Page 6 of Rescue

“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 behere, 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.

“Iwantto 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.Hewouldn’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.