Page 121 of If This Gets Out

Saturday is back together, for the first time since the tour was called off.

“How are you?” I ask Angel, as we sit.

“Never better. You?”

I’m a little taken aback to see him acting like himself, after the way we all left things the last time we spoke. But it is Angel, I guess. I glance at Jon to see if he shares my opinion, but he’s not looking at me. “Can’t complain.”

“I bet,” he says, glancing between Ruben and me and wiggling his eyebrows.

“And, food is ready,” says Ruben’s dad, clearly wanting to change the subject. “Come and get it.”

He’s made a bunch of mushroom burgers, along with a selection of meatless sides and sauces, because he’s a vegetarian at the moment. According to Ruben, he always cycles through diets, and they only ever last a month, max.

After lunch, we all go into the home theater to watch the “Overdrive” video. Without even needing to ask, Ruben’s parents leave the four of us alone, so we can watch it as just us. It’s been our tradition ever since our very first music video. Jon swipes on his phone, and the title page comes up on the projector screen, showing the word “Overdrive” in neon red against a night sky.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Wait,” says Angel. “I want to say something, first.”

We all fall silent.

“Come on,” says Angel. “I just went to rehab, it’s not like I’m dying.”

Jon crosses his arms. “Just rehab, huh? Not a big deal?”

“I’m getting to that. But first, I want to apologize to you, Jon.”

Jon straightens in his seat and raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“I was… really shitty to you. My therapist calls it misplaced anger, which apparently is a thing. Who knew?”

Jon is lingering by the TV, clearly unsure of what to do, or what to even do with his hands. I get it. I am not exactly sure Angel has ever apologized before.

“You said you hated me,” says Jon.

“I don’t hate you.” Angel chews on his lip. “I love you. I love all of you. I was just… everything was so fucked up. I was angry, and fucking terrified, and I thought you were just doing it to hurt me. I didn’t get it. It took me weeks to get it, actually. I guess I had a lot of time to think.” He gives us a weak smile. “It’s not an excuse, and you don’t have to forgive me. I probably wouldn’t forgive me. But I’m so fucking sorry for what I said.”

Jon looks at him for a long while, scanning him from head to toe. His expression is so unreadable, I actually start wondering if Angel pushed it too far. Maybe this was unforgivable to Jon.

Then Jon’s expression crumples. “I missed you,” he says. “It’s so good to see you, man.”

Angel springs to his feet—as quickly as he can with his limp—and the two of them pull each other into a rough hug.

Arms around Jon, Angel looks at us over his shoulder. “And you two. Shit. I know I wasn’t cool on tour, and I know I lost my shit, and that messed with you both. I’m sorry about that, too. Fuck, I’m sorry about all of it.”

“It’s okay,” says Ruben. “But thank you for the apology.”

“Yeah, thank you. You shithead,” I add with a grin.

Angel steps away from Jon. “The thing is, the drugs, it wasn’t even for fun. It started out as a way to stop feeling so criticized and controlled all the time, but it got out of hand, and I couldn’t stop. Once you get a break from it it’s so hard to go back to dealing with it sober.”

I don’t want to do drugs, but I get it. If I could take a pilland stop the feeling of constant, overwhelming pressure, if only momentarily? I can see the appeal.

“Hey, serious question,” I say, turning to Angel. “When you were high, you said something about wanting to be called Reece. Is that what we should be calling you? Because we can?”

He seems taken aback. “I did?”

“Yeah.”

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