Not surprisingly, Benji and Diego were on the same side, with nearly the same opinion.
“I did think of that,” Caleb said, quietly. No, you didn't, that nasty voice insisted. You were only thinking of yourself.
“I don't understand that, and I won't pretend to,” Diego said in a hard, unapologetic voice that Caleb wasn't sure he'd ever heard come from Diego's mouth. “But let's go back to the tour. Like Leo said, he's retired. He doesn't perform anymore. And I support that decision.”
Why, Caleb nearly asked. Why would you support that choice when it's made him miserable? But he didn't say it; it wasn't his right to say it. Not anymore.
“But it's a stupid decision,” was what he said instead. Which . . . in retrospect, wasn't exactly better.
“You don't even know,” Max inserted. “You weren't there. We were.”
You don't even know how much I wish I had been. It'd have been easier than being where I'd been. In hell.
“I just . . .” Leo spoke up for only the second time, and Caleb's head snapped up, immediately listening for every minute change of his breathing. “I just don't sing anymore. I don't want to sing anymore. That belonged to a different part of my life. And singing is definitely part of performing.”
Caleb still maintained it was a stupid-ass decision. Leo had always loved to sing; nothing had really changed that part of him. It was too fundamental to change. No—what had changed was everything else.
“You loved to sing,” Caleb argued, “even more than you loved to play the guitar.”
But Leo didn't answer. Just stared at the floor. And maybe, maybe, that was all the answer Caleb would ever get when he asked why.
“You left, and there was this big gaping hole,” Diego finally said, and Caleb looked up, surprised. Shocked. Was he really going to get an explanation? From Diego, of all people? “There was a hole and we couldn't do it. We all hated it, hated it enough to quit the tour, but it was . . . it was impossible for Leo.”
“I saw some footage,” Caleb said. It had nearly killed him to watch it. He'd gone on a weeks-long bender after. Pain and anger and self-hatred warring inside of him until he'd burnt out, burnt into a lifeless, emotionless husk.
“We couldn't do it without you,” Benji said.
Caleb laughed, bitterly, because if he didn't laugh, he would cry. The one thing he'd promised himself was that he wouldn't cry. Not today. “You could've gotten another bass player,” he said. “I was never a great bass player, anyway.”
“That's not why,” Benji said, his voice hard.
“Would you agree to do the tour if Leo agreed?” Caleb asked. It was a long shot; a complete impossibility, really. But he had to ask, because he couldn't not ask.
But to his shock, they all nodded. Slowly, some of them reluctantly, but they agreed. It was on Leo. The future of the band, the future path of their lives, it all rested on Leo and on his capacity to endure. Maybe on his capacity to forgive.
“Could I talk to Leo? Alone, maybe?” Caleb pushed because without that push, it wasn't ever going to happen. But the hope was a blooming, ugly thing now, and he grasped it, even though it stung.
“That's not a good idea,” Benji said.
It suddenly occurred to Caleb that they'd agreed to do the tour if Leo agreed because they knew he would never agree. Never in a thousand years.
“It's a shitty idea,” Diego added. The wagons, which had briefly opened up to let Caleb inside, were circling again.
“Okay,” Leo said.
Everyone in the room did a double take. Nobody more so than Caleb.
“Are you sure, Leo?” Max asked.
“Yeah,” Leo said, nodding, even though he looked uncertain. Like he didn't know why he'd agreed in the first place.
But Caleb knew why. He knew because he felt it too, felt it even when he didn't want to feel it anymore. Even when it would've been easier if the feelings had just died out and disappeared.
The other three exited the room, quietly. Benji gave one look at Caleb, like he wanted to make sure he'd behave, before closing the door behind him.
“Talk to me, Leo,” Caleb said. His name felt sweet and wild on his tongue; he hadn't said it in so long. Hadn't dared.
“I don't have anything to say to you,” Leo said, and that felt true. “I only came here to say that I'm not doing the tour. I'm done singing, I'm done performing. Done with it all. I won't do it again. With or without you.”
Caleb hesitated. He sounded certain for the first time since he'd come into the conference room. Like he'd thought about it and come to a decision.
The problem was that it was the wrong decision. Caleb knew it in his bones. Knew Leo would never really get better. Five years hadn't helped; fifty wasn't going to make much difference. They both needed closure, and they both needed to do this. Whether or not Leo would acknowledge it. “I don't want to force you to do this,” he said.
“You wouldn't,” Leo challenged.
The problem was . . . Leo knew the Caleb Chance that he'd been at sixteen, at eighteen. Fun and laughing and free—to a point, anyway. He hadn't known the Caleb forged in the fire of pain and suffering and addiction. The Caleb who'd hit rock bottom, then dug fifty feet further, and then pulled himself back up through sheer force of will.
He knew they needed to do this and so they would.
“You've definitely changed,” Leo said, clearly seeing the determination on his face.
“I had to change,” Caleb said. “I couldn't continue the way we were. It was killing both of us.”
“Just you literally, though,” Leo said bitterly. He was right to be bitter. He'd fallen in love with a man who'd nearly destroyed his own life and everyone else's around him. It was definitely Leo's prerogative to be pissed as hell. To never forgive. To never forget.
“You have every right to be angry.”
Leo laughed, turning away. Eyes hard, polished blue agates in his pale, drawn face.
“But I want you to put your anger away for just a second,” Caleb added. “Leo, this isn't healthy, you shutting yourself away like this. You're not okay. And I want you to be okay. I need you to be okay.” More than anything else, this was why he'd come back to LA—a fierce, driving need to know that the man he loved was surviving. Better than surviving, living.
“Forcing me back onstage definitely isn't going to make me okay,” Leo interrupted.
Yes, it is. It will make you remember who you really are.
“It's better than what you've been doing.” Caleb didn't know exactly what Leo had been doing, but he could guess.
“I have it all arranged,” Caleb continued, sensing, with Leo's stony silence, that maybe he was on the brink of just giving in. “Promoter, venues, the whole thing.”
“So it's just up to us to get up onstage and play all our old shitty songs, then?” Leo asked.
It was devastating, having to do this. Having to face the ruin of the man he'd nearly destroyed. Caleb steeled himself. “Leo,” he said softly. “You have no idea how sorry I am. I never wanted to see you like this.”