As soon as Jane had entered the room—or at least, it certainly felt like it was as soon—she slipped out again, asking Rob to find her afterwards. Once the doors closed, all eyes locked onto Rob. 

“So she’s cool,” David said first. His inflection was difficult to read, so Rob tried to pay it no mind. 

“She certainly handles press better than I do,” Rob said, before the conversation turned to other matters. 

An hour or so later, Rob’s phone buzzed—[i]Harold.[/i]

“Sorry,” Rob said. “Manager.” He slipped into the hallway, and across to the vacant bathroom, before closing the door and answering the call.

“Before you tell me to fuck off,” Harold said, “just let me talk.”

Rob’s silence affirmed his agreement. Harold continued.

“I’ve been busy as hell setting a tour bus up for the Europe trip,” he started. “I’ve got that driver I had you guys meet earlier agree to it, but we need two more people. A merch guy and a sound guy. And since Sam and Austin agreed to let you and Jane figured it out, I figured I’d run it by you. Any ideas?”

Rob’s mind was thrown for a bit of a loop. He hadn’t expected such a conversation at the party. He knew Europe was going to be quite the trip, but needing [i]crew?[/i] Like, their own personal crew? Perhaps he had blocked it out, but he truly had forgotten just [i]how much[/i] revenue they were generating. It reminded him of Trent had said one of the first times they had met:

[i]“We’re just stating on our national circuit,” Trent said, “But at the rate you guys are going, I’m surprised your manager hasn’t set you up on an international tour.”[/i]

Well he certainly was now. 

“I don’t know,” Rob said, buying just a few more moments to think. His mind flashed to one of his only friends outside of the band; Aaron. 

The two had gone on their own skating sessions over the course of high school, but drifted apart slowly once his friendship with Jane had grown. He and Rob had their own social groups—Aaron was drawn more towards a music-loving scene, and Rob to a music-creating one. In fact, Aaron had his own little record ship on Long Beach, and was always talking about a new turntable or pre-amp he had bought off some old bum during their quarterly phone conversations. He knew Aaron was much more content talking about music than making it, and had even set up In Bloom to have a limited vinyl pressing for [i]Ways and Means.[/i] 

“What about Aaron?” Rob said. “He could be open to it.”

“To do what?” Harold said. “He doesn’t know shit about sound.”

“He runs a shop,” Rob replied. “He can handle merch.”

“Fair,” Harold shot back. “We can’t have him on a decent payroll, but if he wants to do it for essentially free, he could. Once Europe ends we’ll probably need to keep crew on for the last leg of the American tour.”

Rob tried to contain his own shock at some of the conversations he was happening. A small voice in his head ran off: [i]is this really happening?[/i] “Jane could probably get you someone for sound better than I could.”

“I’ll call her sometime.” Harold voice dropped about a half-octave. “So about the podcast.”

[i]Shit.[/i]

“I uh,” Harold continued, “I’ve been thinking about it. I got a little carried away with the any-press-is-good-press mantra. And don’t get me wrong; the internet’s on your side on this one. But I’d like it better if you all worked together.”

They were unexpected words from Harold but still no less appreciated. 

“Yeah,” Rob said, hoping Harold would continue. And he did.

“So, from now on I’m booking these interviews with the pretense that they don’t talk about your personal life. I mean, I can’t control what they ask you, but know if they do, it’s not coming from me.”

Rob wasn’t sure if he was mad at Harold for admitting he had egged them on from the sidelines to be angry, or relieved that he would stop manipulating them. In the end, he was a little bit of both.

“So the internet’s on my side?” Rob asked, repeating Harold’s words.

“Well,” he started, “No one hates you for it.”

“Jane does.”

“I can’t control that. I’m just saying most people respect that you tried to keep your personal life under wraps.”

[i]So why didn’t Jane?[/i]

“Uh, thanks.” Rob said. 

“I just need to you not harp on the single,” Harold said. “You all but said you didn’t like it on that podcast, and I really don’t need it repeated.”

“That I can do.” 

“Good.”

The two remained silent for a moment, before: “Let’s try to work together, alright? Talk to you soon.”

“Alright,” Rob said, before hanging up the phone. Harold seemed a bit more honest, for the first time. And hearing his own manager saying he was right for going off on the podcast just confused him more about Jane. [i]Why did he get berated for trying to defend their private life?[/i] He supposed part of it lay in the single he had criticized, but he had been so careful as to not say he didn’t like it. Only that he didn’t like it as much. Any fan watching him during the times they played it could’ve told him that. 

And why did he care so much? He had become so vulnerable over the past few days. Hearing Anna call him a creep and tearfully admitting his feelings to Jane were just a few things he felt sensitive about. And sensitive was not usually what he was. Overthinking and pragmatic were.

Trying to brush it off, he pulled out his phone and texted Zoe:

[i]11:54, Rob:[/i] [b]I’ve got to go. Tell the guys I had a good time.[/b]

[i]11:57, Zoe:[/i] [b]Why didn’t you text them yourself?[/b]

[i]11:59, Rob:[/i] [b]I guess I wanted you to know too, I guess.[/b]

[i]12:00, Zoe:[/i] [b]Well, I’m glad you did.[/b]

Zoe was just another enigma that he was confused about, and he was confused enough already. He made his way outside, and found the rest of his bandmates, before all of them headed back to the room. They had come a long way from the beginning of the tour; knowing how early they would need to wake up for the trip early tomorrow. They had an acoustic set, of all things, once they arrived at Chicago (for which he would be regulated to an acoustic box and drum brushes—ugh) and a late night set. The acoustic set in particular was being recorded for Spotify Sessions, so the pressure was surely on for that. It would be best if they all just turned in. 

Back at the hotel, Rob looked around to the peeled walls and couldn’t help but feel like it resembled what had happened to him in this city. How exposed he felt. His mind more returning to it’s usual, aloof self. He showered quickly to clear out his head, and took Jane by the hand once he had dried off.

“Come on,” he said softly, “let’s just go to bed.”

He crawled into bed, held Jane to him, and hoped tomorrow would be a better day.