I like to think I'm a pretty compassionate, empathetic person. If I wasn't, I wouldn't be any good at my job. I treat people the way I think they'd want to be treated, not necessarily the way I'd want to be treated.
In other words, I like to think I'm a fairly friendly person.
Which is why I feel so bad for treating Tom the way that I did this past week. It's not that I've been plain mean to him, I just haven't been... myself. But it's all for the best. Every time I see him walk through the door for our sessions, I feel that fluttering in my chest. But I can't allow myself to feel anything for him. Needless to say, it's been causing me to have a bit of an internal crisis. How can I be any good at treating him if I don't show a little bit of compassion or even a bit of interest in his recovery? This is the question that has been consuming my mind all week. But when he arrived for our last session of the week, proudly walking through the door sans sling, it took everything in me not to jump for joy and envelope him in a bone-crushing hug.
That was when I realized that he really has been listening to me and meeting me halfway, and when I decided that maybe it couldn't hurt to let the real Peyton out for a little while.
On Monday morning, I make my way to the clinic with an extra pep in my step as Larger Than Life by the Backstreet Boys blares in my earbuds. This song never fails to put me in a good mood, and if I'm going to apologize to Tom today, being in a good mood will help me be more sincere.
I arrive at the clinic, offering a polite wave and a 'good morning' to Tammy as she greets me from behind her desk. I'm not surprised that Tom isn't here yet, as I almost always beat him here. This morning, however, I check my watch as I start to unpack my things and notice that I am especially early. Opening up my laptop and launching Spotify, I scroll through my playlist for a specific song.
I don't normally sing lead vocals during our band gigs. That's Simon's job, and the rest of us fill in with backing vocals and harmonies. But lately, the band has been wanting to switch up our setlist and we've been working on a few covers with me on lead vocals. I scroll down to Ain't It Fun by Paramore, turning the volume up almost as high as it'll go. I've got the guitar part for this song almost perfected, but I've been struggling to nail down the vocals. If I'm going to take this opportunity to practice a bit, I'd rather Hayley Williams' vocals be louder than mine.
I finish unpacking my things and mindlessly sing along to the first verse and chorus of the song, checking the equipment around the room and answering a few emails. By the time the second verse rolls around, I am almost fully into it, air-guitaring the corresponding chords and closing my eyes to completely concentrate on the song.
By the time I get to the bridge, I am utterly lost in the music, dancing around as if I was Tom Cruise in Risky Business and clapping my hands along to the almost chant-like beat.
Don't go cryin'
To your mama
'Cause you're on your own in the real world
Ain't it fun? Ain't it fun?
Baby, now you're one of us
Ain't it fun? Ain't it fun? Ain't it fun?
As I riff my way through the second part of the bridge into the last chorus, I happen to turn back around and immediately freeze.
Oh no.
Tom stands behind me near the door of the room, holding two to-go coffee cups with his jacket slung over his right forearm. He's as still as a statue, staring at me with his mouth slightly open as if I had three extra heads.
"Oh God..." I choke out and feel my ears and cheeks beginning to burn.
"Am I... interrupting something?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at me.
"How... how long have you been standing there?" I ask hurriedly, practically running over to my laptop to turn off the music.
"Since the air guitar," he smiles and hands me one of the coffee cups. "Coffee? They accidentally poured it when I asked for tea, so they just let me take it."
I mumble a 'thanks' as I take the cup from him, averting my gaze from him out of sheer embarrassment.
"Peyton, don't be embarrassed. That was... absolutely fantastic," he leans down to look at me. "Seriously, you should sing more with the band."
I give him a half-smile as I finally allow myself to look at him. "Thanks... That's kinda what that was. We're working on some new covers and the guys want me to sing lead on some stuff. It's... a little out of my comfort zone," I chuckle nervously, running a hand through my hair.
"Well, I think you have absolutely nothing to worry about. You're a natural," he smiles, taking a sip of his tea.
"Thank you. Listen, Tom... I owe you an apology," I look down, nervously fiddling with the cardboard sleeve on the coffee cup.
"Whatever for?" he asks, giving me a confused look.
"I've been kind of cold towards you this past week, and that's not okay. I'm sorry," I sigh.
He flashes me that perfect smile. "Peyton, you don't have to apologize to me for anything. I just figured you were focused on your job, and I respect that immensely. But if it makes you feel any better, I accept your apology."
"It does make me feel better, thank you," I smile at him and take a sip of my coffee.
"I have to ask though," he starts, setting down his tea and picking up two five-pound weights to start his first exercise. "Why didn't you want me to know when your band is playing next? I really would love to come see you play again."
Because you're my patient, and you're incredibly attractive and nothing can happen between us.
I shrug. "I don't know..." I mumble, looking back down at my laptop screen.
Tom chuckles and starts doing his reverse flies with the weights. "Well, I guess that's good. Because I know that you're playing again Saturday night and I plan on being there."
My head snaps back up and my eyes widen to the size of dinner plates. "How did you...?"
"Peyton, you do know that that bar has a website, right?" he grins.
Damn Internet. I forgot that the bar advertises our shows.
"Ah. Right," I nod, turning my attention back to my laptop. "So how does the shoulder feel today?"
"Good," Tom replies. "A bit sore after last week, but much better than it did when I first injured it. The stretches you gave me have helped enormously."
"Wow, it's almost like I know what I'm talking about," I chuckle to myself as he flashes me another grin and shakes his head.
*********************************************************************************************
"Okay, Doc Martens or Converse?" I ask as I turn out of my closet and into my bedroom where Chandler is lounging on my bed.
"Don't you have something with a heel? You always wear those," he groans without looking up at me.
"Chandler, you know I can't play in heels, now seriously, which one?" I point down to my feet, showing him that I'm wearing one of each shoe.
He finally looks up and takes in my entire outfit. I've opted for slightly worn black skinny jeans with a small rip in one of the knees, a red and black Aerosmith shirt that I cut the neck out of years ago, and my favorite leather jacket that I'm more than likely going to ditch at some point tonight.
"Fine," he sighs. "Converse. I still don't understand why you needed my help with your outfit tonight. Since when do you care what you look like when you play?" he asks, moving up to a sitting position.
Because HE'S coming tonight...
"Because..." I start, throwing the boot back into my closet and grabbing the other Converse. "I'm actually gonna be singing tonight, so people will be looking at me more than usual..."
"I don't believe you, but I don't feel like getting into this right now because we're already cutting into time that could be spent with a drink in my hand," Chandler sighs and rolls off of my bed in one swift, graceful motion.
As we walk to the bar, Chandler proceeds to talk my ear off about anything and everything. The crazy week he had at work, the new guy he went on a date with the other night, the coffee table he bought from IKEA and spent three hours putting together. But I can barely pay attention to a word he says as I keep pace with him down the sidewalk, nervously running my thumb across the handle of my guitar case. My stomach has been in knots since I woke up this morning in anticipation of our show tonight, between debuting our new cover and knowing that Tom will be there tonight.
My mind drifts back to the past week. He's been making incredible progress with his shoulder considering it's only been a couple of weeks into his treatment. The clinician in me is bursting with pride, not just for him as a patient but a little bit for myself as well.
Some other part of me, a part I can't explain, a part I don't know well, can't help but feel a bit despondent with every goal he reaches. Because I know with each day that he gets better, our time together gets shorter and shorter. I usually joke around with my patients that their ultimate goal is to never have to come see me again.
That part of me that I can't explain, she doesn't want to ever reach that ultimate goal.
My internal musings are interrupted by the sound of Chandler opening the door to the bar for me. "Peyton, you know I know you well enough to know that you've barely listened to a word I've said since we left your apartment."
I sigh as I step inside with Chandler right behind me. "I'm sorry, Chandler. I just... have a lot on my mind tonight..." I trail off as I glance around the bar.
But I don't see him anywhere.
Oh. Okay. Maybe he changed his mind.
Chandler excuses himself to go use the restroom as I drop my guitar off at the stage and make my way over to the bar. I give Melissa a half-smile and a wave as I take a seat on one of the barstools.
"Hey there, Peyton. You're quiet... Everything okay? The usual?" she asks, picking up a pint glass.
I shake my head. "Just... been a week. Can I have a Bulleit on the rocks?"
Melissa's eyes widen a little as she swaps the pint glass for a smaller rocks glass. She knows I only order bourbon when I'm especially stressed. "Damn girl... You wanna talk about it?" she asks, setting the drink down in front of me.
I shrug as I pick up the glass and take a sip, the cool brown liquid burning my throat ever so slightly in the best way possible. "Mostly work stuff... And we're playing a new cover tonight that I'm singing lead on, so of course I'm nervous as hell," I reply, anxiously swirling the drink with the stirrer.
"No way, really? Stop it, you're gonna be awesome!" Melissa smiles at me before turning her attention to another customer at the other end of the bar.
"She most definitely will," a male voice behind me replies.
But it's not the male voice I was hoping to hear. No accent, but still all too familiar. The last voice I wanted to hear tonight, and, frankly, for the rest of my life.
"What the hell are you doing here, Jayson?" I spit through gritted teeth, refusing to turn around to face him.
"Just here for the weekend, thought I'd pop in some of our old stomping grounds for old times' sake. Glad to see you guys can still draw a crowd here." I can feel the lack of sincerity in his voice even with my back still turned to him, the rage I've been harboring for him slowly rising up from the depths of my soul where I've locked it away for all these years. But I refuse to give him the satisfaction of releasing my emotions again. I take another gulp of my drink, downing what's left in the glass before I turn around to face him.
He looks exactly the same, albeit a bit scruffier, his brunet waves neatly styled pushed back from his face. His blue-green eyes stare at me intently, a small, condescending smirk playing across his lips. "You look good, Peyton," his voice is low as he looks me up and down.
I cross my arms over my chest and cross my legs in front of me, literally and figuratively putting up my barriers against him. "Leave me alone, Jayson. I mean it," I grit at him. I do my best to stare back at him just as intently, channeling all of the fury and ache from the deepest parts of my being into staring daggers straight through his 'nice-guy' façade.
"C'mon, Peyton, don't look at me like that. I just wanna talk. Can I buy you a drink?" he asks, taking a small step closer to me.
"The hell you can," I scoff at him.
"C'mon, just one drink. Besides, you seem like you could use it," he smirks at me again, taking another small step towards me.
Just as I begin to open my mouth in protest again and ready my right foot to hit him where it really hurts, I'm cut off by another voice coming from behind Jayson.
And this time, it is the voice I was hoping to hear tonight.
"Is everything all right over here?" Tom asks politely, inserting himself between Jayson and me.
Jayson is taken back for a moment, then lightly shakes his head and chuckles. "Yeah dude, everything's fine. We're just talking."
"She doesn't seem like she wants to talk to you," Tom's voice is low as he tries to increase the distance between Jayson and me. I take the opportunity to compose myself, coming back to my senses and realizing what is happening in front of me. And I am mortified.
"Tom, thank you, I can handle this," I declare confidently, gently grabbing his arm and pulling him back ever so slightly as I slide off of the barstool. I plant my feet firmly and stare up at Jayson.
"Jayson, I'm gonna tell you this one time. Leave. Me. Alone. Now get the hell out of here," I grit at him, my hands balling up into fists.
Jayson lets out a patronizing chuckle and holds up his hands as he backs away from me. "Fine," he says, turning to Tom. "Have fun with this one, man. She's spirited, that's for sure," he chuckles again, finally turning to leave.
As I watch the door of the bar close behind him, I let out the breath I didn't realize I was holding and settle back onto the barstool. I turn back around to flag Melissa over, desperately needing another bourbon.
"What was that about? Who was he? Are you okay?" Tom starts interrogating me.
"Peyton! Oh my God, please don't tell me that was who I thought it was," Chandler swoops in next to me. "I'm so sorry, I ran into Chris from work in the bathroom, I just saw him leaving as I was coming back out here. What did he say to you?" he asks hurriedly.
I shake my head and take a healthy gulp of my second bourbon.
"Do you know him? Who was that?" Tom asks again, his voice slightly more frantic than before. I sigh and lean my elbows onto the bar, burying my face in my hands as I hear Chandler sigh behind me.
"That was Jayson... her ex-fiancé."
This is EXACTLY what I needed tonight.