I held Tyler close as we lay on the hotel bed. It was an unusual sensation to be the one comforting him instead of the other way around.
"I don't know what to do," he repeated for the tenth time. I gently ran my fingers through his hair, offering whatever solace I could as he clung to the hem of my t-shirt. His strength had always been his words, but now they seemed to fail him.
"I'm gonna have to cancel," he finally admitted.
"Cancel?" I repeated, my brows furrowing.
"The tour."
I quickly leaned back, searching his tear-streaked face for any sign of doubt. "Tyler, you can't just—"
"What am I going to do, Wren?!" he snapped, his frustration boiling over. "I don't have a fucking drummer. I can't perform."
My heart ached for him, and I knew the weight of his predicament was crushing him. "I know-"
"I don't think you do," he whispered, tears welling up in his eyes. It was painful to see him like this, so lost and vulnerable. As Tyler announced that he needed to take a shower, he grabbed his bag from the floor. The bathroom door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the room.
I crawled into the second bed, the cool sheets a stark contrast to the warmth that had enveloped me just moments ago. I knew that this was a stupid idea, a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I couldn't bear to see Tyler like this. Because of me.
Before Ty's shower was over, I silently packed all of my belongings, leaving a note from the hotel's notepad atop the nightstand with my room key on top.
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My shaking fingers managed to pick the right contact and press call. I paced the lobby as I waited for an answer.
"What?" He huffed into the phone as soon as the ringing stopped.
"Hi." I spoke softly, my voice almost inaudible.
"Hey?"
"You're going back home, right?"
"Yes?" There was a long pause, probably the longest two minutes of my life, before I found the words to speak again.
"Can I go with you?"
"What? What about Tyler?"
lI just want to go home." I answered quietly again. "Please take me home."
