nine
I LOVE THAT PRAYER, BRIAN,” MONICA SAID. “AND I have to tell y’all, he really is the same person onstage and off. I’m one of his biggest fans, and it’s mostly because he does have such a good heart.”
Brian’s stomach was in knots. “Thanks, Monica. I appreciate that.” It was all he could do not to jump up and run out. He’d thought he was seeing things at first. But by the way she looked at him—and her quick departure—it was Kelli. If he missed this opportunity to talk to her, he’d go out of his mind. But he couldn’t just leave. How would it look? He’d just gotten here.
“We’ve gotten some excellent nuggets so far.” Rita acknowledged her panelists. “We’ll hear from Logan and Mallory, then we’ll open it up to questions.” She gestured to Logan. “You lead a choir and a praise and worship team each Sunday, and they often sing songs you’ve written. How do you maintain an authentic heart of worship week after week so it doesn’t become drudgery? And do you feel a responsibility to make sure your choir and worship teams do the same?”
“It can definitely start to feel like a job with all the related drudgery if I’m not careful . . .”
I can’t do this. Not when Kelli’s out there.
Brian walked over to Rita and leaned in, whispering, “I’m sorry. Something just came up, and I have to go. Can’t promise, but I might be able to make it back for a later session.”
“Sure, sure,” Rita said, nodding. “It was a bonus to have you at all.”
Once he started up the aisle, he was practically jogging. He pushed the door open, looking right and left. No one. Just conference rooms with doors ajar and faint voices wafting into the hall. He continued to a busier section of the hotel, gazing about all the while, then stopped near the Starbucks, sighing. He wouldn’t find her. She’d gone up to her room. Why didn’t he follow her immediately? How could he have hesitated one sec—
He would know the back of that head anywhere. In a cushioned chair angled away from foot traffic, head lowered . . . Kelli. Brian’s stomach clenched. All these years he’d waited to talk to her, wanted to talk to her, but now he realized just how hard it would be.
“Excuse me.”
Brian turned and saw a woman with two teenaged boys.
“We hate to bother you,” the woman said, “but my sons just had to know . . . You wouldn’t happen to be Alien, would you?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He smiled as he shook their hands.
“Told you, Mom!” one of the guys said. “I knew it was you. I’ve got your CD and I’ve watched some of your online interviews.”
“Wow, thanks, man. I appreciate the support. Tell me your names.”
“Matt.”
“Bobby.”
“And I’m the mom.” She smiled. “You might be surprised to know that a fortysomething white woman is into your music, but our whole family have become fans. Thank you for the way you’re reaching young people in particular.”
“Thanks so much. I’m blessed to be able to do it.”
“Can we get a picture with you?” Bobby asked.
“Of course.”
As the mom adjusted her camera, Brian glanced back to be sure Kelli hadn’t left. He posed with the guys, shook their hands again, and said good-bye, then turned and took a big breath. The walk to her chair was a slow one.
“Kelli.”
Startled, she looked up at him, then rolled her eyes. “Go away.”
He walked in front of her. “Kelli, please.” He saw her tears now and felt a stab of pain. “I just . . . Can we talk? Please?”
“No.” She tried to walk away, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward him. She jerked it back. “What don’t you understand?” she asked. “You asked, and I answered. I don’t want to talk to you.”
His eyes were pleading. “I do understand, Kelli. Believe me, I do. You have every reason to hate me. But that’s why I want to talk to you.” His cell phone made a vibrating sound on his hip, but he ignored it. “That’s why I’ve tried to reach you over the years, just to have one conversation. Can you just give me—”
She lifted her hands to stop him. “We don’t need another conversation. The last one . . .” She wiped a tear with a shaky hand. “The last one was enough to last a lifetime.” She turned and walked away.
Brian stood there, the sting of tears starting in his own eyes. What was he supposed to do now? He didn’t blame her. He hated what he’d done himself. But how can I fix it, Lord, if she won’t hear me out?
He had to try again. He caught up in a few quick strides and stepped in front of her. Their eyes locked inches apart, and she was more beautiful than he ever thought she could be. A tear rolled from his eye. “Just a few minutes, Kel. We don’t ever have to talk again, if that’s what you want.” He flicked another tear from his face. “Please, Kelli. Can we talk somewhere in private?”
KELLI WISHED HE’D GONE AWAY THE FIRST TIME SHE’D asked. She wished he hadn’t found her at all—and he wouldn’t have if she’d thought to get a room key. The moment she stepped outside the conference room she realized she had nowhere to go.
He looked different. Taller. More muscular. Manly. But those eyes were the same, those big brown eyes with lashes a girl would kill for—eyes that still penetrated straight to her soul. She hated that she hadn’t moved from his gaze. She couldn’t possibly listen to him. Yet in the years since she’d last seen him, one question—one word—had kept her awake at night. Why? If she’d been aching to know, and he’d been aching to tell her, maybe they could both get closure . . . and move on.
She sighed and nodded slightly, averting her gaze. “Fine. Where should we go?”
He cast his eyes about. “I don’t know how much privacy we can get down here. We could go to my room, if you don’t mind. I have a little while before I need to check out.”
“Fine.” She started toward the elevator.
They rode up in silence, got off on the seventh floor. Kelli followed him into the room and eyed a packed bag near the door.
“You want to sit at the desk?” he asked, moving some things aside.
“No.” Kelli stood at the foot of the king bed. “I’m here to listen to what you have to say, then I’m gone.”
He sat on the edge of the bed, and his phone vibrated again.
“Don’t you need to get that?”
“It’ll wait.”
“But you’re a big star now, right? You’d better handle your business.”
“That’s what I’m trying to do, Kel.”
She looked away.
Silence engulfed them.
Brian cleared his throat. “Kelli . . . first thing I want to say is I’m sorry . . . for the things I said and did, for hurting you, for—”
“Brian, I did not come up here to listen to some lame, empty apology.”
“It’s not empty, Kelli.” He stared at his feet, then lifted his head. For a moment he just looked at her. “You were my world. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished we could go back.” His head fell again. “If only we’d never . . .”
“We talked about that, Brian.” Kelli was starting to shiver. “We both regretted what happened.” She remembered the tears they’d shed the day after.
Brian was hunched over, staring at his clasped hands. “We said our relationship would be different from others we knew, that we’d stay pure. I don’t know, maybe because we were at my house . . . I guess I felt like I should’ve done more to stop us from getting carried away.” He looked up at her. “I was really weighed down by it . . .”
“Then I told you I was pregnant.”
“And my world just flipped,” Brian said. “Totally flipped.”
“And mine didn’t?”
He lowered his head. “I know.”
“As devastated as I was, the thing that held me together was believing you loved me.”
He reached for her hand, emotion filling his brown eyes. “I did love you.”
Kelli took her hand back and held herself. “Love could never have said the things you said. You accused me of sleeping with someone else.”
“I didn’t accuse you.” He looked frustrated. “I was asking . . . but I knew even as I asked you, it was wrong. I was scared out of my mind, Kel. We’d only slept together once, and I couldn’t understand why God would punish us like that, for one mistake. I felt like I’d ruined my life and yours. I was weak and looking for a way to run from it all.”
“And that’s exactly what you did.”
Silence blanketed the room again.
Kelli stared down at him. “So that’s your why?” she asked finally. “You were scared and weak? So was I, and I had to deal with it by myself.”
Tears fell from his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Kelli.”
“I wanted us to keep that baby, our baby”—Kelli started weeping—“and I asked you if we could. And you were so cold . . .” She sank to the floor, overcome with the pain of her own decision. “And I was so scared and weak that I . . .”
Brian moved from the edge of the bed to the floor, their shoulders touching, and wept with her.
“I should’ve been there for you and for our baby,” he said, his head hung low. “I was more than scared and weak. I was selfish, thinking about myself and my future, thinking about everything my grandmother had instilled in me and hoped for me. I betrayed everything I believed in.” He paused. “I even betrayed everything I’d ever thought about my mother.”
Kelli looked at him. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“She got pregnant at seventeen and never really got her life together. You know I had little respect for her, the way she left me in Grandma’s care and did whatever she wanted. But after what I did, it hit me—at least she gave me a chance at life.” Brian looked shaken. “I’ve asked God a thousand times to forgive me. And I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive me, but”—he looked at her— “I’ve never stopped thinking about you, Kelli. I miss our friendship. I miss talking to you. I miss you.”
Kelli met his gaze. She could almost believe he was sincere. And for a strange, fleeting second, she wanted to forgive him, walk with him through the pain that remained. But every time she thought of that day . . .
She came to her feet, picked her purse up from the floor, and shouldered it. “When I needed you most, Brian, you walked away. I’ve never felt pain like that in my life. I could never trust you again, not even as a friend.” She turned to leave, then paused and turned back. “I know we’ll probably run into one another. We’re in the same city, at the same church. But I’d appreciate it if we didn’t speak. It’ll just be better that way.”
Brian’s jaw tightened as he stared into the distance. He nodded.
Kelli headed for the door.
“Kelli?”
She looked at him.
“I’m glad you’re at the conference. So, you’re still writing?”
“I’m only here because my sisters-in-law encouraged me to come. The last time I wrote a song . . .” It came again, the sadness. “Last time I wrote a song was the night before you left me.”
She opened the door and walked out.