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I don't love you.
“Yeah,” I said with a half-hearted smile, getting up from the couch and tucking the phone in my pocket. Concealed, but never forgotten.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dylan
It had been over four years since our last album had been released. In the first week of it being out in the wild,Dinner with Ghosts & Other Pastimeshad broken personal records by being streamed a little over a million times, and within its first month, it had become our first album to go platinum.
I had thought about it a lot while I lay in that hospital bed, listening to the beeping machines and whooshing oxygen. How I was glad I’d at least had that experience in my thirty-five years of life and that if I never got to record another album again, I’d always haveDinner with Ghosts.
I’d never expected to release another album, especially months before my fortieth birthday, and I’d never expected it to be the most anticipated one in the country.
It’s out of pity, I kept telling myself.
Fans and strangers alike felt sorry for the guy who had almost died. It made them feel good to preorder, to spread the word, as if by doing so, it would reserve them a spot on the other side of the pearly gates. They didn’t care about me really; they cared about the charity case they saw me as.
But then the first single from the album was released. “The Girl in the Front Row” shot to the top of every chart that meant anything in this industry. Within a day, it was listened to over a million times, and that changed my outlook entirely. Because it had absolutely nothing to do with their pity. They were truly feeling it, and whether it was because the lyrics resonated with them or they just thought it was catchy as hell, I had no idea, nor did I care.
It was enough for me to believe I hadn't lost the ability to create good music.
That was all it took for the schedule to start filling up. Mitch booked a solid lineup of twenty-seven shows in the States along with a couple of late-night television appearances and a handful of interviews.
Simon and Dave were pumped. Too much time spent at home made Simon antsy, and four and a half years inside his New York City condo had taken him to a whole new level of stir-crazy. Dave, on the other hand, was simply ready for a change of scenery from his little farmhouse in Tarrytown.
Then, there was Greyson, and he was more of a mixed bag. While he was excited to play for a crowd again, he was also going to miss his husband and kids, and he made no secret about it. The light in his smile dimmed at the mention of leaving home, and his enthusiasm for being on the road wilted at the thought of everything he was going to miss.
Looking back, it'd always been that way, ever since he had joined the band. But I hadn't acknowledged it the way I did now.
I guessed I just understood.
Over the years, my parents had grown accustomed to the nightly dinners, and Dad was starting to enjoy my help around the house. In the past couple of months, we had cleared out the garage, started the process of finishing the basement, and we talked about maybe tackling the backyard once I got home. Things were going well, better than they had in years, and I knew they were going to miss me while I was gone.
I was going to miss them too. More than I ever had before, and, yeah, I guessed there was a little shame in admitting that.
But, fuck, there was that part of me that couldn’t wait to get back on the road. And as I unloaded my dresser drawers and closet into open suitcases, I couldn’t believe I had ever considered giving this up. My life was meant to be lived onstage and on the road—I knew that now—and I found my cheeks aching with a constant grin.
“You need any help in here?”
I turned to glance at Mom, standing in the doorway. Her soft gaze scanned the room, a small, melancholy smile tugging at her lips.
It was the same look she’d had nearly twenty years ago—when I was packing for my first tour and, again, when I packed my things and moved out altogether. She had cried then, struggling to grasp the concept that her miracle baby had turned into a man, and my chest had clenched with every one of her fallen tears. Now, we were both older, and I was one leg lighter, but the ache in my chest was the same, and I could imagine hers was too.
Thank God she held back the tears though. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to leave if she cried. Not like I had then.
“I think I'm good,” I replied, unable to handle her consistent wave of emotion with every packed shirt or pair of jeans. “Thanks though.”
But my voice went unheard as she wandered in, her arms held tight to her chest. “You know, it never gets easier, watching you leave,” she said, her voice quiet and choked.
“I know, Ma,” I replied, nodding.
“And I've always told you, you’re welcome to come back whenever you want.”
“That’s why I did,” I reminded her.
She nodded. “I know, and we’ve loved having you around. Even before you moved out, I never wanted you to feel like you ever needed to leave,” she went on, sitting at the edge of the bed, facing me in my trusty wheelchair.
“I know,” I said with a smile, unsure of where she was going with this.
