Rye

The band and our security fill the waiting room of the ER. Justin was brought in through the a different entrance and we haven't seen him since we left the fight. I check my phone, still no message from Launi. No one is allowed in the back because we aren't immediate family, so we take our seats and wait for word of how he's doing. The large glass doors slide open and a frantic Launi runs inside, Parker beside her and Sean hot on their heels. Once inside, Sean takes the lead, herding the girls to the counter to speak to someone in charge.

I'm not expecting Jagger to walk through the doors, and apparently, I'm not the only one. When he steps through, his hands still taped from the fight and his face beginning to swell, we all stand up to greet him. It's been a long time since he's spoken to any of us. I never took it personal, I think he had to leave and keeping ties to this make-shift family was too hard. We are a reminder of what he was choosing to leave behind when he left his home.

"Hey man," I say, shaking his hand and then pulling him in for a hug. "I'm sorry," I apologize even though I don't know how his father is doing right at this moment. The experience this far is horrible enough to warrant some sympathy from the men in this room.

"Thanks," he says. "Any word?'

"Not yet," Jack answers, giving him a hug before releasing him to the next in line. Everyone welcomes him back into the fold as if he never left.

Sean is at the counter, explaining to the triage nurse Launi's relation to the patient in the back who came in via ambulance. Launa watches him, her face locked on his as he advocates for her rights to be by her father's side. At some point, she reaches out and holds his arm as if her legs might not hold her any longer.

I feel like I'm intruding on a private moment, but I'm not the only one. The other patients waiting for their turn to be seen have noticed the chaos and the presence of outside security. I'm sure the two black SUVs parked in front of the hospital aren't helping keep the situation discreet. I notice the stares and curiosity on the faces of those around us. Nothing is private when you live this life.

I step away to answer my phone when I see my manager's name flash on the screen. I take the call in a corner, so I can hear what is being said.

"The tour has been postponed," she tells me. It's crazy to me how fast business is being handled when we don't even know how this will end.

"We don't know anything yet," I say in disbelief.

"We know he's had a medical emergency that required CPR. The recovery alone for that will take months if he's lucky. And if he's not..." she doesn't have to finish.

"Ok," I say, watching Sean hug Launi before standing back as she and Jagger are escorted to the back. It feels surreal, like I'm watching the saddest scene from a movie I've ever experienced. The band says nothing, they just stand shoulder to shoulder as they watch the children they known since they were babies leave our presence to potentially walk straight into some of the worst news of their life.

The doors close, but no one moves—the weight of the unknown and the stoicism it took to witness the last two minutes feels too heavy to get out from under.

"You'll be paid out tomorrow at midnight for the shows so far. I'll send the final spreadsheet tonight when the numbers have all been worked, double checked, and signed off on," my manager says in such a disconnected-for-the-situation way my brain struggles to reconcile the coldness of this business call with the emotional depth of this waiting room.

When I say nothing, she adds, "Do you want me to book you a ticket home for tomorrow morning? You have a 10am check-out."

I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at the screen. Am I hallucinating this? It can't be real.

The band finally disburses without a word to each other. They take their places back in the hard hospital chairs and settle in for a long wait. I disconnect the call and find a chair next to Jack. His arms have been crossed, but as soon as I'm seated, he extends one and pats my back. "He'll be ok," he tells me, but we both know there's no way to know that for sure.

Sean and Parker sit close to the door, watching it as if their lives depend on it. He's a good guy I realize. He cares about her and they have a history. I can't imagine any scandal he could drag her into as epically as I have. She could live a quiet life with him. If I selfishly allow her to give that up for me, I'd be restarting the cycle my father put into motion all those years ago when he took a small town beauty queen on the road to ruin. I won't do it. What I will do is let her go and go home to my mother and fix what I can to make up for the life my dad chose for her.

Sean pulls his phone from his pocket and reads the screen. He shows Parker and she wraps her arms around his neck and cries. My heart sinks. Sean tells her it's going to be ok and then stands up to great us. We all follow suit, rising from the chairs ready to hear the news we are all dreading.

"He's ok for now," he tells us and an audible rush of breath can be heard from the group. "He's stabilized but will be moved to a different floor for closer monitoring and testing."

It's the news I had wanted to hear about my own father. I'm so grateful that Launi won't have to say goodbye to him tonight in a hospital room in some godforsaken city. She won't have to go "home" to a hotel room or some overcrowded tour bus. Sean is already at the counter, speaking with the woman again. Launi is in good hands—hands that aren't covered in callouses and worn from practice that keeps him away from the people he loves.

While everyone shifts into a haphazard circle expressing relief and even laughing about how worried they'd been, I slip unnoticed from the waiting room and take off in the night.