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Aspen had moved to the next level.
“Shit is right. I don’t think we fully grasped where we were heading.”
“But it wasn’t like he could just stop. Or would have. Who doesn’t want to sell more albums?” Taylor clasped his hands behind his head.
“This isn’t safe anymore. We need to find a place to let it calm down,” Sebastian finally said to us.
Thankfully, the Met’s security came over to speak to ours. They apologized but clearly didn’t have the staff to control the situation and keep us safe.
They apologized profusely, but there was nothing to be done. We needed to leave. They escorted us to a closed-off gallery while we waited for our car.
“I’m going to hit the head.” Taylor slipped into the bathroom, leaving me with Aspen while our bodyguards held off the doorway.
Aspen squatted with his elbows on his thighs and his face in his hands.
I took a seat on the bench next to him. “We’ll come back.”
“And expect different results?”
“We can arrange special viewings,” I said, knowing he was spiraling but not sure what I could still do. I couldn’t wrap him up in a bear hug like I used to.
“So this is my life now?” He pulled his hair.
“I think it is. It’s not like it was easy before. You’re enjoying it. You are alive on stage. I’ve never seen you this happy.” Or his depression this well managed. I hated what it was doing to me, but that didn’t mean I wanted him to hate it, too.
“And what? I feel better and lose everything else I love?” He lifted his head, looking me directly in the eyes. “I have to sacrifice everything else for happiness? Is that how it works?”
“I don’t know, Aspen.”
“Perfect. Sounds great. I give up.” He pushed to his feet and walked out of the gallery.
“Aspen!”
But he wouldn’t listen or look at me.
He performed our last show, but the light had gone out of his eyes.
The fans didn’t seem to notice, or maybe they took his somber mood as part of the act.
I wanted to go back to my apartment and sleep for a year.
I was a kind of soul-deep tired a tour had never left me before.
But our SUV didn’t head towards our building. We took the midtown tunnel.
“Where are we going?”
“To the airport,” Levi said coldly.
“Why?”
“Because you’re getting on a plane.” He wore a smug grin.
“We’re done with the tour. What is this, some Alexander shit?” I asked. This wasn’t like him at all. He’d always been good to us, unlike other managers we knew.
“I told you, you both are going to anger management. The label and the rest of the band is behind this. Neither of you is doing well and—”
“Pardon me?” Aspen interrupted him.
