But now here I am, about to willingly put myself into his path again. All because I’m too weak to say no to Paige.
Or maybe you couldn’t say no to Paige because you secretly wanted to be in his path, that same wise part of my brain says. I grimace as I enter the library, not liking the idea at all.
I throw my things onto a study table, still clutching my phone. Once I’m sitting, I read the text again and again. The good news. So he thought it was good. What did that mean? Why didn’t you call?
My phone buzzes again and I nearly drop it. I know you’re pretty much glued to your cell ;) Why aren’t you answering? Why didn’t you call?
My fingers are trembling as I type out my response. I didn’t think it was appropriate.
There’s only a momentary pause before he texts me again. We should talk.
I don’t think that’s a good idea.
Karen, come on. Things are complicated. There’s a lot I want to say to you.
I shake my head, feeling sick. There’s a part of me that wants to call him so badly, it’s killing me. I want to hear his voice, as messed up as that is. But I’m terrified of what will happen if I go down that path. Because where he is concerned, I don’t seem to have a lot of self-control.
I have a final tomorrow, I text, fingers shaking. I have to study. Please don’t text again.
I stare at the screen, both hoping he’ll listen and wishing that he wouldn’t. Finally, the alert sounds once more as new words appear on my screen.
Good luck on your final. We’ll talk soon. After all, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other this summer.
The sick feeling grows as I turn the phone to silent and slip it into my bag. We will be seeing a lot of each other this summer. And I have no idea if I’ll be able to handle that.
Chapter Six
Levi
A phone is ringing. It takes a few moments for me to recognize the sound through the haze of hangover and sleep. It’s not my usual ringtone, but it’s loud and close enough to tell me that it is, indeed, my phone. The ringing mercifully stops¸ and I roll over in bed, burying my face deeper in the blankets. My head is pounding before I’ve even opened my eyes, and I want nothing more than to go back to sleep. But something about that ringing is setting off alarm bells in the back of my mind, telling me this is important, urging my brain to wake up and think it through.
It hits me with the force of punch, and I sit straight up in bed, immediately swearing as the room tilts crazily around me and my head throbs painfully. The ringtone wasn’t my normal tone. It was a person-specific one. From a person I haven’t spoken with in months.
I grab the phone from my nightstand and blink at it through heavy, blurry eyes. My stomach drops as the name on the screen becomes clear. Will Ransome.
I hold the phone in hands that have started to shake, staring down at the screen as if it could possibly give me more information. Why in the hell is Mr. Ransome calling me? There was a time when I got more calls from him than just about anyone, including his sons. That made sense, considering he was the band’s manager and therefore my boss. But I hadn’t heard from him since before the last tour, since the last time he had tried to talk me into resuming my job. What could he want now?
The phone beeps in my hands, and I nearly drop it. The alert is for a voicemail. With shaking fingers, I press the voicemail icon and hold my breath, waiting for the message.
“Levi, hello. This is Will. I just… I wanted to check in with you, see how you’ve been. I… Well, I need to talk to you, Levi. Can you please call me back?” There’s a long pause before he clears his throat. “Thanks.”
I swallow heavily, my eyes still glued to the screen. Hearing that voice brings back a thousand memories. What could he want?
My head throbs again, and I swear, knowing there’s no way I’m going back to bed now. According to the clock on my phone, it’s only ten a.m., a good three or four hours before I would normally wake up. I swing my legs out of bed and freeze as the world tilts again.
You would think I’d be used to the hangovers by now. I’ve pretty much been wasted every night for the past few months, which means I’ve pretty much been hung over every morning. But last night was a particularly bad one, at least from what I can remember of it.
Coffee, I think to myself. Coffee and aspirin. Worry about Will later.
I somehow manage to get myself into the bathroom to piss and wash my face. I swallow three aspirins with a glass of water, shuddering as the liquid hits the back of my throat. I stare at my bleary face in the mirror as I clutch the sink, willing myself not to puke up the water.
You look like shit, a voice in the back of my head whispers—a voice that sounds suspiciously like Reed. I do look like shit. My hair is greasy and matted, and there are long creases on my face from the pillow. I forgot to shave yesterday, and two days of stubble has my cheeks dark. My eyes are blood shot and seem shrunken in my face. I need a shower.
But a shower will have to wait. If I don’t get some coffee in me, I’m going to collapse.
I make my way back out to the kitchenette and measure out a heaping scoop of coffee grounds into the machine. I finally breathe in relief when the machine starts running, the acrid smell of coffee exactly what I need.
While waiting for the coffee to finish brewing, all I can manage is focusing on keeping the room from spinning. I finally pour myself a mug, skipping the milk and sugar, wincing as I take my first gulp before collapsing into a chair at the table.
Will Ransom called me. I have no idea what to make of it. He hadn’t said a word about work. In fact, he sounded…different. When he was talking about band matters, Will had a habit of sounding gruff and impatient. There were always a million things on his mind when it came to running his sons’ careers, and he had little time or patience for anyone who wasn’t helping him to achieve their success.
But he hadn’t sounded like Will Ransome, empire maker, in that message. He sounded…hesitant. Unsure of himself. It was weird.
That strangeness is the only thing that’s causing me to consider calling back. My normal practice would be to ignore the call, the way I had done with countless calls from his sons. But there was something in Will’s voice…
I sigh, take another sip of coffee, and stare around the dingy room. I hate this room in the morning. There’s too much light, and light has a bad habit of highlighting all the things you want to ignore. The shabbiness of the furnishings. The inadequate size of the space. The thick layers of dust in the living area. The grime in the kitchen.
None of this ever used to bother me, I think angrily. I was fine here with this apartment and my job and my friends. I didn’t need to get drunk every night to forget about how shitty my life was.
Of course, I know exactly what happened to change my perspective on everything, but I’ve been doing my best not to think about that ever since winter.
Before I can make up my mind about calling Will back, my phone rings on the table. Once again, the ringtone is familiar. The Imperial March from Star Wars. A fitting alert that my former boss is on the phone.
I take one last swig of coffee for strength before answering. “Hello?”
“Levi? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Uh, hey, Will. How are you?”
“I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is again uncertain, almost shaky. “How have you been?”
“Okay,” I lie. “Just working, you know. Staying busy.”
There’s a pause on the other end of the phone. “Where are you working?”
“I’m managing a venue at a ski lodge. In Colorado.”
Another pause. “That’s great, Levi.” If he’s trying to hide the surprise in his voice, he’s doing a shitty job. I immediately feel defensive.
“So,” I say, my voice more than a little sharp. “What’s up?”
I can hear his deep sigh on the other end of the phone. “I need a favor, Levi.”
My stomach drops. He’s going to ask me to come back. He’
s going to ask me to come and work, and I’m so sick of having to say no—
“It’s Lennon.”
Suddenly everything in the room seems to freeze. “What’s wrong with Lennon.”
He doesn’t answer right away. “I’m pretty sure you know.”
I bite back a curse. “I thought that was all over.”
“I thought it was too.” There’s that shake in his voice again, and now I’m scared.
“What’s going on?”
“We’re supposed to start touring for the new album next month,” he says. “Everything was going fine, but then he…he’s not acting like himself.” He clears his throat. “I know he isn’t sleeping.”
This time, I don’t bother to hide the curse. If he isn’t sleeping, things might already be worse than I thought.
“Can you come and see him?” Mr. Ransome asks. “I’ll send you a ticket—”
Before he’s even finished speaking, I know I’m going to say yes. I don’t want to—I would rather do just about anything else in the world than go back to Ohio. I’ve been trying to hide from the Ransome family and everything they represented to me for nearly two years.
But if Lennon is in trouble, I have no choice. No choice at all.
“I’ll look at flights now,” I say, already thinking about who can cover for me at work.
Will Ransome releases an audible breath. “Thank you, Levi,” he says, clearly relieved. “I know that things have been…complicated between you and—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I cut him off. There’s no way in hell I’m going to get into all of that right now, not with him.
There’s a momentary pause. “Anyhow. Thank you. This… I really appreciate it.”
Somehow, the relief in his voice has me even more worried. Will Ransome is a guy who doesn’t let his emotions show very often, with the notable exceptions of frustration and anger. To hear him so obviously upset about Lennon…It’s bad this time, I think, worry lodging itself in my chest.
“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
***
Jonesboro, Ohio, to my total lack of surprise, hasn’t changed one bit since the last time I was home. Same rundown commercial area in the center of town, though a few more storefronts have gone empty in the past few years. Same loser-looking burnouts sitting on the tailgates of their rusting trucks at the city park. Same quiet, boring residential streets, little kids playing in the meticulously cared-for lawns.
My flight got into the Cleveland airport at nine a.m. I made good time on the drive into town, arriving a good half hour before I told Will to expect me. Because I’m apparently in the mood to torture myself, I turn left off of Main street, turning down residential roads almost automatically until I reach Poplar.
My parents live on the corner in a perfectly tidy white Victorian. The city council named it a Jonesboro historical landmark when I was in junior high, probably the greatest accomplishment in my mother’s life. I park across the street and stare at the house. It feels weird, to be back here after all this time. I haven’t been on this street in years. She’s still growing roses in the front yard, and her collection of glass wind chimes has grown—there are several unfamiliar ones on the porch.
Neither of their cars is in the driveway, a fact that doesn’t surprise me. It’s the middle of the day, and they work, like normal people. It’s only us subversive rock-and-roll types that don’t clock in for the nine to five.
I put the rental car back into gear and turn at the corner, feeling a little sick at the thought of my next destination, though I make no moves to alter my course.
It takes less than a minute to drive the three blocks to the old Ransome house. I could make the trip in my sleep, either by car or on foot. How many times had I made these turns in my life? More than I could count, probably. I spent more time in their house than my own.
I gasp a little as I pull up in front of the two-story, blue-sided house where I spent most of my childhood. It’s so different. The old oak tree is gone, Cash’s escape route from the house in the middle of the night. The flower beds in the front are filled with a riot of color—Mr. Ransome had never gardened a day in his life. The front porch has been repainted a bright, clean white, and there’s a porch swing that I’ve never seen before. Even the front door has changed, the plain old wood replaced with a fancy inlaid-glass behemoth. The house used to feel kind of rundown, the penalty of being owned by a single man with few interests outside of his sons’ music career. But now it looks shiny and new. It depresses me for reasons I can’t really explain to myself.
The garage, at least, looks the same. The garage where Daisy and I spent countless hours watching them perform, giving our input, helping them to create the sound they were now so known for. Where I first noticed that she had somehow grown from the gangly, slightly annoying girl next door into an actual woman. A woman who was completely off limits to me.
Daisy. I chance a glance at the house next door. If the Ransome house has improved with their absence, Daisy’s has declined. The grass there is long, the front flower beds a tangle of weeds. The paint on the windowsills is starting to peel.
What are you doing here? I think to myself, shaking my head. What did you think it would be like? Daisy’s dad had sold his place when she went into the hospital. Will had sold their house months earlier to help fund their recording time before the boys got signed. No one that I was close to lives here anymore. The street has moved on without us, new kids playing on this block.
Feeling even more depressed than I had before, I slip my sunglasses on and keep my head straight as I drive away, determined not to look at the houses in my rearview mirror.
The Ransome’s new house is about fifteen minutes outside of town. There’s not much besides farms out here, interspersed with a few large mansions situated on sprawling, expansive lawns. Rich people need their privacy, I think, shaking my head. Of all the opulent mansions, the Ransome house is the largest. Of course.
I have to stop at the gate to get permission to enter, and I feel the depression of my side trip turning to annoyance. How pretentious could they be, with their security gate and their circular drive and the imposing brick facade of the house looming before me? The neglected flower beds of their old house are a far cry from the professionally landscaped lawn and gardens. There’s even a fucking marble statue situated in a fountain just before the front door.
I take deep breaths through my nose, trying to get my annoyance under control. None of that matters right now, I tell myself. You’re just here to make sure Len is all right. That’s it.
I park the rental in the circular drive and get out of the car, staring up at the house. It’s even bigger from up close. Mr. Ransome had been in the process of buying this at the end of the last tour, but I was long gone before I ever had the opportunity to see the house.
Visit. Funny, I would have never classified my time at the house back on Poplar as a visit. It sounded so…impersonal.
That’s what non-family members do, I remind myself. They visit.
When I get to the front door, I don’t hesitate to ring the bell, not wanting to give myself a chance to chicken out. I can hear the tones echoing through the house before the door swings open.
Will Ransome looks much older than the last time I saw him. His face is drawn, his eyes tired. There’s a lot more grey in his hair. But his face lights up when he sees me, and before I know it, he’s pulling me into a hug.
“Levi,” he says, his voice very close to my ear. “It’s good to see you, son.”
I don’t want to think about the reasons behind the lump that’s suddenly appeared in my throat. Don’t want to think about how this man was more of a father to me than mine ever was. So I pull back as quickly as I can without being rude and concentrate on a point just left of his eyes.
“Hey, Will. Good to see you.”
He claps a hand on my shoulder, trying to meet my eyes. In spite of my best judgment, I find my gaze drawn to his as if of
its own accord. He looks happy to see me, relieved, but worried at the same time. And I get the strangest sense that the worry is for me, and not just Lennon.
“You look good,” he says, eyes widening when he smiles in that familiar way that he shares with his sons. “It’s been too long.”
I feel a stab of guilt. He was good to me, for a long time before Daltrey and I had our falling out. It was shitty to not stay in touch, no matter how angry I was. And shittier still to do the same thing to Lennon.
“He’s upstairs,” Will says, as if reading my mind. The worry increases on his face.
“Does he know I’m here?”
“I didn’t tell him. I thought it would be better if you…”
“I’ll talk to him,” I assure him. “Just show me where to go.”
He leads me through the foyer to the wide, twisting staircase. For the first time, I allow myself to look around at what I’m assuming will be the grand furnishings of the Ransome house. I’m surprised to see boxes instead. A glimpse into what I imagine is the family room shows a few scattered pieces of furniture, some covered in sheets, and several more boxes.
“What’s with the boxes?”
“Oh, we’re moving,” Will says. “We’re too far from the action out here.”
“Wow.” The thought of them not having a home base in Ohio makes me feel strange, similar to how I felt looking at the garage on Poplar. “Where will you go?”
“L.A.,” he says. “Easier to deal with the label and everything.”
“Makes sense,” I mutter, telling myself it’s stupid to feel a sense of loss just because people I’d not seen in ages were moving out of a house I’d never even visited.
At the top of the stairs, Will points down the hall. “He’s in the third room. Do you want me to—”
Relent Page 6
