Just the thought of Vancouver picked up my spirits, and I could feel the cloud that had hung over me for the past three months lifting with the plane that would bring us home.
I couldn't blame Matt for being confused, and a little angry at the way we had been acting recently. We weren't supposed to let our personal lives affect our work lives, because the fans didn't deserve that. They didn't deserve the way we had treated them at the meet and greet the night before, and already I felt guilty for that.
Although honestly, I didn't know what had gotten into Josh and Ian. I shrugged it off, assuming they would let the rest of us know if it was something serious. Of course, I hadn't bothered to inform them of my own problems, but that was different; my problems were family matters, and that was all.
I noticed that everyone seemed a little happier to be back home, except perhaps Josh, who was looking even more sullen than he had been lately. The dark circles under his eyes hadn't faded overnight, and I realized that his insomnia probably hadn't gotten better. That would certainly explain his unusual silence over the past weeks—being on the road was hard enough even given enough sleep each night.
It was afternoon when we landed, and as soon as I got away from the others I pulled out my phone and dialled Leilani's number.
"How is he?" I asked without preamble as soon as she picked up. It was the first sign of things that had changed; usually our conversations were filled with tender greetings; I love you's and I missed you's.
"He's...not worse," she replied, sounding reserved.
"But he's not better."
She sighed deeply. "Mike, you called just last night. You can't have expected something to change."
"I can hope," I said, my voice stiff. Hope was all that had gotten me through these past months that I'd had to spend away from my wife and son. "I want to see him."
"Why don't you come home and rest first? You must be tired..."
"No more so than usual." I was always tired; it was something I had learned to live with, pushing away the fatigue with copious amounts of coffee and iron will. "I'll come home, but I'm not resting until I see him."
"I don't know how you do it," she said softly. I knew she was talking about everything: about the months we spent apart and the days when I heard no news and the nights I had to spend alone, awake and worried. To be honest, I didn't know how I did it either.
"I'm on my way." I had just pushed through the airport doors, pushing my suitcases on a luggage cart with one hand and holding the phone to my ear with another. "Give me twenty minutes."
"Okay. I'll see you then." There was a tone of sadness in her voice, and for a moment I thought she was going to say something else. But I heard only a click, followed by the dialtone.
I drove as fast as I dared on the way home, and pulled into my driveway five minutes earlier than promised. I pulled my suitcases out of the trunk and lugged them up the front step, just about to unlock the front door when it swung open. Leilani stood there, and we barely had a second to look at each other before she flung herself into my arms.
"I forgot to say I missed you," she said, her voice muffled by my shoulder.
For a moment I just held her in silence, breathing in her scent. It was a respite from the worries that were plaguing me—a brief one. "Are you ready to go?" I asked, pulling away.
She looked at me, and through her sorrow I could see she understood. "Bring your things inside, and let me grab a coat."
The drive to the hospital was a long and silent one. Words, which had once flowed for effortlessly between us, seemed to take too much effort; we each sat wrapped in our own thoughts, both unable to take comfort in the other.
This is what has come of our relationship, I thought to myself bitterly, thrown apart by distance and despair. I acutely missed the way our family had been prior to October. It had been far from perfect, but it had been perfect for me.
"I'm sorry," I said suddenly. Leilani nodded, and stretched her hand across the seat to take mine. She didn't need to ask what I meant; there were still some things that could pass between us without words to explain.
We stayed that way for the rest of the drive. I could feel a sudden nervousness clutch my stomach as I pulled into the hospital parkade. The last time I had seen my son, he had been whole and healthy. I didn't know what to expect.
I waited impatiently as Leilani signed us in at the front desk, unable to stop my foot from tapping. When she had finished she came over and took me gently, but firmly, by the arm. "It'll be okay," she whispered in my ear.
I nodded woodenly; everything about my movements was forced and broken, as if I was being controlled by a puppeteer. My steps were stilted as we made our way down a fourth floor corridor, before coming to a halt outside a door.
Leilani looked at me questioningly, and I took a deep breath before opening the door. It was funny how for the past two months on tour I'd been waiting for this moment, and now that it was here I couldn't move.
There was more than one bed in the room, although the beds themselves were more like boxes: small, meant for infants, with glass walls rising up on all four sides. It made me sick to look at. This was not where my son should be.
The room was bustling with doctors and nurses as well, as would be expected. One noticed our presence in the doorway and came bustling over.
"We're here to see Tristan Ayley," Leilani told her, and the nurse showed us to a bed near the window.
My heart caught in my throat as I looked into it. There were tubes everywhere, sticking out of his arms and legs and nose; his pale skin was marked with blue veins and dark bruises. His eyes, of course, were closed—they had been closed for almost two months now—and it was only when I concentrated that I could see his chest moving shallowly up and down.
Tears pricked at my eyes as I watched him. I was a terrible father. I should have been there for him when it happened, and I should have been there throughout the long intervening months, not off living a boy's dream.
But it wasn't as if I could leave the band—I could never stand to do that to the others. They needed me, and that was why I hadn't left in the middle of tour, and why they still didn't know what had happened.
I was intensely glad that for the next two months, over Christmas and into the new year, we would be staying here. There would be no need for me to juggle two lives, for me to be a husband and father as well as a rockstar.
For now, I couldn't stand looking down at the small, still body of my son. "Let's go," I said to Leilani, my voice hoarse.
The moment I got home, I called Matt. "Hey," I said as soon as he answered. "How about I take you up on that offer?"
"...Huh?" he said after a moment of blank silence.
"Celebrating. Why don't we go out and celebrate?" I felt in need of a drink right now, or several.
"Oh. Sure!" Matt was very evidently relieved that at least one of us was showing signs of life. "I'll see if Josh wants to tag along." Ian had left soon after we landed to visit family in the Okanogan, so he wouldn't be able to make it, and although Josh didn't drink he sometimes enjoyed watching us make fools of ourselves.
Josh, it seemed, couldn't be found anywhere; he had never arrived back at the apartment he shared with Amanda, and she tried calling him several times to no avail.
"I wonder where he is," I said, feeling vaguely worried. Josh had not been acting at all like himself lately.
Matt just shrugged. "Just off being Josh, probably," he said. "Ah well, it'll be fun with just the two of us."
Fun wasn't exactly what I was aiming for, but I figured if I drank enough maybe I'd end up having some. We made our way to our favourite bar downtown, and spent several hours there in comfortable companionship. Luckily, Matt wasn't the most talkative guy, and it wasn't hard to act relaxed around him.
"I'm glad you seem to be feeling better," Matt said, playing with his empty glass. "Being on the road can really get to you, eh?"
I just nodded, and smiled, and took another sip of my drink. The truth was I wasn't feeling better at all; I was feeling worse than I ever had.
