“That could’ve happened to anyone.”
“It happened because you were high. You jumped off a balcony, Angel. Because you were high.”
“So did Zach and Ruben.”
“And if they got hurt it would’ve been your fault.”
Angel startles at this, staring at the camera in wounded shock. “You must enjoy this, right?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Come on. You’re always preaching about doing the right thing, and being mature, and how awful it is that I wanna have some fun while I still can, and the first chance you get, you throw me under the bus to Chorus. I don’t even have a problem, I just had one bad night.”
“You’ve had a lot of bad nights lately.”
Angel laughs, sharp and bitter. “You know what, fuck you, Jon. You’re such a stuck-up, pretentious dick. You know people only put up with you because of your dad, right?”
“I’m not going to fight you.”
“You know why I think you’re so against me? It’s not because you’re all moral, and in with God. It’s because you know if you actually joined in and had fun with everyone, they wouldn’t want you around, and you don’t want to give them the chance to shut you out. You’re just another obnoxious rich boy who goes crying to his daddy every time he doesn’t agree with someone, and everyone hates you.”
Jon’s face is completely blank. “You don’t mean that.”
“Yes, I do. I hate you.”
“You’re mad at me because you know I’m right and you don’t want to face it—”
“I think I might’ve hated you since I met you.”
“—and I am not apologizing for this. I am not apologizing for getting help so I don’t have to sit there and watch you kill yourself.”
“You know we’re done after this, right? I don’t want anything to do with you. We’re done.”
“Better us done than you dead,” Jon shouts at the screen, his voice raw and strangled.
The screen goes black as Angel ends the call. Jon’s breath is labored, and he covers his mouth with a trembling hand.
It’s only now that I realize I’m squeezing Ruben’s hand, so tightly his fingertips are turning purple. I relax my grip. “He didn’t mean that,” I whisper. “I know Angel, okay? He’s just mad.”
Jon doesn’t reply. He just stares at the screen.
Ruben lets go of me and wraps Jon into a bear hug from behind. Jon grips onto Ruben’s arms, his knuckles turning pale.
A knock sounds at the door, and I open it to let Erin in.
She takes in Ruben and Jon on the bed. My stricken face. The tablet set up.
“Angel called, huh?” she asks.
We all nod. None of us say a word.
“Well, as I’m sure you’ve figured out, Chorus and Galactic have made a decision about the tour.”
“And?” Jon forces out.
“They’ve decided you’re right, Jon. Angel needs time to recover. It’s been postponed.”
I wish it felt like a victory.
It doesn’t, though.
Not even close.
TWENTY-ONE
RUBEN
The flight home is all but silent.
I’m hoping to get some sleep on it, because god knows I haven’t had much lately, but as usual, even with my eyes closed, my mind refuses to still. It bubbles and crackles, jumping from topic to topic with the high-strung energy of a hummingbird.
Angel, and his recovery, and how we still don’t know enough about it beyond vague platitudes.
The media, and its now-sympathetic discussions of Angel and his apparent fatigue-driven stumble into traffic.
Jon, and the way he’s burrowed into himself since finally standing up to his dad. How I recognize the fear of the fallout of putting your foot down to a parent.
Zach, and the way his smile began to flicker when he came out to his mom, and how it’s disappeared completely since the accident. How he’s about to face his mom for the first time since coming out to her, and I’m going to be in a completely different state, unable to hold his hand, or rush right to his side if it goes wrong.
My mom, and how she’d seemed less concerned with what happened to Angel that night than how it’d affect the tour. That, and the fact that I’d left her on read. How, apparently, the trauma of what I’d been through that night hadn’t been a good enough Get Out of Jail Free card for my behavior.
How I have to try to go back to normal in their house. Around her. Without the band. Without Zach.