Chapter 15 Present
A bird, probably a seagull from the flash of white, flew by the window and off toward the distant ocean.
Stacks of paper surrounded Ry: one for drafts, one for folded letters ready for him to deliver, and one of blank pages.
He stared at the mess in front of him. He’d written Lon’s name a few times, usually followed by an “I’m sorry” or two, then scratching that out only to scribble it again. Or some variation thereof.
Tomorrow, Lon, Brand, and Alex would be here at Rosewood to see him for a few short hours.
Before the visit, he had to compose a message for each of them and hand-deliver it.
He’d already written and mailed the one to his father, apologizing for how he’d acted just before signing. Ry would call him next week.
Alex’s letter had been the first he’d tackled. Whether right or wrong, he assumed it would be the most difficult. It had taken him about six copies to get it to sound the way he wanted. With Brand, it was easier: three tries and a few short pages.
Trees danced lazily in the breeze outside, and the sun painted the peaks of the waves a golden hue.
Where had the gull flown off to? He tapped the pen on the desk, staring out at the sea.
Where to start? Discharged from the hospital a few weeks ago?
The night of the party? The evening he and Alex broke up?
He gripped the pen and scratched it over the page again, starting with an apology for being an asshole, for bringing him onboard Ghostfire, for using him as an excuse to go along with Arend.
As he wrote, more words spilled out of him, the shape of the amends unfolding with each firm drag of the nib across the paper.
Done with the first draft, he set it aside.
He would write the final message after dinner. His edits would clean up language, organize his thoughts, and review for anything that wasn’t about Ry and his treatment of Lon over the last few years.
His muscles uncoiled with a satisfying pop, a welcome change after hours spent cramped at the desk. Though he still had a couple dozen more letters to write, he had the next week for those. Perhaps he’d go for a swim with the remaining hour of the day.
The hallways he meandered through were quiet. As he neared the lobby, the central hub of resident life, one of the female staff members pulled him aside. “There is someone to see you, your manager. Do you want to speak to him?”
Ry shook his head and said, “He can leave a message.” There was no way he wanted to encounter Arend, not when he was doing his best to work through the more terrible things the man had done to him. To Alex. To Ghostfire.
“Understood, Mr. Clair. If he leaves one, we’ll get it to you.”
“Thank you,” he said.
He passed through the gardens, the warm afternoon sun pleasant against his skin. An image of Arend at the front desk, his face red and swollen with anger, made Ry chuckle. He stepped into the locker room, changed into swim trunks, and left his clothes behind.
A shiver rippled across his back as he plunged into the water, and the cool liquid embraced him.
He glided through the pool, the temperature a soothing balm.
Sunlight fractured and sparkled on the rippling surface as Ry powered through the lanes, each lap a steady rhythm.
The methodical sweep of his arms and the rhythmic kick of his legs blurred into a focused dance, propelling him through the shimmering blue.
After his swim and shower, he attended movie night. Upon returning to his room hours later, Ry spotted Arend's note. Until that moment, he had forgotten about the man’s visit. He considered throwing it away immediately.
Instead, he opened the letter and scanned the contents.
Arend expressed his utmost disappointment with Ry: the revelation of a second rehab, his refusal to meet with his beleaguered manager.
A concern about the bad PR in the tabloids for Ghostfire, for him.
Ry smiled: anyway he could needle that asshole, he would take it.
Besides, this story fit with the plan he and Dr. Rosa had been discussing the last few sessions.
He then journaled before turning in for the night. He slid into bed, the cool sheets a welcome sensation against his skin. Darkness enveloped him, thick and silent, yet sleep eluded him. He smiled, his mind a whirl of excitement.
?
The lobby buzzed with a low hum of activity, the murmur of conversations like a gentle tide.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, casting shadows from the plants that dotted the space.
Ry, a half-read novel clutched in his hands, adjusted how he sat in the plush armchair.
He glanced at his watch. A quarter to one. They would be here soon.
He took a deep, calming breath, the cool filtered air sweet, and set the book aside. He closed his eyes, following a meditation to soothe himself. The gentle instructions echoed in his mind, a quiet focus amidst the ambient noise.
By the time he opened his eyes, his watch read one o’clock.
New faces mingled with familiar ones as families and friends came to encourage the patients.
Ry idly flipped through a glossy magazine, the paper smooth beneath his fingertips, to occupy his restless hands.
Again, he tapped the letters to make sure they were all there.
A man in a crisp uniform approached him. “Mr. Clair? You have visitors.” Ry’s heart gave a small leap. He rose and followed the worker to the front desk. His friends stood at the desk, signing in. He grinned.
Alex had jeans tight across his legs and a loose-fitting t-shirt, sunglasses perched on his head. He was saying something to Lon. His long-time friend wore a sleeveless black tee and faded denim. Brand, currently scribbling, dressed in dark slacks and a pale blue button-up under a gray vest.
Ry rocked back and forth on his heels, waiting. He fidgeted with the letters in one hand, ready to give them in case he lost his nerve.
Lon was the first to notice him, and he offered a sheepish wave, a faint smile touching his lips.
Ry returned the gesture. His chest expanded as if it might burst. A grin spread uncontrolled on his face.
Warmth rolled through him, and he relaxed, waiting for Alex to finish signing in.
It had been years since his body had thrummed with such a sensation of being alive.
Lon hugged him tight and spun him around. “Good to see you, Ry.”
Ry laughed. “You too, buddy. How was the drive?”
Lon shrugged. “Not bad, nice views, of course.”
Alex ruffled Lon’s hair and stood next to him. “Kinda strange to be back.”
Brand, last to come up, clapped Ry on the shoulder. “You’re looking better. Finally getting some sleep?”
“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head toward the doors leading to the garden. “Nicer outside and more private than here.”
He led them out the doors, past groups all chattering. He found a secluded nook near a fountain, the water tinkling musically. A couple of benches faced each other, and Ry sat on one. Lon plopped himself next to him, and Alex and Brand sat opposite.
“So,” Ry said, tapping the papers against the bench. “I wanted to give you each a letter. I’d like it if you could read it, and you don’t need to respond to me.”
He handed the letters out. Brand took his and tucked it into his vest pocket. Alex and Lon held on to theirs.
“Anyway, thanks for coming by to see me.” Ry glanced down at his hands.
Lon slung an arm over his shoulders, giving him a clumsy, sideways hug. “Of course, homeboy.”
Brand chuckled.
Alex broke the awkward silence. “Kinda weird to be here and not be in the program.” He looked around the garden.
“I bet,” Ry said, remembering when he’d come back that first day. “Same for me, though it feels right.”
“You seem to be better,” Brand said, his head tilted to the side, studying him for a moment.
Ry smiled. “Yeah, got a lot of work ahead.” He raked his hair. “And still recovering from … but I’m doing okay. I’ve learned new things about myself, life, and how to live.”
Alex nodded and said, “There’s a reason I picked it.”
“Well, it was a good choice.” Ry glanced at each of them. “I even think I might want to write something. I’ve been itching.”
“Shit,” Lon said, whistling. “For real?”
Brand raised an eyebrow, and Alex gave him a strange look.
Ry wiped the hair from his eyes. “The therapy sessions and constant journalling have been productive and freeing.”
“Nice,” Alex said. “Found them useful too.”
“No lyrics yet,” he said, “but I’ve got ideas bouncing around in the old noggin. By the way, Arend came by yesterday, anyone know anything about that?”
Brand shook his head.
“Nope,” Lon said. “Haven’t really seen him much since the tour. Why?”
“He’s plotting something,” Alex said, his voice tinged sour.
“No, I am,” Ry laughed. “Idea’s still coming together, though. Anyway, do you wanna have a tour or just go to the cafeteria?”
Lon said, “I could use another cup of coffee or food.”
Alex shrugged.
“All right, then,” Brand said, slapping his thighs and standing up. “Shall we?”
Brand and Lon trailed behind him and Alex as they walked back through the main entrance.
Ry exchanged small talk with Alex during the short walk.
Returning to the cool air, they found the lobby, which had once bustled, sparsely populated; clusters of people drifted through the wide halls or out in the garden.
The cafeteria's usual midday clamor had subsided, leaving a quieter, more relaxed atmosphere.
Brand and Lon grabbed coffee first, then split.
Lon and Alex headed for the snacks, while Ry and Brand stood before the glass counter, the carefully wrapped sandwiches arranged alongside crisp salads.
Lon snagged a table in the back, one that still boasted floor-to-ceiling windows.
Through the window, Ry watched as people walked along the paths or chatted in small groups.
A few passersby, their faces briefly illuminated by the shifting sunlight, did a few double-takes, their gazes lingering on him and the band, then darting away.
Over the course of the next hour, they talked about the old times back in high school, a familiar comfort Ry hadn't felt in ages. Lon, once so easy-going, seemed tense. Alex looked tired, the darker circles under his eyes spoke of battles fought and lost. Brand sat up straight in his posture, his movements tight and controlled. Still, underneath the changes, the core of them hadn’t changed, and for that he was glad.
He’d become a monstrous version of himself, transformed by grief, pressure, and addiction. Being here with his friends, with Alex, brought back memories of a lifetime ago. As much as he wanted to return them all to those times, he could only focus on healing and offering to make the future better.
Suddenly, the money, the fame, all of it fell away, became unimportant.
Visions of Lon working at the bar with Mindy, Brand employed at an IT firm, Alex behind the desk of a library and smelling of books.
And Ry himself would have been a lawyer, following in his father’s footsteps.
In this timeline, they would all hang out on the rare weekend, possibly a couple of times a year.
He and Alex would camp in the Oregon forests, cursing the rain that would inevitably come.
There would be marriages and children’s birthday parties, maybe late-night evenings conversations.
For a moment, he wanted that for them, for himself.
A simpler life. Normal worries and fears.
But that outcome was long gone now. Other futures lay ahead, and perhaps he could have one of them. He could dream of a future on stage with them, holding Alex’s hand the way he meant it to be the first time.
When the moment came to say goodbye, he hugged each of his friends tightly and wished them a safe drive. Hopefully, the letters would help them heal too, as they had helped him purge the inner inadequacies of his own life. It was all he had, and it had to do.