Page 103 of Rescue

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 girls, 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.