Dylan shoots her a frustrated look but eventually complies, flopping down on the sofa next to me. "This is ridiculous," he mutters, running another hand through his hair. "How the hell are we supposed to perform tonight?"
"We'll figure it out," I say, trying to transfer some of my calm by speaking in low, quiet words. "We always do."
“Maybe we should just call the label and tell them we need to cancel. Or we resign or something. Fuck.”
“You know we can’t,” I reply, reining in the urge to snap at him with the information he already knows. “We will owe them the cost from the cancelled shows if we call. They made sure to include that in the contract and have brought it up several times. The only way we can cancel a show without having to pay for it is if the label agrees to the cancellation and you heard what Harris said yesterday, they refuse. This is our best option at this point. Jax can make it. I know he can.”
Lily, still tucked into my side, likely to take all the comfort she can get at this point, slowly untangles herself and moves to sit beside Dylan. The second she perches next to him, his agitation visibly drains from his body and he tugs her closer.
“It’s going to be okay. We are all together and all okay,” she murmurs.
“I know,” he sighs, tucking Lily into his side. “I just wish we didn’t have to do this.”
“Me too,” I murmur.
Neither Dylan nor Lily responds, but I don’t expect them to.
We sit there in silence until the sun begins to set, casting long shadows across the room. The urgency of our situation settles over us, once again. Time is slipping away, and the show is rapidly approaching.
"We need to start getting ready," I say, my voice steady despite the unease twisting in my gut. "The show is in a few hours, and the van will be here soon."
We walk into Jax’s room as a unit, ready to face whatever is next together. I hope.
Jax stirs on the bed, his eyes fluttering open as he looks around, disoriented.
"Hey, you're okay," Lily says softly, sitting beside him. "We're here. You're safe. We just need to go to a show."
Jax’s glassy, unfocused eyes meet hers. "Lily... I’m sorry," he mumbles, his voice barely audible.
"Shh, it's okay," she replies, squeezing his hand. "We’re going to get through this."
Enzo scoffs from the corner, crossing his arms. "Yeah, if we don’t kill each other first."
"Can you stop being an asshole for one minute?" Lily snaps, her patience fraying.
Enzo looks taken aback by Lily’s unusually harsh words, but he doesn’t respond. The room falls into an uneasy silence, the pressure of our collective anxiety suffocating us all.
It feels like I’m balancing on a knife’s edge, trying to hold everything together while the world crumblesaround me. And I’m sure the others are feeling the same. I push my own frustration aside; today isn’t about me. I can’t afford to add to the chaos now.
“We need to get the ‘all clear’ from the nurse, then we are going to help you to the van, Jax,” I interject.
The nurse steps in like she was waiting for us to call her in. Her calm demeanor is a small solace in the room. She checks Jax’s vitals with practiced efficiency. "He’s fine for me to release for the show," she says quietly. "But it’s going to be a rough night."
"We’ll manage," I reply, though I don’t know if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
Dylan stands abruptly, his face grim. "What if he can’t perform? He looks like he can barely fucking stand."
The nurse answers, her tone steady. "He’s stable enough. He doesn’t immediately need the IV to survive. He’ll be out of it for a few days, but he can leave."
"If he can leave, he can perform," I say, nodding. "If he gets sick or needs a break… we’ll deal with it. But we need to be ready for anything."
Enzo rolls his eyes. "This is a fucking disaster waiting to happen."
"Complaining won’t help," Lily says sharply. "We need to focus and get Jax downstairs and into the van. He has to make it."
"We’ll get through this," I say, though my confidence feels paper-thin. I am repeating the same words like they are my mantra at this point, but I literally don’t know what else to say. Clearing my throat, I try again. "It’s one show. We can get through one show."
Dylan resumes pacing, his anxiety palpable. "This is sofucked up," he mutters. "We’re supposed to be on stage in less than three hours."
