Several suitcases lay scattered in his foyer.Some had their zippers half open, revealing a chaotic jumble of clothes, and helpers had haphazardly tossed a few others.Ry didn’t want to deal with the mess in his otherwise pristine home.The housekeeper would take care of it.
The past few days had been a whirlwind: Alex’s release from the hospital in Budapest came with the requirement that he go home, get plenty of rest, and go to rehab.Ry set down his tablet from trawling bothBring Me to the Edge(lord)andWhy Ghostfire Sucks: Essays from a deranged nobody.The main theme this week in both places was outrage at the postponement of their European tour by a few months.Who was to blame?“Orion,” the washed-up lead singer, got his fair share.The cold, calculating Brand, was he up to something?Or maybe it was Lon the Player, oblivious to his partying ways and how they affected poor, stoic Alex, leading him astray?A minority of posts seemed worried about the band.
He turned away from the screen and the mess in the foyer.Now he faced the backyard and the blinding sunlight outside.Los Angeles was so bright.He missed the clouds of Portland, the constant rain, and the introspection it allowed.Los Angeles was noise and movement, no-excuse-outdoors, all the time.He thought about taking a swim in his pool, the water gleaming and inviting, but couldn’t bear to go outside.Not yet.Not with how he was feeling.There was too much temptation.
The sharp buzz of his watch sliced through his rumination, and he looked at a message from Brand:on my way.Ry tapped the “Okay” message.Turning away from the shimmering pool, he headed to the bathroom.Warm light above the mirror eased the lines on his face, but not the dark circles.Disheveled hair and wrinkled clothes suited his mood.He hadn’t slept well on the trip home, nor had he slept well in his own bed.
How had Brand, the quiet, contemplative one, become the strongest?He seemed to know himself best.He had become the anchor, the steady presence when Ry could no longer hold the band together.A knot tightened in Ry's stomach as he looked back towards the blinding sunlight streaming through the windows, the unspoken dread of the band breaking up for good settling over him like a heavy blanket.He sighed, the sound lost in the silence of the empty house.
After a loud knock came the sharp crack of the front door closing.Ry headed downstairs to meet Brand, his guest’s voice low and urgent.Ry caught, “Got to run.”
“How are you, Brand?”Ry said once he’d reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the foyer.
“Alright.”Brand adjusted his glasses, looking him up and down.Brand wore dark gray jeans and a black skull long-sleeved tee.
“Any news?”Ry led him to the living room.
“I went to see Alexander this morning.”Brand followed him.“He’s not well, still shaky, but he’s looking better than he did before the flight home.”
“That’s good.”Ry sat down on a couch in the large room.“Will they release him soon?”
Brand sat across from him.The low coffee table between them held a vase of lilies and azaleas, a fresh floral arrangement that the housekeeper had bought for his arrival.
“I talked to his care team, and they’ve arranged for him to go to the Rosewood Clinic.”Brand pulled out his phone and showed Ry a couple of pictures.“I’ll take him to the initial inpatient appointment when he’s ready.In a few days at most.”
Ry leaned forward, his brow furrowed as he rested his chin on his hands.“How did it come to this?”
Brand took his glasses off and wiped his hand across his face.The gesture meant he had something serious to say.“Drinking.Drugs.”
A wave of absurd realization hit Ry.He let out a long, rolling laugh that fractured the stillness of the space.Brand glared at him, a scowl deepening on his face.
“I am not making a joke.”
“I know,” Ry said, choking on laughter.“Arend and Efreet Records.They led us here.All of us.Alex, you, Lon, me.”
“What do you mean?”Brand stopped, thinking for a moment.
Ry laughed again, releasing tension he’d carried for years, feeling more alive than he had in the last few months.Perhaps this whole awful situation meant a change for the better.
“Arend,” Ry said, wiping his eyes, the man’s name sobering him.“He used to be fun.Do you remember what happened when we started charting?Started invoking clause this and clause that.He was the one behind Alex and me breaking up.That wasn’t the beginning, but I couldn’t see it until then.He’s only gotten worse.”
“I remember.”Brand picked up his glasses and polished them on his shirt.“This explains why you two fight all the time.He’s only ever quoted a few clauses at me.”
Ry shrugged, leaning back.The seriousness of the conversation was now more apparent, more meaningful.“He knows he can’t get to you like he could get to me.Like he could get to Alex.I’m sure he’s gotten to Lon.He’s controlled us beautifully.”
Brand looked thoughtful.“It is why our last album didn’t do well.Why the one we are working on sucks.The soul of our music is dead.”
“We’re on life support.It’s been that way since Alex and I broke up.Our third album only did well because of how raw and in pain we were.”
Brand sighed and looked at the floor.Not a good sign.“What can we do?”
“Don’t play into his games anymore.”Ry shook his head.“But we have an opportunity, at least.With Alex in rehab, we can’t tour or record anything.”
“Yes, so?”
Ry tried to shake his thoughts together.“If nothing else, we are out of the pressure cooker.I need to get my life together, too.We can’t let Arend win.If Alex is in rehab, I might as well go too.I don’t know what else to do, and maybe it will help.Nothing else has.”
“Will you be all right?”
