Connection -- A Ross Lynch Story

Fallout

After a big storm, things are never the same. It leaves debris in its path that must be cleaned up. However, it isn't always easy -- or even possible -- to rebuild or repair what was destroyed in its wake. With me and Carson, it was going to take more than a couple of days to heal from the catastrophic surge of honesty.

The next day, he showed up late to sound check. The three of us went ahead and started without him since we only had so much time before R5 had the stage. Asher counted us into a cover of our favorite Good Charlotte song as Carson came storming up onto the stage. He looked like hell; the bags under his eyes had multiplied and deepened, and his overall body language was uninviting. Without a word, he threw his bass over his shoulder and jumped in, slapping his bass with vigor.

I tried to deal with the uncomfortable level of feedback in my ears until the end of the song, but it became unbearable. "Guys hold up," I said, sliding my guitar around to my back. "My ears need some serious adjusting." Asher idly tapped on his drums while Piper made faces at him; that was not out of the ordinary. It was the way Carson reacted that was strange.

He kept on playing, measure by measure, note by note, not missing a beat. He didn't say a word to me, not even crack a joke about how no one could fix the irreparable damage in my ears. All he did was stare blankly ahead, muttering words into his microphone every once in awhile and deliberately picking notes. As soon as he was satisfied, he silently sat his bass back on its stand and walked away the same direction he came.

For the couple hours between sound check and our performance, Carson was nowhere to be found. He completely disappeared without so much as a word to anyone, not even Asher. He had to have turned his phone off because every call went straight to voicemail without even ringing. We were getting wired up and ready to go on stage and he hadn't even bothered to show up for the pre-show rituals. Asher paced with his phone up to his ear, constantly redialing his friend and hoping that he'd magically answer. Everyone was on edge and worried. How would we explain this to the roaring crowd on the other side of the wall? Would we just go on without him as if nothing was wrong?

"Where the fuck were you?" Asher growled, shoving his phone back into his pocket as Carson approached. "I know you're upset, but at least be professional." Again, he didn't utter a word in response. His tech helped him get wired up just as we were all expected to be on stage. "This is going to be a long month," Asher muttered to me before running to his drumkit and cuing the rest of us.

The passing days were no easier. I thought that after a little time and space, he'd loosen up and at least be civil with me. Yet, he never slept in his bunk anymore. All of his belongings were cleared off of the bus and he made as little contact as possible with me. All it took was for me to enter the same room as him before he'd go ice cold and walk away. I was starting to give up hope that we'd ever return to normal, and it was foolish to even think it was possible in the first place.

I put up with that behavior for almost an entire week. I dealt with the late appearances, the cold shoulder, the uncomfortable press meetings and meet and greet photos. He still behaved like a child, not even wavering a little bit. It would have made our jobs a lot easier if we could at least be in the same room with each other without the negative energy, but it wasn't in the cards for us.

After the last person in the queue for our meet and greet had passed through, I found an opportunity to pull Carson aside. He started to make his way down the hallway when I caught up to him, nearly jogging to keep up with his stride. "Hey, can we talk?" I asked. He kept his eyes fixed on the door down the hallway, not acknowledging that I was next to him. "Carson!"

He stopped dead in his tracks. "What?" he snapped. The tone of his voice felt like daggers. It was obvious that he hadn't cooled off one bit. "What do you want, Katrina?"

"Whoa, okay," I chuckled. I made sure to keep my distance because I was unsure of the actions he would take. "I just wanted to have a quick word with you." He raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips slightly. He was obviously chewing on the inside of his cheek. It was as if being around me caused him pain. "How are you doing?"

He rolled his eyes and kept walking, picking up the pace a bit. Once he got to the door, he pushed it open and we were met with the bright daylight outside. I ran in front of him and blocked his way, cornering him. It was the only way to get him to talk to me. "Really?" he sighed.

"How the hell was I supposed to start the conversation, Carson?" I shouted. "Did you want me to come right out and tell you that the casual attitude you have suddenly gotten about schedules needs to knock it off? We haven't talked in a week. I was just being polite."

"I don't need you to be polite," he scoffed. "And I also don't need to take orders from you." He tried to push his way past me, but I stood my ground. What started out as bitterness quickly turned to anger. "You're lucky I show up at all!" he exploded. "I'm doing the bare minimum. I will do what is asked of me -- show up for events, play the shows -- but that's it." He ran his fingers through his matted hair and squeezed his eyes shut as he took a deep breath and tried to regain a little bit of composure. When he opened his eyes, they were a little red. "Minimal contact," he breathed. "That's the best I have right now. If it were up to me, I'd be on the next plane to LA."

The sudden change of his demeanor caught me off guard and I dropped my arms away from the wall, allowing enough of a gap for him to pass me by. These next few weeks would be rough, but what I feared the most was what would come after the tour ended.