“You’ll come get me?”
“You’ll be okay to play?”
I rolled my eyes and shoved through the crowd again. Snagging a case of beer, I went out the back door and inhaled. I needed the crisp air since the air inside was stifling. My lungs had started to constrict. Veering to a few vacant seats I had spotted at the edge of the yard, I passed a large group of people hanging out on the patio. Grateful for the trees surrounding me and blocking me from view, I plopped down, set the case beside me, and opened my first beer of the night.
I hadn’t made it a habit of playing while I was drunk, but I knew I could do it. I could handle Callen; they weren’t as good as my old band—I stopped thinking and downed the beer.
“Don’t do that.”
My hand clenched around the beer can, and I gritted my teeth. Of course, he would be here. Twisting around, I glimpsed Elijah emerging from the trees surrounding me. He dropped to the chair beside me. Pointing his lit cigarette to the beer, he said, “Give me one.”
I did, but scowled. “‘Don’t do’ what?”
He leaned back, finished his cigarette, and opened his beer. “You look ready to drown your sorrows or whatever cliché shit that is.”
“What are you doing here?”
He laughed and shoved his free hand into his sweatshirt, then took a long pull from his beer. “I’m at a party. What do you think?”
“You’re selling.”
He shrugged. “Who cares if I am? Pretty Boy’s gone. From my viewpoint, it looks like you need a friend. So,” he angled his chin up with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “do you need a friend, Bria?”
“It’s still not Bria.”
“But you need a friend, don’t you?”
“Not you.”
He scoffed, finishing his beer. He held out his hand, and I put another beer in it. Then he shrugged again, slumping down in his chair and getting even more comfortable. “Get the stick out of your ass. Pretty Boy isn’t here anymore. I am and you need someone around you that you trust. I know you don’t trust that new band you joined. They look like a bunch of pussies.”
“I don’t trust yo—”
“Yes, you do,” he cut me off, and it was true. I did trust Elijah. I didn’t approve of some of the things he did, but I trusted him. He asked, “Are you okay? No bullshit. Are you okay?”
I shrugged.
He laughed, the sound bitter and short. “Stop moping. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up,” he shot back. “What’s your problem? Your boy’s on tour. Who cares? He’ll be back.”
I finished my beer and threw the empty can at him. He deflected it, and I rolled my eyes. “You just asked if I was okay, and now you’re telling me I’m okay. Make up your mind.”
“I did. I changed my mind. You’re back here getting drunk, waiting for your band to play, and sulking because you’re not with Pretty Boy. Get over yourself, Bria.” He had first been amused, but all humor slid away. He was frustrated now. I saw it simmering in the depths of his eyes. “You don’t have problems, Bria. You told your guy the truth, and he left, but he’ll be back. He’ll always come back to you. Your life isn’t over. Me,” his eyes fell flat as he finished, “I have problems. Things you don’t want to hear about.”
I glared at him, but there wasn’t much heat to it. He didn’t know. He didn’t know Luke like I—
“Your boy came to see me.” He finished his second beer and pulled out his cigarettes to light another one. As he touched the cigarette to his lip, breathing in and taking a drag, I waited until he let it back out. Smoke filled the air, covering the space between us before he added, “The morning before they left.”
After we had made love.
Elijah added, “I’m supposed to watch over you. I’m supposed to stay away from you, but watch over you at the same time. If you can figure that out.”
I had to laugh at that. “You’re asking me to believe that Luke would ask you to watch over me?”
He shrugged, letting out more smoke. “I’m supposed to keep my distance from you, except, you know,” he waved his cigarette around, “in case I find you like this or in some other jam.” The somber mask faded, and the corner of his lip formed a crooked grin. “So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you okay?”
I growled, exasperated by this conversation. “You’re giving me whiplash. Stop it. Am I okay? I’m okay. I don’t have any problems, and now you’re asking me again if I’m okay?”
He laughed, finishing his second cigarette and then his beer. The finished cigarette was dropped into his empty can. He handed it over. “You’re not thinking ‘poor me’ shit anymore, are you?”
I had opened my mouth to retort, but it clamped shut again. He was right. All the pain from before was gone. I sighed. “You’re right. I’m just annoyed now.”
“No, you aren’t.” He took my beer, finished it, and grabbed my hand. Pulling me up with him, he slapped my ass as soon as I was on my feet. “You got that fighting spirit back. That’s what I did for you.”
He was right. I shoved him away, though. “Whatever. You just like to mess with my mind.”
“Yeah, you know that’s what I do best.” He tugged me after him and we started back for the house. When it was time to go back on stage, I took my seat and looked out over the crowd. Luke and my brother had the same view, but it was bigger. They were making a name for themselves.
Well, fuck them.
I grabbed my drumstick and twirled it in my hand before slamming it down. I’d make my own name, with or without them.
We were flying back.
My gut was in knots, and I hated it. The year had been amazing. The label sent us on a mini-tour, wanting to test out some of our new music. The response had been great, so great that we were pulled back to finish the album and sent out again on a world tour. Everything happened so quickly. Our songs went to the top of the charts. We were asked for interviews. Girls tried to sneak into our rooms and onto our tour buses. Other musicians, bands, and celebrities reached out in congratulations.
It was a whirlwind. It was amazing. It was our dream come true, but the craziness was starting to die down a little bit, and we were on our way home for our first break.
“You’ll be okay to play?”
I rolled my eyes and shoved through the crowd again. Snagging a case of beer, I went out the back door and inhaled. I needed the crisp air since the air inside was stifling. My lungs had started to constrict. Veering to a few vacant seats I had spotted at the edge of the yard, I passed a large group of people hanging out on the patio. Grateful for the trees surrounding me and blocking me from view, I plopped down, set the case beside me, and opened my first beer of the night.
I hadn’t made it a habit of playing while I was drunk, but I knew I could do it. I could handle Callen; they weren’t as good as my old band—I stopped thinking and downed the beer.
“Don’t do that.”
My hand clenched around the beer can, and I gritted my teeth. Of course, he would be here. Twisting around, I glimpsed Elijah emerging from the trees surrounding me. He dropped to the chair beside me. Pointing his lit cigarette to the beer, he said, “Give me one.”
I did, but scowled. “‘Don’t do’ what?”
He leaned back, finished his cigarette, and opened his beer. “You look ready to drown your sorrows or whatever cliché shit that is.”
“What are you doing here?”
He laughed and shoved his free hand into his sweatshirt, then took a long pull from his beer. “I’m at a party. What do you think?”
“You’re selling.”
He shrugged. “Who cares if I am? Pretty Boy’s gone. From my viewpoint, it looks like you need a friend. So,” he angled his chin up with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “do you need a friend, Bria?”
“It’s still not Bria.”
“But you need a friend, don’t you?”
“Not you.”
He scoffed, finishing his beer. He held out his hand, and I put another beer in it. Then he shrugged again, slumping down in his chair and getting even more comfortable. “Get the stick out of your ass. Pretty Boy isn’t here anymore. I am and you need someone around you that you trust. I know you don’t trust that new band you joined. They look like a bunch of pussies.”
“I don’t trust yo—”
“Yes, you do,” he cut me off, and it was true. I did trust Elijah. I didn’t approve of some of the things he did, but I trusted him. He asked, “Are you okay? No bullshit. Are you okay?”
I shrugged.
He laughed, the sound bitter and short. “Stop moping. It’s not the end of the world.”
“Shut up.”
“You shut up,” he shot back. “What’s your problem? Your boy’s on tour. Who cares? He’ll be back.”
I finished my beer and threw the empty can at him. He deflected it, and I rolled my eyes. “You just asked if I was okay, and now you’re telling me I’m okay. Make up your mind.”
“I did. I changed my mind. You’re back here getting drunk, waiting for your band to play, and sulking because you’re not with Pretty Boy. Get over yourself, Bria.” He had first been amused, but all humor slid away. He was frustrated now. I saw it simmering in the depths of his eyes. “You don’t have problems, Bria. You told your guy the truth, and he left, but he’ll be back. He’ll always come back to you. Your life isn’t over. Me,” his eyes fell flat as he finished, “I have problems. Things you don’t want to hear about.”
I glared at him, but there wasn’t much heat to it. He didn’t know. He didn’t know Luke like I—
“Your boy came to see me.” He finished his second beer and pulled out his cigarettes to light another one. As he touched the cigarette to his lip, breathing in and taking a drag, I waited until he let it back out. Smoke filled the air, covering the space between us before he added, “The morning before they left.”
After we had made love.
Elijah added, “I’m supposed to watch over you. I’m supposed to stay away from you, but watch over you at the same time. If you can figure that out.”
I had to laugh at that. “You’re asking me to believe that Luke would ask you to watch over me?”
He shrugged, letting out more smoke. “I’m supposed to keep my distance from you, except, you know,” he waved his cigarette around, “in case I find you like this or in some other jam.” The somber mask faded, and the corner of his lip formed a crooked grin. “So, are you?”
“Am I what?”
“Are you okay?”
I growled, exasperated by this conversation. “You’re giving me whiplash. Stop it. Am I okay? I’m okay. I don’t have any problems, and now you’re asking me again if I’m okay?”
He laughed, finishing his second cigarette and then his beer. The finished cigarette was dropped into his empty can. He handed it over. “You’re not thinking ‘poor me’ shit anymore, are you?”
I had opened my mouth to retort, but it clamped shut again. He was right. All the pain from before was gone. I sighed. “You’re right. I’m just annoyed now.”
“No, you aren’t.” He took my beer, finished it, and grabbed my hand. Pulling me up with him, he slapped my ass as soon as I was on my feet. “You got that fighting spirit back. That’s what I did for you.”
He was right. I shoved him away, though. “Whatever. You just like to mess with my mind.”
“Yeah, you know that’s what I do best.” He tugged me after him and we started back for the house. When it was time to go back on stage, I took my seat and looked out over the crowd. Luke and my brother had the same view, but it was bigger. They were making a name for themselves.
Well, fuck them.
I grabbed my drumstick and twirled it in my hand before slamming it down. I’d make my own name, with or without them.
We were flying back.
My gut was in knots, and I hated it. The year had been amazing. The label sent us on a mini-tour, wanting to test out some of our new music. The response had been great, so great that we were pulled back to finish the album and sent out again on a world tour. Everything happened so quickly. Our songs went to the top of the charts. We were asked for interviews. Girls tried to sneak into our rooms and onto our tour buses. Other musicians, bands, and celebrities reached out in congratulations.
It was a whirlwind. It was amazing. It was our dream come true, but the craziness was starting to die down a little bit, and we were on our way home for our first break.
