grass and twists it between her fingers. “I don’t know,” she repeats, quieter this time. “But I think you have other things to worry about right now.”

I let out a small laugh. “Yeah,” I murmur. “I made quite a mess, huh?”
She gives me a sideways glance. “You’re pretty good at that.”

I exhale deeply. “When did everything get so complicated?”

Brenda tilts her head back, looking at the sky. “It always was complicated.”
I watch her—the way her hair moves in the breeze, the small crease between her brows. There’s something familiar and foreign about her all at once.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” I admit finally. “About Evi. About any of it.”

“You can start by not getting angry and just listen to her.” She says.
“I do listen to her.”
She shakes her head. “No, you don’t.”

I frown.

“She tells me stuff, you know. And the things she told me… that’s not the Bill I know.”

I open my mouth to say something, but she starts talking before I get the chance.

“The Bill I know would never miss a date night. The Bill I know would make the effort, no matter how busy his schedule is. The Bill I know, cares.”

“I care!” I defend myself. “I love her.”
“I never said you don’t love her.” She sighs. “Bill,” she looks into my eyes. “You can’t blame everything on the band. What is the real reason you were never home?”

I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. For once, I don’t have a defence.
“The real reason?” I repeat softly.
Brenda doesn’t move. She just waits—she’s always been good at that. Pulling the truth out of you whether you like it or not.

I stare at the ground, at the way my shoes dig
into the dirt. “I don’t know,” I say finally.

“I don’t know how to be myself around her. I had this whole life in L.A. I thought it would be easy to bring her into that.. but it wasn’t. I feel like she wants the version of me from before I moved to L.A. And I’m not that person anymore.”

She studies me, quiet. “Did you ever tell her that?”
I shake my head. “No.”
“What’s the deal with you two never communicating?” She shakes her head, looking away from me.

“You know,” Brenda says after a while, “she never asked you to be perfect. She just wanted you to show up.”

“I didn’t mean for it to happen like this,” I whisper. “I thought I could fix it after we finished the album or even after I came back from tour.”

Brenda doesn’t say anything. She just pulls her knees to her chest and rests her chin on them.

“When was the last time you guys actually talked? Like really talked?”

I lower my eyes, biting my lower lip.
“I don’t remember.”

“Love means nothing when you have no other connection,” she says.
“You think we don’t have a connection?” I look at her, but she doesn’t meet my eyes. She just shrugs, twisting the blade of grass tighter between her fingers until it snaps.

“Maybe you did,” she says quietly. “Once. But people change, Bill. You did. She did.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s gone,” I argue. “You don’t just lose something like that.”

Brenda glances up at me then—that look that always used to cut straight through me. “You sure about that?”

For a moment, all I can do is stare at her.
“You’re not talking about Evi anymore, are you?”

She exhales softly. “You tell me.”
I shift, leaning back on my hands. “You and I… that was different.”
“Was it?”
“Yeah,” I say. “We were kids.”

“Yeah, we were.”

She leans back on her hands, eyes tracing the reflection of the moon.

Our shoulders brush, and it’s like my body remembers something my mind’s been trying to forget. It’s nothing—just a touch, the kind that happens when you sit too close.

For a split second, I feel it all again. The way it used to feel to have her next to me. Then guilt crashes in right after. I shift slightly, putting some space between us.

You should talk to her,” she says finally. “Before you lose her for good.”