The pity in her eyes makes me feel sick. “We should talk about that.”
I’m shaking my head before she’s finished talking. “No. I’m done here.”
“Lennon, wait—”
“No. This was a mistake.” I turn to Haylee. “Let’s go.”
She looks scared as she nods, crossing to my side, but my mother blocks our path to the door. “If you’re not going to talk to me, then you need to talk to Will—you need to talk to your dad.”
“So he can tell me what I already know? That you abandoned your children? Thanks, I think we’ve covered that over the years.”
She doesn’t grimace, merely watches me with those eyes filled with guilt and pity. “You know it’s more than that.” She blinks, the guilt in her eyes overtaking the pity. “I did abandon you. I was no mother to any of you, and you deserved so much more. But I think you need to hear the whole story, Lennon.”
“Why, so I’ll—what? Feel sorry for you?”
She shakes her head. “No. So you can get better.”
“Get better?” I yell so loudly that Haylee jumps. “Get better? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through the last few years? Do you have idea what it feels like in my head?”
“Yes,” she whispers. “I think I do.”
I can’t stand to look at her for another second, can’t stand the pity and the sadness. Can’t stand her pretending like she might actually know something about me. She left me. She doesn’t know anything. I push past her, not waiting for Haylee, not listening to my mother’s calls for me to stop, and cross the lawn in three strides.
Haylee catches up with me two houses down. “Lennon.” Her voice is terrified, and I find I can’t look at her either.
“I want to go back,” I say. “To London. I want to get out of here.”
“Okay. Let’s get the shuttle, and we’ll—”
I don’t know what she says next, I can’t focus on anything. Memories are shooting through my head, confusing me, making me wonder what’s real. I’m pretty sure I’m going to be sick. Or start screaming.
“Come on,” Haylee says, taking my hand. “Just follow me.”
I hold her hand like a lifeline, following her away from the house, away from the town, follow her to the train station and all the way back to London where my family is waiting.
It’s the middle of the night when our cab pulls up to the hotel. It occurs to me that neither of us has eaten since lunch, and a pang of guilt pierces through the cacophony in my head. What a surprise, I think. Giant screwup, like always. Can’t take care of myself, can’t take care of my girlfriend.
You’re failing her too, a voice in my head whispers through the noise as we climb out of the car. And then Haylee is pulling me forward once again. “Let’s get to bed,” she says, sounding tired.
“I think I should be alone.”
She stops on the sidewalk and turns to me, an incredulous look on her face. “Absolutely not.”
“I just think I—”
“There is no way I’m leaving you alone after that. You let me come with you or I’m going to get Levi.” She sighs, running her hands through her hair. She’s exhausted. “Look, we don’t have to talk about any of it tonight, okay? But I’m not leaving you alone.”
I’m too tired to argue, so I nod and follow her upstairs. She helps me pull off my shoes and sweater, and then we collapse into bed. Haylee pulls the covers over us and wraps her arms around me, burying her face in my chest. “Lennon, we’ll figure all of this out, okay?”
I nod even though I know it’s ridiculous. There’s no figuring this out.
“It’s going to be okay, I promise.” I don’t bother to nod this time, and she squeezes me tighter. “I love you.”
Her words barely register. Some part of me is dimly aware of what she’s saying, of the fact that we’ve never said that to each other before. But there’s too much noise in my head to focus on it, to think about what it means.
I only know one thing. I should not have gone to that house. I should not have looked into my mother’s face after all these years. Because now I remember everything.
Chapter Sixteen
Haylee
I don’t really know how I manage to get through sound check. It’s the last show of the tour. In two more days we’re all going back to the States. When I try to imagine how things will be then, I draw a blank. I assumed that Lennon and I would figure it out together—where we’d be, what we’d do. The one thing I never wondered about is whether or not we’d be together. That, at least, seemed to be a given.
But now… the truth is, I’m terrified. Lennon is going through something I can’t understand. And he’s not letting me in. I know he didn’t sleep at all the night we returned from France. He’s not talking to me, not talking to anyone as far as I can see. And his eyes, those beautiful, expressive eyes that I always thought were so familiar—they’re closed off to me. Like shutters pulled tight over windows during a storm. He’s here with us in London, doing promo, eating meals at my side, talking to his brothers, rehearsing. But he’s absent. And it scares the hell out of me.
I don’t know if the rest of them can tell. In the two days after our impromptu trip to France, I’ve been watching his brothers and Levi, watching Daisy and Paige, even watching his dad, trying to figure out what they see when they look at him. Are they worried? They watch him a lot, eyes constantly flicking in his direction at every meal, trying not to be obvious about it. But have they always been like that? Knowing what I know now, about what happened in August, I realize what he meant when he told me they were overprotective and suffocating. They’ve been scared for him. They’re scared still.
But are they as scared as they should be?
He made me promise not to tell them where we went. I expected everyone to be pissed about our unexplained trip until I realized that we were only gone for a day. We didn’t even spend the night in France. But it felt like we were there for days, not mere hours.
“You doing okay?” James asks me as we finish our sound check.
I can’t muster the energy to lie to him. “It’s been a rough few days.”
His eyebrows come down. “I knew this was going to happen.” I bristle, sure that I’ll lose it if he criticizes my relationship with Lennon right now. I’m surprised when he continues. “I told Louis that we needed to cool it with all the media requests after the concert went so well. I knew you weren’t ready for that kind of exposure.”
He thought I was having a rough time with the increase in fan and media attention. Funny, I haven’t spared a single moment of concern over that. “No, it’s been fine. The attention stuff, it hasn’t been that bad.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
Before I can answer, Ransom comes out of their dressing room on their way to the stage for their own sound check. My gaze immediately goes to Lennon, all thoughts of my conversation with James flying from my head. How does he look this afternoon? Has he slept at all? Is that terrible bleakness still in his eyes?
“Give me a minute,” I say to James after we exchange pleasantries with the band. I grab Lennon’s arm and pull him a few feet away from his brothers as they continue down the hall.
“Hey.” I link my fingers through his. He mimics the action automatically, and I squeeze his hand. “How’s it going?”
For a moment I think he’s going to brush me off, give me the standard “I’m fine” that I’ve heard him throw at his brothers whenever they ask this question. Instead he closes his eyes, letting his forehead drop down to mine. “I’m exhausted.”
“I know,” I whisper, bringing my hands up into his hair. “You haven’t slept since we’ve been back.”
He laughs, a bitter, tired sound. “I wasn’t sleeping before that, either.”
I remember what Daisy said, and worry shoots through me again. “We should talk to your dad, Lennon. Or Levi.”
“I know. But I just…” He lifts his head and opens his eyes, his fingers coming up
to play idly with a strand of my hair. “I just want to get through this show, you know? Get the tour behind us so I can concentrate on… whatever the hell is going on right now.”
“I still think they should know.”
He sighs. “Haylee, when I tell them that I went to see our mother… it’s not going to be good. I don’t think you understand quite how angry they are at her.” I picture his face on that awful day in the bright little living room in Giverny, his voice ragged and furious. I wonder if he understands how angry he is. “I don’t want to do that to them when we still have another day of work, you know?”
“So you’ll just suffer through it alone?”
He gives me a ghost of a smile. “I’m not alone. I have you.”
But you’re not letting me in either, I think. I can’t read your eyes anymore, Lennon.
“I should get going,” he says, nodding toward the door to the greenroom.
“When this show is over, you’re going to tell them? You promise?”
He nods. “I promise.”
“And you’ll let me be there for you when you do?”
He blinks, apparently surprised. “Why wouldn’t you be there?”
“Because we’re going home. And we haven’t really talked about what happens next…”
Lennon frowns. “I assumed we’d be together. Isn’t that… isn’t that what you want?”
A flash of relief goes through me. “Of course it’s what I want.”
Before he can respond, Daltrey sticks his head out of the greenroom door. “You coming, Len? Dad’s getting pissy.”
“Story of my life,” he mutters, rolling his eyes at me. It’s a small gesture, but it makes me happier than I can say to see him acting a little more normal. “See you later?”
“Definitely.” He kisses me softly, just for a moment, and then releases my arms. I watch him go until he’s through the greenroom door. For the first time in the last few days, I feel a little bit hopeful. Maybe this will all work out okay. We’ll be home soon, and he’ll talk to his family. They’ll help him figure out what’s going on, why he’s having so many nightmares. Help him figure out whatever the hell his mother was talking about when she said he needed to remember. He’ll be back near his doctors, and they’ll help too. Everything will be fine, I tell myself again as I head back to my dressing room. It has to be.
I barely manage to suppress a groan as I walk into the room and see Louis sitting on the little couch. He’s alone, all of my bandmates nowhere to be seen. Awesome. I’d been waiting for his lecture about my unplanned trip. But when Louis looks up at me, my stomach drops. He doesn’t look the way he usually does when he’s about to lecture me. He looks… worried.
“We need to talk,” he says, standing up to shut the door behind me. “Sit down with me, okay, Haylee?”
He’s being too nice. He never talks to me like this. Something bad happened. I don’t know what, but I know something bad happened.
“Haylee,” he repeats, taking my arm and leading me to the couch. Why is there pity in his eyes? “Come and talk to me.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, trying to fight down the fear that’s rising in my chest.
He doesn’t torture me with anticipation. Instead he looks straight into my face, his eyes steady and so sad. “Haylee, your mother gave an interview, and it’s going to be published tomorrow.”
My throat goes very dry. “What kind of interview?”
“She spoke to one of the gossip magazines. After the Paris show when you guys started to get so much attention…”
Oh, God. “What did she do?” But I already know the answer. I know exactly what my mother is capable of selling for a little fame and some cash.
“She talked to them about Randy.”
The room seems to go very still around me. I open my mouth a few times, but no sound comes out. Glancing down, I realize that Louis is holding my hand. The sweetness of that gesture brings a lump to my throat. “She told them… everything?”
“Mostly everything. She shared details about the stalking and the… abduction.”
I hate her, I think dully. I really do. She knew how much that affected me. Knew how impossible I found it to talk about. Knew how hard the label fought to keep so much of it hidden, to keep it away from the press. They tried to protect me better than she ever did, I think. My bosses took better care of me than my own mother. A few details got out, like these things always do. But no one had heard of us back then. It was only a blip.
“She also talked about how you’ve… dealt with the stress of the situation.”
My head snaps up. The pity in his eyes is far greater now than it was before.
“What do you mean?”
Louis closes his eyes briefly. “She told them about some of the problems you’ve had since the attack.”
“Like what?” My voice is so cold, so sharp, it hardly sounds like my own.
“She said that you had to cancel the tour that year. And that you have panic attacks in crowds. And that… you’ve turned to drugs and alcohol.”
You would think after all this time that I wouldn’t be surprised by her behavior. That she couldn’t hurt me. Sure, the effects of her behavior could hurt, but I thought I outgrew being hurt by her. By knowing that my own mother cared so little about me. So I’m surprised by the pain that runs through me at his words. “She told them that?”
“Haylee, I’m so sorry. The label is behind you, I want you to know that. They’ll release a statement, downplaying everything she said. We can say that you have little contact with her, that she’s not close enough to the situation to speak with any authority. The label can minimize this, I promise.”
Everyone will know. Everyone will know what happened to me. How I dealt with it. It’s entertainment now, something to gossip about. People will read about it in the glossy pages of magazines while they stand in line to buy groceries. The worst thing that ever happened to me is about to be an entertaining diversion for someone.
And it was my mother who made that possible.
“I’m going to go back to the hotel,” I say, standing up. Somehow I manage to keep my voice steady, but my hands are shaking. I shove them into my pockets so Louis won’t see.
“Let’s sit for a minute,” he says, taking my arm again. “You’ve had a shock, Haylee. Let’s relax, have a glass of water.”
He’s being so nice to me. Somehow that makes it all worse, makes it seem so much more real. Because Louis isn’t nice. Louis is demanding and bossy and obsessed with our success.
But he still cares about me more than my mother. They’ve both been pushing me to succeed all these years. But, unlike my mother, Louis wanted it for us. He pushed us because he thought we deserved to make it. He wasn’t just interested in coattails. He was interested in contributing, in helping us make our dreams come true. My mother only ever wanted money.
“I’m okay,” I say, my voice falsely bright. “It’s like you said, the label will handle it.”
“Haylee—”
“I’d just like to go rest at the hotel, okay?”
He watches my face for a long moment, as if trying to gauge how big of a lie I’m telling. Finally, he nods. “Okay. We’ll go back.”
We don’t talk in the car. Louis doesn’t ask me if I’m okay. But he holds my hand the entire way.
***
I almost can’t make myself go on stage that night. The thought of all of those people, looking at me, makes me want to puke. Will they know? The magazine isn’t out yet, but these things leak first, right? There’ll be talk online, won’t there? I can’t bear to look. The rest of the band knows, of course. Louis must have told them before he told me. As they’ve done a hundred times, they shelter me, protecting me. From the moment we leave the hotel to the moment we step on stage, they’re there, surrounding me. Not allowing me to be alone for a single moment. Not allowing anyone else to get close to me.
Lennon texts me from their dressing room a half-hour before th
e show. Stuck in interviews, he writes. Have an amazing last show. I’m so proud of you.
He has no idea. No idea the shitstorm that’s going to fall on me tomorrow. I don’t know if that makes it better or worse.
It’s good that I don’t see him before the show. I don’t think I would hold up so well if he put his arms around me. I don’t think I could tell him I was okay if he asked. And he would have to know, wouldn’t he, if he looked at me? He’d have to be able to tell.
Unless he was too much of a mess himself, I think. God, what a pair we are.
Before we go on stage, we gather in a circle, arms around each other, the way we do before every performance. This time, Louis joins us. No one says a negative word to him. Dylan merely puts his arm around his shoulders, including him in our huddle.
“Haylee, you can do this,” Layla says, her voice firm and commanding. “We are all behind you on that stage. We all have your back.”
“Let yourself get lost in the music,” Dylan says. “Let the music help you.”
I nod, unable to meet any of their eyes.
“We’ve come such a long way on this tour,” James says, squeezing my arm. “We have so much to be proud of. Let’s finish it strong.”
“Finish it strong,” the others echo.
“Finish it strong,” I say.
“Okay, Intrigue on three,” Lance says, and we break our embrace to put our hands on top of each other in the middle of the circle, just like always. “One, two, three, Intrigue!”
“Intrigue!” everyone shouts.
And we do finish it strong. I don’t know how, when I want to run screaming from the stage. But I take comfort in the fact that they’re all there with me. Between songs James brings me a water bottle. Dylan hands me a pick, his fingers brushing mine for several seconds as he looks down at me, smiling. Layla makes eye contact behind her drums, nodding at me whenever I turn in her direction. They have my back. Just like they said.
The crowd doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss. They cheer for us just as they’ve done at every other show, growing louder ever since Paris. When we finish the last song and go to the front of the stage to take a group bow, I swear they’re as loud as they are for Ransom.
Rescue (Ransom Book 5) Page 22
