Rescue (Ransom Book 5) Page 25

  “None of this was your fault,” Dad says. “None of it, Lennon. She was sick, and she needed help—”

  “Then why didn’t you help her?” Daltrey interrupts.

  I look over at him in surprise. I was so lost in the memory that I almost forgot they were here.

  “I tried, Daltrey.”

  “You said yourself that you kicked her out!” he cries. “How is that helping her?”

  “Son—”

  “No, you know what, Dad? Why in the hell should we believe anything you say? You’ve been lying to us for years!”

  “I’m sorry. I thought it was better.”

  “To think she abandoned us? To believe that she didn’t want us?”

  “She could have killed your brother, Daltrey—”

  “It would have been better to know the truth!”

  “Dalt,” I begin, but he cuts me off.

  “Don’t you try to defend him! How can you even look at him?”

  “Daltrey, please,” Dad says. “You don’t understand.”

  “Of course I don’t!” he yells. “Because you’ve been telling me that my mother didn’t want me since I was five years old!”

  “I never told you that.”

  “No, I did,” Reed says, and his voice scares me. I’ve never heard him so broken. So lost. “Because you let me believe that. Because I had to step in and take care of them after she left because you were so useless—”

  “Reed.”

  “You used to sit in your room for hours. Hours. And I had to make them lunch and try to explain what had happened whenever Daltrey asked me why she wasn’t coming home. And Lennon wouldn’t talk and—” He looks at me, and his face crumples. “You wouldn’t talk. For weeks.”

  “Because I thought it was my fault,” I say. “If I wouldn’t have told the police what happened, they wouldn’t have made her go away.”

  And then Reed is crying, huge gulping sobs, and I’ve never seen him cry, not ever. He was always the strong one, my big older brother, who took care of all of us.

  “Son.” My dad goes to him, but before he can lift a hand, Reed throws a fist in his face, hard enough to make him stumble backward.

  “I hate you.” His voice is low and every bit as sad as it is angry. “You lied to us for years.”

  “I did the best I—”

  “Shut up!” Cash yells. “You didn’t do the best you could! You kicked her out instead of helping her! You shut down after she left. You lied!”

  “I loved her.”

  The room goes still.

  My dad hangs his head. “I loved her so much. She was everything. I tried to help her, I would have done anything to help her.” He looks up at us, begging us to understand. “I would have moved heaven and earth for that woman… until she hurt your brother. I couldn’t let that happen again. I couldn’t. I told her she had to get help or she couldn’t be near you. What else could I do?”

  Years ago, back in California, my dad was in a band. He played drums, like Reed. Just as they started to break out, my mom got pregnant. When people write stories about us, they always point this out. That my dad was forced to give up his dreams for us. That’s why he pushed us so hard, the theory goes. To live through us what he missed out on. But maybe it didn’t happen quite like that. Maybe he didn’t give up his dream for his kids and my mother. Maybe we were his dream.

  I look up at my dad. He has tears in his eyes, and his face is already red where Reed just punched him. And for the first time I think that maybe I really understand him. “You chose us. Even though you loved her.”

  He looks over at me, surprised. “Of course I did. You’re my boys.”

  No one seems to know what to say after that. Reed has stopped crying. Daltrey is sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. And Cash looks completely bewildered, like he has no idea what just happened.

  “You should have told us,” Reed says again. “You shouldn’t have lied.”

  “I’m sorry,” Dad says. “I truly am. I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost after she left. I tried—” His voice cracks. “I tried, I really did.”

  If we were a different family, now might be the time to hug. But we’ve never been those people. I look over at my brothers. “We need to stop doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “We put all these walls up between us, we don’t talk. We never say how we really feel. The only way we know how to communicate is when we’re fighting.” No one can meet my eyes. “The only time we really connect in a positive way is through our music. And as great as it is to play together, as much as we all love it, that’s not enough. We have to change this.” I turn to my dad. “You should have told me about what happened. Especially after I started to show signs of being seriously fucked up.”

  “You’re not fucked up,” Cash says.

  “I wrapped a motorcycle around a tree because I was having dreams about Mom taking me to the grocery store, Cash. I think that qualifies as fucked up.”

  “You’re right, Lennon,” Dad says. “I should have told you. I just had no idea that you remembered any of that.”

  “Because I never told you what I was feeling. We might have avoided all of this if I’d just talked to you about it.” I turn to my brothers. “That’s what I’m saying. We don’t talk about stuff. And I want us to be different.” I close my eyes. “If I’m going to get better, we need to be different.”

  And then, even though we’re not a hugging family, Cash grabs me and pulls me into an embrace. “I need you to get better, Len,” he whispers in my ear. “I can’t lose you.”

  “You won’t.”

  “If that means talking about my feelings and shit,” he says, releasing me to wipe at his eyes, “then I guess that’s what I’ll have to do.”

  You would think I wouldn’t be able to laugh at a time like this. But there’s something about Cash crying and talking about his “feelings and shit” that has a peal of hysterical laughter coming from my throat.

  “Oh, God,” Daltrey says. “He’s really cracking up now.”

  “Get over here little brother,” Cash says, pulling Dalt up by his sleeve. “We’re going to start being the kind of people who hug each other.”

  Daltrey rolls his eyes, letting me throw an arm around his shoulder. “I can hardly wait,” he mutters. But then he returns the embrace, clutching my shoulders so hard I can feel his fingers trembling.

  “I’m going to be okay, Daltrey,” I say, my voice shaking. He only grips me harder. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  He nods and pulls away, not meeting my eyes.

  Cash turns to Reed. “You just gonna sit there, ass?”

  Reed looks up at us, and his eyes are flashing, angry. “So everything is just cool now?” he asks. “Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Reed—”

  “Our father is a liar,” he says, standing. “And as far as I’m concerned, all of this is his fault.”

  “That’s not true, Reed,” I say. He cuts me off before I can continue.

  “Lennon, I am here for you in whatever way you need me to be. You need more communication, you got it. You need someone to talk to, I’m here. But I will not forgive him.” He turns to Dad. “I can’t believe I ever looked up to you.”

  “Reed, come on,” Cash says, placing a hand on his shoulder.

  Reed shakes him off. “I’m done with you, Dad. We’re done.” He turns to us. “You guys need anything, you let me know. But I’m done in this room.”

  “Reed,” I call, but it’s too late. He strides through the door, letting it slam behind him, leaving the rest of us in Dad’s suite, staring at the place where he just stood.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Haylee

  It’s weird to be home. Well, I suppose I’m not really home, as the label has the band set up in New York City for the immediate future, but it’s weird to be back in the States. I fell into a routine on the tour—practicing every day off, breakfast in the hotel with Ransom and the gir
ls, seeing the sights, sound check, hanging out at the venues. Here in New York there’s no routine, no pattern. We’re shuttled from interview to interview, doing photo shoots, working with new producers. In a week they’re flying us out to LA to do a music video. Like I said, weird.

  And it’s even more weird, and entirely horrible, not to see Lennon every day. Or any day. I haven’t seen him since I said goodbye to him in the club.

  The last day in London was such a mess. I can’t think about it without feeling a deep rush of shame. Shit got bad, and I broke down. I guess it shouldn’t be a surprise anymore. I should be used to my own failings. But it felt different this time. Maybe because I’d been doing so much better since the tour started. Or maybe because Lennon knew.

  It was almost a relief, finding out that the Ransomes had cancelled their appearances for the day and gone home early. Since we were booked on the original flight that evening, it meant I didn’t have to face him. But then he sent me an email, explaining why they went home, and relief was the last thing I felt.

  It was short, just a few lines. I talked to my family about our trip to Giverny. Things are a little rough right now. I’m so sorry to leave without a proper goodbye, but James told me you needed a little time. I hope we can talk soon. I hope you’re doing okay. Please call me when you’re ready. I miss you already.

  And that was that. I couldn’t imagine how that talk must have gone down with his family. Apparently things were bad enough that they were cancelling all their appearances. Daisy sent me a text from the airport, telling me that she hoped we’d be seeing each other soon, and I responded in kind.

  Even though I’m not sure I’ll be seeing any of them again.

  I sigh and reach for my phone, checking my messages for the millionth time. I don’t know what I hope to find there. He asked me to call him when I was ready, and as I have no idea what “ready” could possibly mean at this point, I have no reason to think I might have a new message.

  I toss the phone back on the table and pace around my hotel room. It’s a much nicer room than the ones we had back in Europe. Much more spacious too. Louis must be right for once—the label is pretty pleased with how things are going. They should be—they’re keeping us busy enough.

  That’s been the excuse I’ve been holding onto in my head whenever I start to wonder what in the hell I’m doing not calling him. I’m too busy. The label has us running around town nearly constantly. Hardly the time for a heart-to-heart with the boy I love. The boy who must be so completely disgusted and disappointed in me—

  I’m so full of shit. I haven’t called him because I’m scared. That’s the only reason. Okay, scared and embarrassed. Ashamed of myself. All very good reasons not to talk to Lennon.

  But none of it stops me from missing him so badly it’s like a constant pain in my chest. I miss his lips, his smile, his laugh. I miss lying with him in the dark, falling asleep in his arms. I miss all the times we simply sat together, quiet, just holding hands. Just being. There hasn’t been a whole lot of quiet for me since he left. At least not the comfortable kind, the kind I shared with Lennon. Instead I’m plagued by the kind of overwhelming, heavy silence that makes me feel like crawling out of my skin. That makes me feel like the only way to get some peace is at the bottom of a whiskey bottle.

  “Stop it,” I whisper fiercely. Why can’t I just get my shit together? Why can’t I—

  A knock at the door puts an end to my self-recrimination. Thinking it’s probably Louis telling me our morning off is canceled, I swing it open, preparing myself for a fight.

  And gasp. Because it’s not Louis standing there. It’s Lennon.

  “Can I come in?”

  It’s been a week since I’ve seen him, but it feels like so much longer. I drink in the sight of his face, those familiar eyes, his slightly too long hair, his broad shoulders that did such a good job of holding me up.

  “Haylee?” he asks. “Can I come in?”

  “Of course.” I flush scarlet and move to let him in the room. What is he doing here? I wonder, briefly, how I look. I didn’t sleep well—surprise, surprise—and I’ve spent most of my morning off trying to muster the energy to take a shower. In other words, I probably look like shit.

  “How are you?” he asks, eyes concerned. Maybe I look even worse than I thought.

  “I’m okay.” My voice sounds scratchy, not okay at all. I clear my throat and try again. “How are you?”

  He runs his hands through his hair. “I’m pretty shitty, to tell you the truth.”

  Somehow those words break the tension, and I smile. “Sit down.” I gesture at the little dining table. “I’ll get us some water.”

  I grab two bottles from the mini fridge and turn back to him, surprised to see his eyes following me. He’s looking at me strangely. Like he’s not quite sure that I’m real. “Here.” I hand him one of the water bottles and sit across from him. “Explain shitty. What’s been going on?”

  “My brothers aren’t really talking to my dad. Specifically, Reed. He’s…” Lennon releases a sharp breath. “He had a really hard time when I told them about my mom.”

  “And he took it out on your dad?”

  “It’s kind of a long story.”

  I nod, wondering, with a sharp pain in my stomach, if I’m no longer deemed trusted enough to share those stories with.

  “But I’d like to talk to you about it if you have a minute,” he says.

  I look up at him, and his eyes are exactly like I remembered. Dark and intense. Expressive. No longer shuttered. No longer closed off to me. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

  “I’d like that.”

  So he tells me about his mother, about the things he remembered before she left. My mouth drops open as he speaks, my brain frantically trying to connect the woman we met in Giverny with a person who could take her six-year-old son to her dealer’s house.

  I reach for his hand. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how scary that must have been. Remembering all of that and wondering if it was true.”

  “That’s why those last few days were so bad,” he says, his voice tight. “Because all of that was running through my head.”

  I remember what he told me about the times he’d hurt himself before. How he was always looking for ways to turn off the shit in his head. The thought makes me feel sick, the idea that he might have tried to—

  “Hey,” he says softly, squeezing my hand. “It’s okay, Haylee. I’m okay.”

  Tears are coming to my eyes, and I don’t think there’s any way I’m going to be able to stop them. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp. “I should have been there. You needed me, and I was—”

  “I came here to apologize to you!” he cries. “Haylee, look at me.” I look up, and his eyes are burning into mine. “I was so absent that day, when you were dealing with what your mom did. I had no idea anything was even wrong until I saw James. I can’t believe I was so selfish. So self-involved. I should have noticed you hurting.”

  I shake my head, pulling my hand away and standing. “You don’t have to be sorry. You were dealing with shit too.” I wander over to the window, sure I don’t want to be looking at him when I say this. “I think this isn’t going to work, Lennon.”

  “What?” His voice is sharp, scared.

  “Look at us. We’re both so…” I let my forehead fall to the window, the glass cool against my skin. “You should be with someone who can help you when shit gets rough, Lennon. Not someone who responds to bad news by going out and getting so hammered she ends up in the emergency room.”

  “Haylee.” I hear him pushing his chair back, and then he’s behind me, his arms coming out to wrap around me. I let myself fall back against his chest. It feels so good, to be touching him again. How am I ever going to give this up?

  “I love you,” he says softly. “I should have told you that before.”

  “I love you too.” The tears are back in my eyes, and I blink them away rapidly. “But I don’t thi
nk I’m strong enough for this.”

  “Then we’ll make each other stronger.”

  “How can I make you stronger when I can’t even keep myself going?” I turn in his arms and ask him the question that’s been haunting me since he woke up crying from that nightmare. “How can we help each other when we’re both so broken?”

  “Because people don’t have to stay broken.” I can see doubt in his eyes, like he isn’t completely sure he can believe that. But there’s hope there too. Hope for me, maybe hope for himself. I close my eyes, wanting to believe it.

  “Why didn’t you tell me how bad the drinking was?” he asks.

  “Because I was ashamed of it.”

  “You don’t have to be ashamed of anything with me.”

  I shake my head. “I can’t make it go away. I’ve never been able to make it go away. Ever since Randy…” I feel his hands tightening on my waist, and I take a deep, shuddering breath, trying to keep it together. “The fear just won’t go away. And it makes me feel so stupid and so small. Because it’s been ages, Lennon. It shouldn’t still affect me like this. He didn’t even do anything to me.”

  “That’s not true.” His voice is heavy. “He took away your security. Your independence. He made you afraid. He changed you, Haylee.”

  My eyes fly open to glare at him. “I shouldn’t have let him!”

  A sad smile tugs on his lips. “We don’t get to decide what changes us.”

  “You’re saying it’s hopeless,” I whisper. “I’ll always be like this.”

  “No.” He reaches up and cups my cheek with his hand, and I lean into the contact, unable to help myself. “We can fight back. Just because something has changed doesn’t mean it can’t change again. It just takes some work sometimes.”

  “You think I should go to therapy.”

  “I think it could help. It helps me. It helped Daisy.”

  I frown. “What about Daisy?”

  He looks conflicted, like he isn’t sure he should tell me. But he takes a deep breath and meets my gaze. “She attempted suicide four years ago.”

  I can’t keep the horror and shock from my face. Daisy? That beautiful girl with the shining eyes and the big smile? Teasing all the Ransome boys, complaining about her pregnancy even while it couldn’t be plainer that she was overjoyed about it. “Daisy?” I ask, and Lennon nods, his eyes sad.