Chapter 9 Present
Light, intermittent rain tapped against the car as Ry rode through the dark and gray streets of London. The tires hissed along the slick road. His reflection, marred by splotchy drops and streaks of water, stared at him through the window.
“Your fans are your lifeline,” Pink had said to him when he’d asked her about success. “Listen to them, fight for them, and show up for them. Their belief is the reason we can keep doing this.”
“How?”
She grinned. “Give them honesty, sweat, and a damn good show.” Then she winked at him before moving to another conversation.
Arend stood outside the door, protected from the elements. He wore a brimmed hat and the garish faux-fur coat he favored lately. His furrowed brow and dark, intense eyes, arms crossed tightly, all painted a clear picture of his displeasure.
The damp air filled Ry's lungs. He ignored Arend's posture. That man had power over him, for now. But Ry had choices, though they shared a goal: finish the tour. Ry needed to get back on stage: for himself and for the fans. He owed it to them.
“Welcome, Orion,” Arend said, his voice as flat as the weather. He gestured behind him. “Shall we? You’d much prefer to settle in, I know.”
Arend opened the door and walked in lockstep with him. “Our interview starts at four thirty-three. I trust you can manage a shower and a change of clothes in the time allowed.”
Ry clenched his jaw. “Of course.”
“Good.” Arend smiled and waved him into the elevator. “And no surprises. Understood?”
The lift ascended seven floors in a hushed, prickling silence. Ry’s fingers tightened into a fist, Arend’s reflection watching him. He focused on the steady in-and-out of his own breath, the cool, recycled air. He wasn’t sure how he’d endure the rest of the tour.
When the doors opened and Arend led the way, Ry exhaled, his chest relaxing.
“We’re meeting in my room across the hall. Please be punctual; it saves us both the trouble.”
Ry pushed open the door to reveal a spacious suite, a stark contrast to the cramped quarters he'd grown used to at the rehab facility. The air inside, though stale, offered a faint, clean scent, and the light from the hallway cast shadows.
Flipping the lamp switch, he closed the door on Arend. The porter had already brought the bags up to his room, faster than Ry thought possible, and had arranged them in front of the closet. The smallest roller had more of his personal clothes.
He grabbed his toiletries and headed to the bathroom. Turning the faucet to hot, he hopped into the shower, the steamy water hitting him hard. The spray rinsed away the fatigue of a long flight, the vapor invigorating.
After he’d toweled off and wrapped himself up, he dug through his bag.
Phone interviews never required showy attire, but Arend had surprised them all before with formal lunches or dinners after meetings with industry execs.
He settled on slim black pants, an overside black hoodie with bones on the sleeves, and black shoes.
A few more minutes until interview time.
He opened the curtains of his room and looked out on the Thames, the water below a murky reflection of the sky. Drizzle misted the view, and after a moment, he closed the curtains and stood straighter, bracing himself.
His fingers buzzed and his back tensed as he knocked on the door across the hall.
Arend’s words echoed. It didn’t matter if Ry was early, late, or on time: Arend would have something to say, some way to twist and control.
Dr. Rosa’s voice came to him: find three things.
Marks and scuffs adorned the walls, a ghost of lemon and bleach remained, the unmoving air cool against his neck.
Brand answered the door. He wore loose gray jeans and an orange and blue jumper his mother had given him years ago. His brows rose, and his mouth opened.
“Ry,” he said, stepping aside. “We are on the station, but haven’t started yet.”
Ry smiled, pulled Brand into a brief hug, and then followed his friend in.
Alex sat in the corner, farthest from Arend. Baggy jeans, tight tank and a jacket: his standard. Arend stood at the window: whether looking out at the city at his feet, or watching their reflections carefully, Ry couldn’t say. Lon hadn’t arrived yet.
“Alright,” Arend said after a moment, turning to face the group. “When asked about the tour cancellation, we are going to say that it was not for anyone’s rehab time, but for illness. Yours specifically, Ry. We needed to rest your voice after doing so many shows. Your doctor’s orders.”
“Voice rest,” Ry said. His abs tightened, and a knot rose in his chest. To give in, to lie had become second nature. Give them honesty.
“Do you understand, Ry?” Arend asked. “Voice rest. No surprises.”
Ry nodded.
Alex’s gaze snapped to him, sharp and questioning.
“May I have a private word with Orion?” Alex said.
“If you must.” Arend waved his hand, as if to show he didn’t care. He must have firmly believed he had them broken. “Return before Lon arrives.”
The last time Alex had spoken to him, he’d told Ry to fuck off. Alex towered over him and guided him out of the room. Ry followed, his legs stiff and leaden. Why was Alex taking him outside now?
A few steps from the door, Alex spun around. His face twisted and his scar reddened. “What the hell? Why are going along with that asshat?”
“What do you want me to say?” Ry said. His arms burned and his fists clenched. “Of course I want to say something, but the man exhausts me.”
“If I say anything about it, will you?”
“Yes,” Ry said. He locked eyes with Alex for the first time in years. “I can’t do it alone, Alex. I am not strong enough.”
Alex nodded, his eyes softening. “You don’t have to. Let’s do this then.”
Ungainly footsteps came down the hall, and Lon appeared from around the corner. He wore light blue jeans, a studded belt, and a loose-fitting long-sleeved white tee with two rabbits on the front.
“Whoa,” he said, stopping when he got close. “Interview over already?”
“No, Lon,” Alex said. “We were having a private chat. But we’re done now. Ready?”
Lon said, “Yup!” He cast a few searching looks between them, like he thought there might have been something he’d missed.
They all filed into the room sequentially, with Lon entering last deliberately to irk Arend. Sometimes being petty made all the difference. Without a word, Arend held his phone out.
“Okay, we’re ready on our end. ”
“Likewise,” Arend said, looking up at both Alex and Ry. Well, Arend might have a surprise coming for him. Or two. Ry’s lips curled for a moment before he schooled his face.
“Great! Live in three, two, one, and go. Okay listeners, if you loved that song, and we know you did, we’ve got the cheeky bastards themselves here on the line. Hey fellas!”
“Hi,” Ry said.
“Good day,” Brand said.
“Hiya!” from Lon.
Alex grunted.
“Ghostfire is back to finish the tour, and we are chuffed to see you back!”
“I want to apologize to you all,” Ry said, careful not to look at Alex or Arend. “We know changes in plans are hard so fingers crossed everyone can make the new dates.”
“Yeah,” Lon said. “We appreciate you guys a ton.”
“We love Ghostfire,” the DJ said. “You always put on a great show. So, tell us about the time off from your tour?”
“I—” Ry began.
“No, let me answer,” Alex said, interrupting. “The tour has been rough but worth it. We love performing and putting on a show. But we have to take care of ourselves.”
Ry stared at Alex, his head unweighted, the lights sharp. His breath shallowed. Would he say it?
“We took a brief break because I—well, the thing is I went into rehab. I’m doing better.”
Arend hissed, letting the phone drop on the bed as if stung. Lon swooped it up and held it closer to Alex, unaware of Arend’s reddening face.
“You all deserve to know,” Alex continued. “You’ve supported us and our music through the last couple of years. I’m back here for you and for the music. Remember, alcohol can be a bitch, kids.”
“Oh mate, that’s serious. We’re glad you are doing better. Hat’s off.”
Arend held out his hand to Lon, but apparently he hadn’t noticed. This is it.
Ry said, “There is no shame in seeking help. Alex’s courage motivated me to seek care as well. We both needed it.”
Brand let out a breath. Lon swiveled to him, his eyes searching Ry’s face.
“We appreciate the support of everyone on our team,” he continued. “And we aim to provide the top-notch shows you deserve to see.”
“Well, mates, that’s mad.” The DJ paused. “Cheers to coming back better than ever. You’re both mental, but we will be screaming in the stands, eh? You reckon it’ll go well?”
Arend had reached Lon and swiped at the device, but he leaned back.
“Oh, yeah!” Lon said. “London has always loved us, and I’m super grateful for that. Every time we do a show here, I get so energized. I can’t wait to get back on stage for you.”
Arend snatched the phone at last. He bit each word as he said, “One last question for Brand, if you will.”
“Alright. How does it feel to be back in England performing?”
“It’s brilliant,” Brand said. “Reminds me of summer holidays my family took around the EU. It’s like returning home after a long time away. Of course, can’t return home without getting stares. Surreal, but in a good way.”
“Thanks for your time,” the DJ said. “Always a pleasure, and thanks for sharing your stories with us to—.”
Arend hung up the line, his thumb vicious against the glass. He rose and stepped precisely to the window before turning around, his gaze heavy on Ry and Alex.
“Sweet, stoic Alex,” Arend said, each word measured and sharp. “I had a plan to cover both your absences. A good story about the hero Ry working himself to the bone for his fans, only to end up hurting his voice. You’ve ruined the hard work with a few careless words.”
His eyes glittered as they turned to Ry.
Alex spoke, drawing attention back. “The people who care? They want genuine news, not whatever sparkle dust on who to like more this week.”
He crossed his arms, his tank pulling tight. Alex used his powerful build to his advantage, tension radiating from him. Arend took a half-step back, then shook his head. Their manager then turned to Ry.
“I suppose you coordinated?”
Ry shrugged off the weight of the other man’s stare. “Doesn’t matter, does it?”
Arend, surprisingly, laughed. “No, it doesn’t. Now, everyone get out of my room. I have a lot of work to attend to.” He frowned at Alex and deeper at Ry, shooing them out.
Ry shivered once the closed behind him.
Lon clapped him on the shoulder. “Proud of you.”
“Thanks,” Ry said. Brand spoke to Alex, but he couldn’t make out the words. “Thanks for helping, Lon.”
His friend smiled and waved to everyone. “Off to grub out and pass out.”
Ry headed for his room, but before he could do more than open the door, a familiar hand rested on his shoulder. Ry turned around. Brand had snuck off, leaving Ry alone with Alex.
“Thanks, Ry,” he said, his features softened in the low light. “I’m sorry I told you to fuck off a couple weeks ago. And I—get some rest, okay? ”
Ry searched Alex’s eyes. “I deserve it sometimes. Get some rest, too.”
Alex lingered for an awkward moment. “Thanks. Bye.”
Ry closed the door to his room, flipping the safety latch on. Only two doors and a hall separated him from his manager, and after the interview, Ry didn’t want any angry outbursts to deal with.
After a noisy day flying and the tense conversation, Ry reveled in the room’s quiet.
He flopped onto the bed and closed his eyes for a few moments, letting his muscles turn to mush.
His stomach gurgled. It had been several hours since he'd eaten; now that he was back in his suite with nothing else scheduled this evening, room service seemed like the ideal solution.
He turned on the TV to the news station to listen for mention of his name or Ghostfire, but otherwise looked out the window at the river below.
The sky blackened, and the lights of the city blinked on.
He smiled to himself. He’d taken the first step with himself, with Alex, with the band, with the fans. Relief calmed him, a wave of warmth.
In the solitude of his room, with the news playing quietly, he ate and then fell asleep in the ocean of his bed.