Chapter Two
Lennon
Seventeen Years Later
There’s a familiar battle raging in my head. It’s an old refrain, one I know as well as any of our songs. I’ve been singing these words to myself for as long as I can remember. It goes like this: do the thing I’m supposed to do, or do the thing I want to do?
Supposed to do usually wins out, if I’m honest. Too many people will be let down if I give in. When I do what I want to do, instead of what I need to do, a lot of people end up really unhappy. Or scared.
Just like this summer.
I close my eyes and let my forehead fall against the painted cinder block wall. The cement is cool against my skin, a welcome relief from the oppressive heat outside. It doesn’t matter how much we travel, or how much time we spend in LA. I’ll never get used to ninety-degree weather at the end of October.
Just walk into the room, I tell myself. It’s easy. Open the door and go in there. They’re waiting for you.
And they are. All five of them. My brothers. My friend Levi. My dad. All waiting on me.
They’re probably pretty used to it by now.
A text alert sounds on the phone in my pocket, and I know without looking that it’s Levi. He’ll be concerned by now. I’m only ten minutes late, but for Levi it’s been ten minutes of worry. Longer, probably. I bet he’s been stressing since he texted me this morning to ask if I wanted to ride in together for the meeting. Telling him no had, I’m sure, set off a morning’s worth of anxiety. Levi seemed to operate better when he knew exactly where I was and what I was doing at all times. He’s always been that way.
For my brothers, worry is a relatively new experience. There was a time when Reed, Cash, and Daltrey wouldn’t have even noticed me showing up ten minutes late for a meeting. Hell, one of us was almost always late. Usually Cash.
But that was before. These days the Ransome boys are on time for everything. On time and waiting. Waiting for me to show up so they can watch me out of the corner of their eye for the duration of whatever we’re doing. Band practice. Interviews. Photo shoots. Meetings. I can never get away from those corner-of-the-eye glances.
It’s kind of a mind fuck, going from being the guy in the background nobody ever really notices to being the guy everyone in the room has their eye on.
And I really fucking hate it.
Do the thing I’m supposed to do, or do the thing I want to do? Walk into that room and pretend I don’t notice while they all shoot me worried glances or go get in my car and get the hell out of here? I’m not even sure where I would go, honestly. But it wouldn’t be here.
“Just walk into the room, Lennon.” This time I say the words out loud, hoping the sound of my own voice will give me some motivation to follow through. The meeting won’t be long, and then we’ll be in rehearsal. And while I know I still won’t be able to escape all the looks they shoot my way, at least I’ll be behind my bass. I’ve always felt safer behind my bass.
“Talking to yourself is a bad sign,” a soft voice says, close to my ear. I don’t need to lift my head to know who it is, but I do anyway, meeting Daisy Harris’s steady gaze. One corner of her mouth tilts up almost into a smile. “Do I need to call Dr. Jacobs?”
I release a breath. Somehow Daisy’s eyes, inquisitive and knowing, don’t make my skin crawl. Maybe it’s because she’s the only person who dares to make jokes about me being crazy.
Maybe it’s because she’s the only person who understands.
“Depends,” I tell her. “Does Dr. Jacobs have some previously unmentioned superpower that makes time spent in the company of my brothers pass more quickly?”
Daisy scrunches up her face in thought. “Hmm. I’m not sure. Somehow it never came up in our therapy sessions.” She flashes a quick grin. “So. Whatcha doing out here talking to the wall?”
“Avoiding going in there.”
She nods. “I can see how the wall might offer better conversation than Cash.”
If there’s anything that can make me feel better, hearing other people ripping on my big brother is usually it. And since Daisy, Daltrey’s girlfriend, has known us her entire life, she’s usually pretty good at throwing out the insults at the Ransome boys. I shoot her a smile. “What are you doing out here?”
“Looking for you. Your brothers sent me.”
At least she’s honest about it. Better than the fake-ass nonchalance the rest of them try to force when they’re checking up on me. That doesn’t keep the edge out of my voice, however. “I’m ten minutes late. Hardly necessary to call in reinforcements.”
She shrugs. “Think of it as a sign of their love.”
A sign of their lack of trust. They don’t trust me to get myself to a band meeting on my own. They don’t trust me to do what I say I’m going to do. They don’t trust me to show up in one piece.
And that’s nobody’s fault but your own, a voice in my head reminds me. I sigh, straightening. Daisy is watching my face, a little crease between her eyes. “Come on, Len. I know it’s not fun, knowing they’re worried all the time. Let’s just get in there and get it over with. The later you are, the worse it will be.”
I nod, gesturing at the door. “After you.”
Before she can reach for the handle, the sound of a suddenly raised voice reaches us from within the room. Daisy rolls her eyes. “Reed?”
“Cash,” I say. “Definitely Cash.” Another shout, this one loud enough I can make out individual words—something about shutting the hell up. “That was Reed.”
“You boys,” she mutters, pulling on the handle. As the door swings into the room, I can hear Cash’s response.
“He’s clearly not ready—” Cash cuts off abruptly when he sees me standing in the doorway next to Daisy. Every head in the room swivels in our direction. I don’t miss the shot of relief that passes across each face. The basket case is here safe.
“What’s up?” I ask, leaning against the doorframe. No one responds. It’s pretty obvious from the red faces and suddenly clenched jaws that their raised voices were about me.
“You’re late,” my dad finally says, causing Cash and Daltrey to glare at him. Reed’s jaw tightens even more, and he turns away from Dad. While everyone else has been regarding our father with open hostility since my hospital stay, Reed’s rage seems beyond words. I don’t think he’s said more than a dozen non-business related words to him since I got out.
“Sorry,” I say, causing Cash to shoot my dad another glare. This is another thing I’ve noticed about my post-mental-institution life—as far as Cash is concerned, no one is allowed to criticize me. It would be kind of sweet if it didn’t make me feel so much like a fucking child.
“Good luck,” Daisy mutters, patting my back.
“You’re not coming in?”
She edges back into the hallway, shaking her head. “No way, dude. You’d have to be crazy to want to hang out in there.” She makes a face at me, and I laugh.
“Traitor.”
My dad clears his throat behind me, and I suppress a groan, turning away as Daisy shuts the door behind me. “We were just going over the schedule,” Dad says as I take the empty chair next to Levi, my best friend and our newly promoted tour manager. “The booking manager has been working with our new parameters—”
I audibly groan at the words. New parameters. Translation: Lennon is too fucked up to do the tour as planned so we have to downsize to make it more manageable for his fragile little head.
“Don’t start,” Reed growls. “New parameters are not up for discussion.”
“Yeah, because heaven forbid I have any input,” I say, trying to ignore the glance Cash shoots me.
“Son,” my father says, rubbing his forehead. “We’ve talked about this. There’s no reason to overdo it—”
“Tour sponsors,” I say, holding up a finger with each point. “The label. Our fans. Album sales overseas. Ticket sale momentum for the second leg next year.” I wave my hand. “Five reasons to stick to the original plan right there, just off the top of my head.”
“And not a single one worth risking your health for,” he shoots back.
“I’m fine—”
Daltrey grunts, and I turn to face him, realizing that he’s the only one who hasn’t looked at me since I sat down. Even now his eyes are glued firmly to the floor. “You want to say something, Dalt?” He shakes his head, but I can tell from the change in the set of his shoulders that he’s pissed. “Really? ’Cause that sure as shit sounded like you were objecting to my assessment that I’m fine.”
“Of course you’re fine,” Cash says quickly, turning his glare from our father to Daltrey. “We all know that.”
Yeah. Right. There’s not a person in this room who thinks I’m okay. Daisy left, after all.
“Can we get back to the topic at hand?” my dad asks, picking up a piece of paper from the desk and waving it. “Revised schedule.”
“Yeah, just completely ignore my objections to the need for a revised schedule. Perfect.”
Dad sets down the paper and once again rubs his forehead. He looks exhausted, and I feel a pang of guilt. I did that. The worry and stress of my situation hasn’t been easy on him. And though he would never admit it, the hostility from my brothers is painful. All of that is on me.
“Listen,” Reed says, turning in his chair so he’s facing me fully. “No one in here is interested in participating in a tour that runs us ragged. The fact that all of your doctors are advising you to take it easy matters to us, Lennon, even if you seem to want to ignore their advice.”
Now Cash is glaring at Reed, and I’m suddenly overcome with a pang of hysteria. I actually have to slap a hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. It’s just so ridiculous. Everyone in the room tiptoeing around my issues, terrified of offending me or setting me off. Reed ignoring Dad. Daltrey just looking for an excuse to blow up. And Cash glaring at everyone who dares raise their voice to me like some kind of overgrown baby nanny in a leather jacket. If it wasn’t all such a mess it would be hilarious.
Levi grinds his heel into my toes, once again demonstrating his uncanny ability to know exactly what I’m feeling at any given moment. “Cool out, man,” he mutters under his breath.
I nod, taking a deep breath and trying to focus on Reed, who’s still droning on about doctor’s advice and the need for all of us— “All of us, Lennon”—to take it easy on this tour.
“Taking it easy and scrapping half the cities on the original list are vastly different,” I argue. “Think about all the fans we’re disappointing here.”
“And think about how disappointed they’ll be if we can’t tour at all because you’re—” Reed cuts himself off, breathing heavily, and suddenly no one seems to be able to look at me.
It’s quiet for a long moment before I clear my throat. “It would be nice if even one of you had the tiniest shred of faith in me.”
“We do!” Cash cries. “No one is saying that we don’t, Len.”
“Sure,” I mutter, rubbing my temples. I look up, eyes traveling to each of their faces. Except Daltrey. He’s still staring resolutely at the ground. “Look, I get that I fucked up, okay? I get that I freaked you all out. But, Jesus. You act like I can’t even do my job.”
“We know you can do your job,” Reed says. “You’re great at your job. We just don’t want to push you on your first tour after… after…”
I do laugh then, but it’s a strangled, angry sound. “You can’t even say it. None of you can even say the words.” I stand, suddenly too frustrated to be still. I want to run, want to get out of this room and away from the fear that hangs so heavily over all of them. “I’m so tired of all of this. Everyone acting like I’m some kind of fragile doll—like I can’t even stand to hear you say what happened.”
“Lennon—”
“Just stop tiptoeing around it!” I yell. “If you want to say something, fucking say it.”
“Fine,” Daltrey cuts in, looking up at me at last. His eyes are flashing, and he’s angrier than I’ve seen him in a long time. “You want me to say it? I will.” He turns his gaze to Dad and then to Reed and finally to Cash. “I don’t think we should be doing this tour at all.”
“Daltrey—” Dad starts, but Daltrey talks right over him.
“I think it’s insane that we’re even considering it.” He stands, glaring at me again. “You shouldn’t even be here, Lennon. None of us should. We should be back in Nashville where your doctors are.” He shakes his head. “We’re going to Europe? Seriously? This is crazy.”
It’s strange. His words should be sending that familiar flash of guilt and shame through me, but they don’t. I’m relieved, actually. Relieved that someone is finally being honest about how messed up the whole situation is. Relieved that someone is finally treating me like a grown-up, instead of a child they wouldn’t dare upset.
“I want to go to Europe,” I say.
“I don’t care!” he yells. “You tried to kill yourself three months ago!”
The room goes very quiet. All the relief I felt only a moment ago disappears as swiftly as it arrived.
It’s a long moment before I break the silence. “I didn’t try to kill myself.”
“Don’t,” Daltrey says, voice shaking. “I mean it, Lennon. Don’t you fucking dare.”
“I didn’t.” But I know it’s pointless to argue. No matter how many times I’ve tried, I’ve never been able to make them understand what was in my head the night I wrapped that motorcycle around a tree. I’m not even sure I can understand it, and I’ve had plenty of time and plenty of therapy to try to figure it out.
“We should not be going to Europe,” Daltrey says. “We should stay home.”
No one says anything. No one seems to know where to look. I want to tell him that he’s wrong, but I have no idea how to diminish that fear in his eyes. It feels beyond me. All of it feels beyond me, suddenly, and I’m exhausted.
“Staying home is absolutely an option,” my dad finally says, voice soft. But he’s looking right at me, his gaze steady. “It would take two minutes to postpone this tour, and I would be happy to make it happen. No one would care.”
“Of course people would—”
“No one would care,” he repeats, raising his voice. “No one who matters, anyhow.”
I know what he’s telling me. My brothers wouldn’t care. He wouldn’t care. The other boys might not believe that. They’ve always thought of him as work obsessed. The rock band version of a stage mom, fully consumed with our careers to the point of not caring much about us as individuals.
But I know that’s not true. When he tells me he wouldn’t care, I believe him.
For one moment I let myself think about the possibility. We could cancel the whole thing, try the European tour again in the spring, after Daisy has the baby. It would mean pushing back our plans for Asia and South America, not to mention the full US tour we were hoping to do the following summer. But it was possible.
Six months, maybe. Six months to relax and work on getting better. Six months without anything to worry about but myself.
The panic hits me out of nowhere, so strong I think I might not be able to breathe. I can’t do that. I know I can’t. Six months. It’s too long.
I look around at my brothers and Levi. They’re all still watching me, the way they’ve been doing since that night in the hospital. That’s how it would be, I tell myself. Six months of those looks, of that fear, with absolutely nothing to distract you. Six months of guilt and embarrassment. Six months to think about what you did. To try and figure out why.
Hell, if I wasn’t crazy before, six months of this would be enough to get me there.
“Listen,” I say, struggling to keep my voice calm even while the panic chokes me. “Please, listen to me and try to understand.” I wait for Daltrey to nod. “I want this. I want to go on tour. I need to be doing something.” Reed looks like he’s about to argue, so I hurry on. “I love playing. It’s the thing I love the most in the world. I need it right now. Can you understand that? I need it.”
If there’s anything that might convince them, it’s an appeal to their love of the music.
“We can play together right here,” Cash points out. “We don’t need to go on the road in order to play music together.” He grins. “Hell, Daltrey has a garage at that monstrosity he calls a house in Tennessee. We can hang out there, jam all the time. It would be like the old days.”
I’m shaking my head before he’s done talking. “There would be too much down time if we hang out here. I need to be doing something. I need to be busy.” I look at Reed, knowing that he, more than anyone else, will understand the need to work. “I’ve had three months to sit around and think, and it’s driving me crazy.” I clear my throat. “Well, more crazy than I was already.”
No one laughs.
“You guys, come on—”
“I don’t like it,” Daltrey says. “I think it’s a really bad idea.”
I’m starting to get pissed now. Is it too much to ask that they actually listen to me? “Well, you’re not the one making my decisions for me, Daltrey.”
“No. But I do get to make my own. And I’m not sure you’ll get very far without a lead singer.”
Apparently sensing that I’m about to blow up, my dad stands. “All right, that’s enough. Lennon, I think we should take some time and think about—”
“I don’t need to think about it!” I yell. “I have thought about it. The tour is the only thing I’ve been looking forward to over the last few weeks. Which, in case you’re wondering, have really sucked for me.” None of them will meet my eyes, so I plow ahead. “First I was stuck in that place, then I was stuck at Dad’s. I’m bored. I’m tired of sitting around. I want to go fucking do something.” My voice is shaking by the end, I’m so frustrated. Why can’t they just get it?
“Okay,” Reed says softly, and I feel weak with relief. If my oldest brother is on board, I’m home free. The others might complain, but they’ll go along with it if Reed tells them to. “If you think going on tour will help, that’s what we’ll do.” Our eyes meet across the room, and I can see the struggle there. He’s scared, really scared. He’s looked that way ever since August. But he’s trying too. Trying to trust me, trying to have faith that things might get back to normal.
God, I don’t want to disappoint him.
“Reed,” Cash says, but Reed waves him off.
“Lennon is right. He’s the only one that has a right to decide what he’s ready for. He’s had a rough few months, and if he thinks getting out of here will make him feel better, that’s his call.” His gaze hardens as he turns back to me. “But if anything about being out there makes you feel shitty, we call it off. Immediately. You got that?”
I nod quickly, and his gaze turns to a scowl. “I mean it, Len. You have to talk to us.”
“I will.”
Daltrey looks between Reed and me. “Are you kidding me?”
“Dalt—”
“Come on, Reed! You can’t think this is a good idea.”
Though he addresses Daltrey, Reed never drops his gaze from mine. “I think I trust Lennon to make his own choices.” He looks as tired as I’ve ever seen him, as if we’ve just finished a massive tour instead of being about to start one. But the corner of his mouth tilts up just a little in a half smile. “Besides, he’s into all that art and museum crap. Europe is probably just what he needs.”
Cash laughs. “That’s true. I bet Europe has a ton of museums. It’s, like, Len’s version of Vegas.”
I don’t even try not to roll my eyes. “Yes, Cash. Europe does have a ton of museums.”
He’s laughing at me, a very welcome sound after weeks of treating me like a fragile toy. “You’re going to drag us around to half of them, aren’t you? Dear God. Hours and hours of paintings and whatever the hell else you like to look at. At least I’ll be able to get some sleep.”
The idea of taking my brothers to the Louvre or something is so ridiculous I can’t help laughing myself. Reed is grinning too. Only Daltrey looks unmoved.
“I need some air,” he mutters, standing so abruptly he knocks his chair over.
“Son—” Dad begins, but Dalt silences him with a glare.
“I’ll go along with whatever the rest of you say,” he growls, halfway to the door. “But I still think it’s a really stupid idea.”
“We have rehearsal,” Reed calls after him.
“I said I needed some air.” He slams the door behind him.
“Some air sounds good,” Dad mutters, rubbing his eyes. “Why don’t you all take fifteen and we’ll meet in the rehearsal space after.”
“Guess I better call Sam and tell her what we decided,” Cash says, stretching as he stands. I realize belatedly that Cash would have another reason to want to take a break before touring. His girlfriend, Sam, is in the middle of a year-long internship in Seattle. They won’t be seeing each other too much once we’re overseas. It’s a short tour, I tell myself, trying to push back the guilt. We’ll be home for Christmas.
“I’ll see you in there?” Reed asks, coming to stand in front of me.
“Yup.” But he doesn’t leave, just stands and looks at me until I start to feel uncomfortable.
“What?”
“You will talk to me, right? About, you know, how you’re feeling and stuff.”
I can’t help snorting. We might have three multiplatinum albums, but shit, our family sucks at communication. Especially when actual emotions are involved.
“Yes, Reed. I promise to talk to you about all of my feelings. We can have nightly gab sessions over cookies and milk.”
He smiles. “You better hope Paige doesn’t hear you say that if you want it to stay a joke.”
Since a nightly gab session over cookies and milk is exactly the kind of thing his girlfriend Paige would think is fun, I shudder. “Good point. See you in there.”
My dad’s cell rings as Reed leaves, and Levi turns to me. “Want to grab some coffee?”
I wave at Dad as we go, but he’s already consumed by whatever business is on the other end of the phone. “You were pretty quiet in there,” I say as Levi and I make our way down to the lobby in search of coffee.
My best friend shrugs. “It’s not really up to me. I go where you guys say.”
“Don’t be stupid. You have a say too. That’s why you come to band meetings, Levi. Plus you’re the tour manager now.”
He doesn’t respond, and a flash of annoyance runs through me. “You could have at least backed me up, then, if you have no opinion of your own.”
“Didn’t say I don’t have an opinion. Just said it wasn’t up to me.”
We’re steps away from the lobby and I can see the receptionist from here so I stop abruptly, not wanting to be overheard. “What, Levi? You agree with Daltrey?”
“Didn’t say that either.”
Everyone thinks that Levi’s easygoing nature is his best quality. They’re all crazy. He might keep his mouth shut about things and he might have a talent for smoothing over my and my brother’s violent tendencies, but Levi is no pushover.
“You obviously want to say something. Why don’t we just get it over with?”
He rubs the back of his neck absently, staring hard at the wall. “It was just a little bit like déjà vu, that’s all.”
“What was?”
“Listening to you in there. Talking about how you needed to be active. How the tour would help.” He finally looks over at me. “Pretty sure you fed me that same bullshit at the beginning of the summer.”
“What?”
“Before the last tour. When I told you I didn’t think it was a good idea to go out the way you were feeling. When you told me that your doctor thought it was a bad idea too. That was the excuse you gave me. That it would help you to keep busy.” His gaze is hard as he stares at me, and I suddenly feel like I can’t breathe very well. I have a vague recollection of saying that to him when he came to see me in Ohio all those months before. It feels like a lifetime ago.
The thing is, I meant those words when I said them then just as much as I mean them now. I did think that it would help me to have some work to focus on, something to get me out of my head. I was sure of it. Was I wrong then? Am I wrong now?
“The same exact words,” he mutters, shaking his head. “I believed you.” He turns away, begins to walk to the lobby. But then he pauses, barely turning his head over his shoulder. “Same words, Len. Just look at how that turned out.”