Rescue (Ransom Book 5) Page 23

  “Want to go back to the hotel?” James asks as we make our way to the dressing room.

  I shake my head. “I think I want to watch their set.”

  “Are you sure? We could go watch a movie or something. Take a walk, see London at night.”

  “It’s okay. It’s the last show. I want to see it.”

  So we sit up in the family box, all five of us, while Ransom does their last show of the tour. They’re tight tonight, sounding strong. And they seem to be in good spirits, Cash and Daltrey jumping around through the set, Reed smiling behind his drum kit. You’d think they’d be more tired after a long tour, but instead they seem energized. Excited.

  Except for Lennon. He stands behind his bass, head down, for most of the show. His hair is longer than it was at the start of the tour, covering his forehead when his head is tilted like that. I can’t see his eyes. But I have a feeling I know what they look like. Closed off. Broken. Just like the day we met.

  How can I tell him? I think, over and over again. He’ll worry about me. He has enough to worry about.

  For most of this tour, I tried to hold myself back from him. James told me that I need to protect myself, that getting close to him could cause me more pain. In truth, I wanted to protect him as well. Wanted to keep him from the mess and the darkness I felt inside. But ever since Paris, ever since he told me about his accident, I’ve let myself believe that I could help him. That I wouldn’t hurt him because I understood him. That our similarities meant we could help each other. I wanted to give him strength, help him to see that there are bright and good things in the world, that he’d get through everything he faced.

  Watching him now on that stage, so far away from me, I wonder, for the first time in weeks, if it can really work that way. It seems impossible to me that I could be the one to show him anything bright or good.

  How can we help each other when we’re both so broken?

  Paige has planned a night out to celebrate the last show. Part of me wants to skip it, to hide away in my hotel room. But I know my friends will never let me be alone tonight. They’ll pretend they want to stay in too. I can’t do that to them. It’s the last night of the tour, and they deserve to celebrate. So I paste on a fake smile and assure them that a night out is just what I need.

  I see my fake smile reflected on Lennon’s face when he tells his brothers that he’s looking forward to it.

  We sit in the van together, holding hands, neither of us talking. We’re all shoved together in the small space, forcing me practically into his lap. But somehow I haven’t felt so much distance between us since we met. I wonder if he can sense it too. Or if he’s so far in his own head that he can’t see what’s happening around him.

  The club is awful—crowded and full of fans who recognize Ransom and try to push past security to get to them. The music is too loud, some techno pop crap that I can’t stand. The other Ransomes are in a great mood, jubilant about the success of the tour and excited to get home. Lennon and I don’t dance. We sit at our table in the VIP section, and I assure my bandmates over and over again that they should dance, that they should have fun, that I’m fine.

  There’s a bottle of tequila on the table. The Ransomes don’t notice how quickly the level of the liquid drops. James sees, I’m sure, but he doesn’t say anything. Lennon sips his own drink, holding my hand but not talking. He’s in his head, a million miles away from me. I don’t try to force my way in to join him.

  “Maybe we should get out of here,” James says after I’ve made my way through a good third of the bottle. “You look tired.”

  His meaning is clear. He doesn’t want me to react to this mess the way I usually do. As ever, he’s trying to protect me. And for once I decide to let him. “Bed sounds good,” I say, extracting my hand from Lennon’s. “You coming?”

  “I should probably stay for a while,” he says, even though he sounds exhausted. “Cash has this thing about us celebrating together. They’ll be upset if I leave so early.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel, okay?”

  It’s going to be fine, I tell myself as I nod, trying to tamp down on the panic in my chest at the thought of being without him. He’ll come and find me when he gets in, and we’ll sleep together, the way we always do. He’ll hold me, and I’ll make myself forget how shitty I feel. I don’t have to tell him anything. We can just be.

  But as I head out with James, I pass Levi. He frowns and pulls me away from the crowd. “Lennon isn’t going with you?”

  I shake my head. “He said his brothers would be upset.”

  Levi is still frowning. “How does he seem to you, Haylee?”

  I meet his gaze, trying to read his eyes in the darkness. He’s worried too, I realize. “Keep an eye on him, Levi,” I say, the fear rising again. “He’s… not sleeping very well.”

  Levi’s eyes widen. “I thought he’s been doing so much better…”

  “Just keep an eye on him.”

  He nods, and I leave the club, feeling numb. Was that overstepping my bounds, inviting Levi into this mess when Lennon was so adamant about waiting to tell everyone? I can’t make myself care. Leaving him alone when he feels like that is too frightening. And I don’t think I have it in me to help him right now.

  Back at the hotel, James tries to convince me to come hang out in his room. “We’ll get room service. It’s our last night with Ransom footing the bill. Might as well take advantage of it.”

  I do my best to smile. “I really am tired, James. I think I’ll just go lie down.” The truth is, I can’t stand to spend another minute pretending I’m okay. I’m tired of the fake smiles, tired of knowing my friends are looking at me, worried, waiting to see how I’ll react. I just want to sit in the dark and quiet of my own room for a few hours.

  I can tell he doesn’t want to go along with it. “You’ll call me if you need anything?”

  “Of course. Besides, Lennon will be back soon.”

  He nods before pulling me into a hug. “I’m really proud of you, Haylee. You’re handling this so well.” He pulls away, smiling a little even though he still looks worried. “Maybe Lennon was better for you than I thought. You seem… happier. Calmer, you know?”

  I try to hang onto that as I go into my room. I have gotten stronger since this tour started. I didn’t fall apart today, as much as I wanted to. Even at the club, with the tequila right there, I didn’t completely lose it. I drank steadily, sure, but I didn’t go any further. And when James worried I’d had enough, I agreed with him and came home.

  “You are stronger,” I whisper. “You’re not going to fall apart.”

  But then my phone rings. My mother.

  I shouldn’t answer it. I should turn it off, run after James, tell him room service sounds good after all. But a part of me, a stupid, naive part, thinks that maybe she can explain this all away. Maybe it isn’t as black and white as Louis said. Maybe there is another side to the story, a side that doesn’t include my mother being a horrible person.

  “Hello?”

  “Haylee.” She sounds relieved. “Sweetie, I’m so glad you answered.”

  Tell me it’s not true, I think. Please, Mom.

  “I need you to talk to your label,” she says. “They keep calling here, and I really can’t deal with them anymore. You know how anxious I get on the phone, sweetheart.”

  “Why are they calling?”

  “Because of that interview, honey. I’m sure they told you.”

  “They did.” My voice is tight. Please explain yourself. Please make it better.

  “Well, they seem to think it was some awful thing.” She sighs. “I don’t really see how it was such a big deal. Isn’t publicity a good thing? You’d think they’d be happy.”

  “Mom.” I feel like I might be sick. Is this actually how she’s going to play this? How can she be so cavalier, so clueless? “This isn’t the good kind of publicity. You had to know they wouldn’t be happy about this. That I wouldn’t b
e happy about it.”

  “Oh, sweetie, I knew you would get like that.” She sounds irritated, as though I’m acting like a bratty kid. “It’s a big story, hon. I was just trying to use it to your advantage.”

  “How could this be to my advantage?”

  “People love drama, Haylee! This is going to be big. You’re a survivor, hon! You’re strong! Everyone will be talking about this.”

  “I don’t want them to be talking about it!” I cry. “You know that, Mom! You know what measures the label took to protect me from this. And now you put it out there. How do you think that makes me feel?”

  “Haylee, don’t be so dramatic.” She’s impatient now, tired of me. “It was ages ago. You’re fine now.”

  “I’m not fine, Mom! A fact which you shared with the world!” I take several deep breaths, trying and failing to keep my voice from shaking. “How could you have told them about the panic attacks, Mom? Or the drinking. The drugs! How could you think I would want people to know about that?”

  “If you don’t want people to know about it, you know the solution, don’t you? Get yourself together and stop doing those things. People love a redemption story, you know.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I whisper. “I don’t believe that you could be this clueless about your own daughter.”

  “My own daughter needs to put on her big girl pants and join the real world.” She’s getting upset now. “I’ve been telling you this since you were a little girl, Haylee. It’s a rough business, a rough world. You better get tough real fast if you want to do well. Enough with this sniveling around, feeling bad for yourself. Grow up. So a bad thing happened to you. You think you’re the only one? You think nothing bad has ever happened to me?”

  “I don’t think your own mother ever threw the bad things in your life to the press like your pain is some kind of entertainment.”

  “I can see you’re in a mood tonight.”

  “I’m in a mood because you sold me out! You’re my mother!”

  “And I have bills to pay, Haylee Marie,” she snaps.

  There it is. Her true motivation. Of course it was about money. That’s all I’ve ever been to her—a potential meal ticket. “How much did they pay you?”

  “More than you ever send me.”

  “I wonder how much I’ll send you now,” I whisper, wondering why it hurts so much. It’s not a surprise.

  “You’ve never appreciated everything that I do for you,” she retorts. So now we’re starting her litany of guilt. I’ve heard it enough to repeat it by heart. Exhaustion suddenly crashes over me. I’m so tired of feeling like this.

  “I have to go.”

  “Sweetie, don’t be like that,” she croons, switching tactics like lightning. Now she’ll be all buddy-buddy. “We’re a team, you and I. There’s no reason to get upset—”

  “The lawyers from the label are going to call you back tomorrow.” My voice is flat. “I’d listen to them, if I were you.”

  “Are you threatening me?” she shrieks. “I’m your mother—”

  “And I’m done,” I say. “I’m done, Mom.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means goodbye.”

  I don’t hear whatever she cries into the phone because I’m already turning it off. I can’t listen to her anymore, can’t have these same arguments over and over. She’s no different than she was when I was twelve years old, out late on a school night, singing in shitty dive bars in Detroit where the men leered and a cloud of smoke hung heavy over the room. She’s been using me since the moment she realized I could sing.

  So why does it hurt so bad? If it’s nothing new, why can’t I brush it off? Why does the pain of it seem to open up a hole inside of me, threatening to pull me in?

  “I’m tired of feeling this way,” I whisper to the empty room. Then again, louder. Again, until I’m yelling it. I throw the phone at the wall, feeling the tears come, so frustrated with myself I can barely stand it. I want to break things, want to scream myself hoarse.

  I want to drink.

  You’re stronger than you were. James’s words flit through my brain, and I try to believe them. But I don’t. I’m not stronger. I’m not different at all. At the first shitty thing that happens, I fall apart completely. Just like I always do.

  Call Lennon, a voice in my head urges. Call Lennon.

  So I do, praying that he can fix this. That he can fix me. But he doesn’t answer. He’s still at the club, where it’s too loud to hear a phone. And what would happen if he did answer? What would I even say? Sorry you’re dealing with the mother who abandoned you, Len, but my mom is being super mean to me right now.

  “What’s the point?” I wipe tears away from my eyes. “He can’t help me. Just like I can’t help him.”

  I walk to the minibar and pull out all of the little bottles I can hold. Because I’m not any stronger than I used to be. And there’s no sense in pretending I am.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Lennon

  Haylee isn’t answering her phone. I try to tell myself she just fell asleep, but I’m unsettled. She said she would wait up for me. Didn’t she? Everything feels so foggy right now, like I’m moving through something thick and heavy. But I’m almost sure she said she would wait up.

  I decide to risk waking her by knocking on her door when I get back to the hotel. No answer. She just went to bed, I tell myself. Like you should. Our last day in London will be filled with CD signings and interviews. And I haven’t slept in so long.

  Which doesn’t change at all tonight. I lie in bed in the dark, missing the feel of Haylee next to me. I know I’ve been a terrible boyfriend to her since Paris. Know that I’m withdrawn and uncommunicative. But she seems to understand, and I’m so thankful for that. Thankful that I don’t have to explain myself. Thankful that she’s always so close. I wonder if she knows how much strength she gives me? I wonder if she can sense that without her next to me, I don’t think I would be standing right now.

  And I’m going to have to tell my family why when we get home. The thought makes me so nauseous that I sit up in bed, unable to be still. I pull on a hoodie and slip into some shoes. The glowing numbers on the clock next to the bed tell me it’s three thirty. Too late to go wandering around outside, but I don’t care. I have to get out of this quiet, still room.

  I’m halfway down the hall when I run into James—literally. He turns a corner, head down, and crashes into me. “Sorry,” he says quickly, then grimaces when our eyes meet. “Oh. Hi, Lennon.”

  “Hey, James. Where’re you headed?”

  “I, uh… nowhere. I just…” He looks uncomfortable. And not at all happy to see me.

  “What’s the matter?”

  I can tell he doesn’t want to tell me. My heart rate increases a little. Something’s wrong. “James?”

  Finally he straightens his shoulders, looking right at me. “I had to take Haylee to the hospital. I just came back to get some stuff.”

  I feel like my knees might give out, and I reach for the wall. “What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

  “She had a little too much to drink.”

  “Wait, what? She came home early. I—how much is too much? Is she—”

  I can’t finish the sentence, can’t even see straight. He seems so calm. That has to be a good sign, right? She can’t be—

  “They said it was mild alcohol poisoning,” James says, voice flat. “They want to observe her overnight.”

  I straighten. I need to get to her. “Where is she?”

  “Lennon, I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “What are you talking about? You think I’m not going to see her?”

  “I think she wouldn’t want you to.”

  That shuts me up.

  “Look,” he continues, his voice slightly more gentle. “This is something that happens with her every once in a while. It’s not a huge deal. She drinks too much. Not all the time, but when she does…” He trails off. Then, “She’ll b
e okay. But it embarrasses her. I know she won’t want you seeing her now.”

  I just stare at him. This happens every once in a while? What in the hell? “I don’t understand what’s going on here, James,” I finally manage. “I thought… she went home early tonight. Weren’t you with her?”

  Something like guilt crosses his face before his expression tightens. “I dropped her off in her room. She said you would be home soon.”

  “I was. But she didn’t answer her phone.”

  He deflates. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault. She just had a shitty day and—”

  “She did? Why?”

  He narrows his eyes. “She didn’t tell you?”

  The panic is rising in my chest. “Tell me what?”

  “Her mom gave an interview about what happened to her. About… Randy.”

  Oh, shit. An image of Haylee shrinking into James’s arms that night in Glasgow flashes through my mind. She’s so sensitive about what she went through, so defensive. And her mother told the press about it?

  “That’s fucked up,” I breathe, and James grimaces.

  “Her mom isn’t exactly mother of the year, but this was a low blow even for her.” He watches me for a long moment. “All right, let’s go over there. But if she says no visitors, Lennon, I’m going to respect that.”

  “Of course,” I say quickly. I just want to see her, want to assure myself that she’s okay. The idea that this isn’t a one-time thing makes me sick with worry.

  Ten minutes later we’re in a taxi heading to the hospital. London is dark and quiet around us, the city asleep. When we get to the hospital, James leads me through the lobby to an elevator. “Listen, Lennon. She’s probably not really herself right now. If she doesn’t want to talk—”

  “I’ll feel better being here,” I say, and he nods even though he still doesn’t seem quite sure. I wonder if he had specific instructions not to tell me about this. The thought makes my chest tighten.

  “She’s right here,” he says, gesturing down the hall when the elevator opens. “Why don’t you wait here?” There’s a small waiting area to our left. It’s empty.