And I definitely shouldn’t have made it sound like I was giving him an ultimatum.
Zain had issues with the people in his life leaving him. I knew that already. It was no wonder he’d shut down and told me to leave. I’d done the exact same thing he expected everyone to do.
I sighed as I fished the teabag out of the mug and tossed it into the small compost bucket under the kitchen sink.
I’d proven all Zain’s fears right. And it was all because of a terrible tragedy that had nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me and my own anxieties.
I sat back down at the kitchen table with my green tea and stared at my phone. I was working up the courage to text Zain, but I didn’t know what to say. I had started typing, then hit the backspace to delete it all over a dozen times already.
I wanted to apologize. Sort of. I hadn’t been in the wrong, exactly, but I also hadn’t handled things as well as I could have. But I also didn’t want to let him off the hook completely. He’d dismissed all my worries outright.
I slumped over the table and buried my face in my crossed arms. How in the world did you sayI’m sorry but actually I’m not sorrywithout sounding insincere or flippant?
There was a knock at my door. I lifted my head. Someone coming to the door was even more unusual than someone calling me on the phone.
My heart jumped. Could it be Zain? Had he showed up at my door? He didn’t know my apartment number, though.
“Grace?” Zain called out from the hallway.
I flew from my seat and ran to the door. I looked through the peephole, even though I knew what I was going to see. Sure enough, Zain was standing in front of my door. His dark hair was tousled and he had a determined look on his face.
I unlocked the door and opened it a crack.
“How did you get my apartment number?” I asked. “That’s even creepier than tracking me down at the baking class.”
“You told me before,” he said. “I asked what your apartment number was because I wanted to know how long it would take before I could get upstairs and tear off your clothes.”
“Shh!” I flushed and stuck my head out the door to check if anyone was in the hallway. It was empty. “Get in,” I told him, opening the door wide.
Zain breezed through, but the determined expression on his face wavered a bit. He ran a hand through his hair nervously. I shut the door behind him. We stared at each other. I stayed silent, waiting for him to go first. He was the one who had showed up at my door unannounced, after all.
“Sorry for surprising you like this,” he said, lowering his eyes to the floor, no longer looking so confident. “I wanted to text you but—” He lifted a shoulder in a shrug. “I didn’t really know what to say. How to start. I figured it might be easier to talk in person.”
“Do you want some coffee?” I offered.
He looked relieved and nodded, following me to the kitchen, which was really only a few feet from the front entrance. My tea was still sitting on the table. I opened the cabinet to pull out a mug. I paused, then took out the mug I’d given him last time. I turned on the kettle for the water to boil again, then turned to face him.
“I’m actually glad you showed up,” I told him. “I wanted to talk, too.”
“Let me go first.” He met my eyes straight on. “I was an asshole,” he said bluntly. “I didn’t listen to you. I brushed you off because you were telling me things I didn’t want to hear. I should have taken you seriously. The things Finn did seemed so normal to me, but I totally understand why it worries you.” Zain let out a heavy breath. “We got a visit from the label, and I realized how right you were. Finn went too far. I’m not saying we’ll never do crazy rock star shit, but none of us want to see anyone get hurt. He’s promised to stop acting out like that and we’re going to hold him to that promise.”
Relief filled my chest. Zain finally saw the same problem I did. He wasn’t going to just brush everything under the rug.
“That makes me feel so much better,” I told him. “I was really worried.”
“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I never wanted you to feel that way.”
I reached out to take his hand. He curled his fingers around mine. The kettle whistled, but we both ignored it.
“I also want to apologize,” I said. “I’ve carried around a lot of anger and anxiety for years. I got so overwhelmed by what happened that night I didn’t handle things the best way I could have. Yes, Finn’s actions were bad, but I was also projecting a lot of my own fears onto the situation. I was upset, but that doesn’t give me an excuse to shout at you.” I squeezed his hand. “And I shouldn’t have made it sound like I was giving you ultimatums.”
“I was stupid to tell you to leave,” he admitted. “Micah made me realize what an ass I’ve been. I did the same thing to you that I’d been doing to him. I was so afraid you’d leave that I lashed out and pushed you away before you could hurt me first.”
“Is that what all that tension was about?” I asked him. “I noticed you were acting a little strange around your keyboardist. Like you were mad at him.”
“It had nothing to do with him, really,” he said. “I was so afraid Micah moving out meant he was leaving the band, and all that worry turned into anger.”
“I can’t really fault you for that,” I said. “I’ve also used anger as a coping mechanism. It’s probably not the healthiest thing to start acting like a jerk to one of your best friends just because he wanted his own place, though,” I added.
