Page 47 of Rescue

“He’s a nice guy, James,” I say, looking away, not wanting him to see the shame I’m sure is in my eyes.

“I know he is,” James agrees quickly. “I like him. I like all of them.”

I smile a little. “They’re not quite like we thought, are they?”

He snorts. “You could say that. I was imagining debauchery and flagrant wealth. Not visits to a hedge maze in Madrid.”

It’s my turn to snort. “Apparently being in a major rock band means you spend seventy percent of your time playing video games and the other thirty percent going on ridiculous sightseeing expeditions. We can definitely out-party them.” I laugh, trying not to notice the way James’s face tightens.

“Anyhow,” I continue quickly, not really wanting to get onto the topic of partying when he’s looking like that. “I was going to say that I don’t think you have anything to worry about with Lennon. When I told him we should just be friends, he was fine with it.” A fleeting memory of the hurt on his face flashes through my mind, but I push it away. “He’s a nice guy. I really don’t think he would ever hurt me.”

James stares me right in the face. “That doesn’t mean you won’t get hurt. It doesn’t really matter how good his intentions are.”

“Because I’m crazy either way, right?” I snap.

James’s face tightens some more. “I did not say that. I would never say that—”

“It’s what you were thinking.”

“Haylee—”

Luckily the waiter reappears with our food, giving me a chance to hide my flushed face in a glass of water for a few seconds. By the time he’s gone—leaving no octopus behind, thank goodness—I’m a little more in control.

“I know you didn’t mean it like that,” I say. “But it feels like that sometimes, James. Like you all think I’m just a ticking bomb waiting to go off.”

“We donotthink that,” he says. Then he does something he never does—he reaches across the table and takes my hand. James is pretty adverse to any display of sentimentality, and the simple act of holding my hand, in a public restaurant no less, hits me hard enough to bring a lump to my throat. “Haylee,” he begins, his voice a little rough. “You’ve been through a lot. And it’s been hard for you to come back from all of that. I feel like things are getting back on track lately, you know? The band has this great opportunity. All the feedback from the label is really positive. The fans are crazy about you.” He squeezes my hand. “But none of that would matter if I didn’t think that you were really feeling better. You seem… Hay, you seem so much better.” The certainty, the hope, in his eyes makes my stomach twist. Am I doing better? Maybe I’m just getting better at hiding it.

James releases my hand, but he doesn’t drop my gaze. “I just don’t want anything happening that’s going to derail you. That’s all.”

I nod, staring at the bottle of soy sauce in front of me so I don’t have to look at him anymore. I’m sure he’d be able to read the lie in my eyes if I did. “That’s why I don’t want to be in a relationship with Lennon.”

“Really?” His tone makes it pretty clear he doesn’t believe me. I don’t blame him. I don’t believe me either.

“Really,” I say anyhow, reaching for my salmon roll. “Can we eat now, or did you want to interrogate me some more?”

“Quit your complaining,” he says, grabbing the soy sauce. “At least you have people who care about you enough to bug you. Unlike, say, Louis.”

I laugh. “Poor old Louis.”

We make fun of our manager a bit while we eat, the conversation flowing naturally now that we’ve dropped the subject of my fucked-up neurosis. From Barcelona we’ll be heading to Paris for an entire week so the Ransomes can prepare for their live concert special. We’ll have two shows, and a bit of promotion to do for the European divisions of the label, but we’ll also have plenty of time to relax and enjoy the city.

“Daltrey told me that Paige has the entire thing planned out already,” James says. “So we should probably steer clear if we don’t want to get sucked into all that.”

I shrug. “It might not be so bad. The illusion museum was pretty cool.” I think of standing next to Lennon in the cemetery, my heart pounding, his hand warm in mine in the dark. “That was a good day,” I murmur.

If he picks up on the change in my tone, he doesn’t have time to mention it. My phone rings, and a quick look at the screen has me groaning. “Remember when we talked about how fucked up I am?” I ask, raising the phone. “Here’s the original source of my crazy.”

He grins, wiping his mouth, and holds out his hand. “Want me to answer it? She loves me.”

“Of course she does,” I mutter, handing him the phone. “You pulled me out of the hell of busking and got me booked in real venues.”

James presses the screen and brings the phone to his ear. “Jess,” he says brightly. “It’s James. How are you?”

Whatever she says is loud enough that I can make out the excited squeak of her voice from here. I grimace at James, but he merely grins, leaning back in his chair while I play with the wrapper of my straw. “Mmm hmm,” he says. “Really?…Wow…You don’t say!”

I roll my eyes, waiting for him to finish buttering her up. This is one of the best things about having James as a best friend. Whenever my mother calls in his presence, he’s willing to talk to her first. By the time he gets done—he wasn’t lying, she really does love him—she’s usually calmed down significantly, and the subsequent conversation is nearly bearable.

“Well, everything you’re reading seems to be matching up with our experiences here,” he says, and I look up sharply. “The crowds are great, and they seem really into us. Some of the venues have been pretty packed by the time we start, which Louis says is unheard of for Ransom’s openers.”