Chapter 18 Past
Arend gestured Ry to the deceptively uncomfortable chair. Sunlight dazzled from the late morning sky, glinting off the Los Angeles skyline. There was nowhere to escape the light in the corner office. A behemoth of a desk hunched between them.
“Orion,” Arend said, leaning back in his gargantuan chair. “You’re looking peaky.”
“I’m exhausted.” Ry wasn’t sure if that was the right word or not.
Ry, utterly drained by the relentless schedule, moved through airports and cities with stale coffee.
The icy glares from Alex had frayed the edges of his connections with Lon and Brand.
Sharing tight quarters on the road amplified the tension, making everything feel suffocating.
When his hand brushed against Alex's by mistake, it might mean a powder keg.
“To be expected of a rock star.” Arend waved away his concerns, then leaned forward.
“I’ve come across a few tabloids that talk about how a breakup is imminent.
I must say, I’d hoped that your tiff with your ex wouldn’t be such a problem, but you both need to at least pretend to like each other on stage. This is show business after all.”
“What do you want me to do?” Ry slumped, the chair digging hard into his back. He shifted his posture. The man wanted the impossible.
“Pretend, Orion.”
“I’ve been fucking pretending,” he said, his voice quiet in the stuffy room. “We barely speak, and it’s hard to carry on.”
Arend picked up a crystal paperweight. “Well, I’m sure we can come up with a suitable solution between the three of us.”
“Sure, we’ll just hold hands and frolic.” Ry’s fist clenched.
“You know how corporate is.” Arend spread his arms. “I’m trying to look out for you. Being brotherly is the goal. Now, you are all wonderful, talented individuals, and the world needs your voices. Will you please consider this?”
The other man’s face was smooth and blank. A prickle of unease crawled up Ry’s spine, and he searched for the discordant note, a subtle flaw he’d overlooked. What was his game?
“Fine, I’ll do better,” he said through gritted teeth. Light stung his eyes, and the stiff chair under him seemed to grow harder. Each breath he took pinched, his edges coming undone.
“Excellent,” Arend said, all smiles now. “Very good. We need to get you all back in the recording booth for the second album.”
“Got it,” Ry said, trying to get out of the meeting. He wanted nothing more than to go home and rest. To do nothing for a couple of days.
“We need our lead singer in tip-top shape for the next leg.” Arend smiled and stood up.
“The band is doing very well, you know. There are so many fans who just love your work. We want to make sure that they are happy. Perhaps if you aren’t too tired, we can schedule some interviews on local stations this week.
They can even be conference calls so you can rest up. How does that sound, eh?”
“That’s fine.”
“I’m sure your fans would love nothing more.” Arend looked out over the city before turning back to him. “Anyway,” he said, walking him to the door. He put an arm on Ry’s lower back. “Go get some rest. If there is anything else, I’ll call.”
Ry nodded, relief sagging his muscles as he walked to the elevator. Once in the parking lot, he hurried to his car, ready to be out of this place. The trip to his apartment building took too long with traffic.
He parked the car in the underground garage and headed to the elevators up to his place.
One of the most private apartment buildings in Los Angeles.
The air was stale and warm, even with the blinds down, so he turned on the AC and the lights.
The gentle hum filled the otherwise silent apartment as he headed to his wine rack, preferring to keep the windows dark for now.
He plucked a bottle of red and poured himself a generous glass, then took a deep drink.
Soft warmth spread through him. Leaving the bottle, he headed to his room to watch some of his favorite shows.
Before he sat down, his phone alarm buzzed, reminding him to take his anti-anxiety meds that his doctor prescribed.
They’d been a godsend the last few months, and maybe the only reason he’d been able to survive the tour.
In the bathroom, he measured out two pills and drank them down with wine.
He looked at his reflection. A gaunt man stared back at him with deep shadows under his eyes, stark and bruised against his pale skin.
Over the course of the tour, he learned how to apply makeup to cover those purple marks.
He drank from his wine and toasted his reflection.
For the next few days, he could eat and sleep as much as he wanted.
Less jittery, he reclined on his bed, propping himself up with pillows and hit play. Over the course of a couple of episodes, he fell asleep, lulled by the wine and familiar voices.