He stretches his arms toward me. “Can I have your autograph?”

I take the pen and small notepad from him. “Sure, kid. Can you get me a cab?”

He nods vigorously as he takes back the signed paper. “No problem!”

While he scurries off, I check the messages on my phone.

Trip: Where the fuck are you?

Trip: Goddamn it. This shit is getting old. It’s not cool to take off and not tell anyone where you are. I need to talk to you.

Trip: ?????

The final text catches my attention.

Trip: I hope you at least show up tonight.

My brow furrows at that comment. I’ve only ever missed a couple shows, and I felt like a total piece of shit for doing it. I hadn’t realized we had a few early shows and may have been sleeping off the previous night’s activities. It wasn’t like I missed them on purpose, and yet that’s all Trip ever seems to remember lately. He’s conveniently forgotten all the times I’ve saved their asses. I fuck up and I never get to live it down.

I fire back a text telling him I’ll be there and slip my phone back in my pocket, just in time to hop in the cab that’s pulled up.

The ride over to the arena is pretty quick, which sucks. It used to excite me to spend time with my boys, but now I fucking dread it. None of us are on the same page anymore. Everyone is going in different directions, and our communication is shit.

Pulling up to the arena, I text Kyle to meet me out back and get me in through the crowd that’s already building. I don’t have a scrap of proof that I’m with the band and security can be real dicks if you don’t have a pass.

“How much longer?” the cabbie asks after five minutes of me refusing to get out until I see Kyle.

“Chill, dude. I’m good for it. Trust me.” He glances at me through the rearview mirror, and I can tell he’s having some serious doubts about whether I can pay the fare.

I glance down at my wrinkled clothes and the tats that cover most of my arms. Granted, I don’t exactly give off the best first impression right now, but damn, I hate it when people are judgmental.

Shrill screams from a group of fans surrounding the back gate catch my attention in time to see Kyle pass through the crowd alone. I dig my wallet out from my back pocket and pay the fare, along with a generous tip, before letting myself out of the cab.

Fans swarm around me, practically shoving pens and pieces of paper in front of my face begging for autographs, while dozens of flashes go off simultaneously. Kyle does his best to part the way for me as we push through to the gate.

Once inside, locked away from the fans, Kyle turns to me and hands me a backstage pass. “Where the hell were you? The guys are pissed.”

I pull the lanyard over my head, adjust my sunglasses on my nose, and shrug. “What’s new? They’re always pissed at me for one reason or another lately. They’ll get over me missing the stupid meeting. They never talk about anything other than scheduling more time off. It’s not like my vote ever gets taken into consideration anyhow.”

Kyle opens the door to the arena and motions me in. “I think they notice you being absent from more things than you realize.”

“Doubtful.”

I follow him through the maze of roadies, instruments, and stage props until my brother and the other guys come into view. The three of them stand there, talking quietly amongst themselves, until Riff glances up and notices me walking in their direction. He throws a swift elbow at Noel and nods toward me.

A strange vibe washes over me, and I can tell by the expressions on their faces that none of them are too happy with me right now.

Trip turns to look at me, contempt written all over his face. “Nice of you to grace us with your presence, asshole. Where were you?”

The sunglasses still covering my face shield the dramatic eye roll I’m giving him. “I was with Gabby.”

He narrows his eyes at me. “I thought you said you were done with that shit?”

“Not that it’s any of your fucking business, but I’m not using again.”

I hope Trip doesn’t see through the lie and figure out I’ve been dabbling a little on the white horse. I don’t need the headache that comes from dealing with him. Besides, I don’t have to report what I’m doing to him.

A harsh laugh rolls out of Trip’s mouth. “I suppose you just enjoy her fucking company. Come on, man, this is me you’re talking to. Your identical twin. Girls like Gabby Rodriguez are fast and easy; not exactly dating material. So don’t try and bullshit this bullshitter—I know the kind of shit you do when you’re with her.”

The condescending tone in his voice makes my blood boil. I don’t see where he gets off. He’s not our fucking father. I can do what I want, when I want. “Since when does what I do and with who affect you?” I swing my gaze to Noel and Riff, who are both watching our exchange intently. It’s time I let them all know how I feel. “Since when does my business affect any of you? All of you have your own fucking things going on. What does it matter if I’m out having a good time?”

Riff narrows his eyes. “It fucking matters when you miss important shit because you’re too high to remember your goddamn priorities. That’s the sixth band meeting you’ve blown off. Do you even know what the fuck is going on with the new album?”

I stare at him, the expression on my face blank. “What the fuck are you talking about? There’s absolutely nothing going on with the new album because I haven’t finished any of the fucking songs for it yet.”