That’s all it is, really. I don’t think he gets how music feels to me. How important it is. How it’s the quickest way to feel any emotion possible, and how powerful, how necessary, it is. It’s so much more than something that can be used to make money.
I reach Ruben, and he just tilts his head up in greeting. Right. The silent treatment is still going. Good to know, and good thing two can play at this. We get into the elevator, and ride it up silently. I cross my arms, and lean against the wall.
The air is crackling, though. He’s staring forward, his jaw set, his expression plain. He’s picture-perfect. If he’s nervous, or anything, he’s not giving it away. Does he really not care about what could happen? Or is this an act? I open my mouth, and he glances at me, his eyes telling me not to, so I shut it.
I’ve never seen him act like he did at the interview. Hell, everyone in the room picked up on it. Even though they didn’t come out and say so, the interviewers could clearly tell something was going on between us. It’s so unlike Ruben to do something that hurts the band, or anyone, but I think he was trying to hurt me.
When the interview airs tomorrow night, it’s going to add even more gasoline to the stories already circulating. I’ve seen it happen before, and it’s always scary fast. A story can go from being a rumor to a fact in seconds. Not only that, it can so easily become a defining fact. The thing people think of when they think of Saturday.
We could become known as the band that all secretly hate each other, only tied together by our contracts.
I roll my neck, and sense him watching me.
The elevator chimes.
“After you,” he says, smiling graciously.
I ignore the fire in my chest and walk out.
Down the hall, Erin is waiting in front of her room. She opens the door for us, and we file in. The air feels heavy and gloomy. The MacBook set up on the desk may as well be a guillotine.
“Take a seat,” says Erin, her face grim.
Ruben and I go across the room, and sit down in front of the computer.
On the screen, at a desk, is Geoff.
“I’m assuming you know why you’re here?” he asks, his voice deep and gravelly.
Neither of us say anything for a moment too long. It speaks volumes.
“I’m sorry,” says Ruben.
Geoff’s eyebrows slant down. Even though he’s in a different country right now, I still start to sweat. If he decides to stop supporting us, we could fade away and become a band the general public only vaguely remembers.
“Sorry isn’t good enough in this case. You need to be better. Let me make this very clear, you two are in deep shit. You both understand that, right?”
“I do,” says Ruben.
“Definitely,” I say.
“No, I don’t think you do,” says Geoff, his voice rising. “You two fucked up. You have to promise me you’ll get whatever is going on under control. You have to.”
“We will,” says Ruben.
“Seriously, we will.”
“I know you will. You’ve worked too hard to jeopardize everything now.” He looks into the camera, and it feels for a moment like he’s made eye contact with me directly. “Think about Jon and Angel. How could you let them down like this? You’re a band, that means you’re supposed to work together.”
I bow my head, because he’s right.
“And think about everyone that works for you, trying to make your dream a reality. Do you even care about them? Do you care that they might lose their jobs because of this? If the band goes down, they go down with you.”
“Of course we do,” says Ruben.
“Then you need to act like it. Because I’m telling you the truth, if you don’t get this under control, people will lose their jobs. Galactic have been calling nonstop, telling me to fix this mess.”
I can barely breathe.
I know I have a brain that attacks itself constantly, which means I never know when the negative thoughts I have are the truth or not. Questioning them is one of the best things my child psychologist taught me to do.
But now …
Geoff just confirmed some of my worst fears.
The band is in danger because of me. So many people could lose their jobs just because I kissed Ruben and didn’t handle it well. I might have caused the end of the band.
My eyes start to sting, but I manage to rein them in. Geoff can’t stand tears.
“Now,” says Geoff. “Tell me why you two have been fighting, and don’t lie.”
“We haven’t been fighting,” says Ruben. “We’re just getting on each other’s nerves, I guess. We’re spending a lot of time together.”
“Zach? You’re letting Ruben do all the talking.”
“Sorry, um…”
My voice is shaking.
“Don’t say um, you know I hate that.”
I suck in a breath to steady myself. “Sorry. Ruben’s right, it really is just small clashes that got blown out of proportion. I know we messed up, and we’re working on it, I promise.”
“Good. If this is not fixed immediately there will be hell to pay. Is that crystal clear?”
Ruben nods. “It is.”
“Definitely.” My voice is trembling again.
“Good. I need to go, I have a meeting. We’ll talk soon.”
Geoff taps on his mouse, and the video call ends.
Well. That went about as badly as it possibly could.
“So…” says Ruben. “I guess I owe you an apology.”
Something flickers within me, something I don’t really like. I wouldn’t even be in this position if it weren’t for Ruben. I don’t want him to be high and mighty and apologize, I want it to be different; I want everything to have not happened the way it did. I know I’m guilty of avoiding him after the kiss, but I asked him to give me space, and he didn’t give me that. And now he’s going around poking me in interviews and somehow I feel like I’m in more trouble than he is. I hate it, but I’m seething right now.
No. This is just fear talking. It’ll pass.
I just need to keep my mouth shut until it does, because losing my shit at Ruben will make everything worse. So I push the emotions down, and smile.
“It’s okay,” I say. “You don’t need to apologize, it’s not your fault.”
“Well, it kind of is.”
“Yeah, but what would getting upset about it do?”
He stares at me for a long moment. “You know what? Sometimes I wonder if you care about anything.” He gets out of the chair and leaves.