“Oh, please.” She rolls her eyes. “Not like you are with Penn. Trust me, as your best friend, I know the difference.”
“How?”
“Did you ever compliment Chad’s dick? Drunk or sober?” She arches a brow.
I purse my lips.
“That’s what I thought.” She goes to her room, yelling down the hall before she closes her door. “Stop holding out and get some of that nice-looking dick!”
32
PENN
My neck falls forward,my head dropping between my knees. My lungs constrict as I attempt to take a deep breath, waiting for the urge to puke to pass. I’ve been camped beside this toilet all night just in case. Nothing’s come up, but the sick feeling in my stomach refuses to go away. But it won’t. Not today anyway.
It’s been another sleepless night, but it’s nothing compared to how bad this day is going to suck—just like last year and the year before. Weird how your body can sense things before your brain even realizes what’s happening.
I’ve been so fucking busy I haven’t paid attention to the date in weeks, but yesterday, it hit—right in the chest—and I knew.
I checked my phone, which only confirmed what the tightness in my gut was telling me. It’s the anniversary of my dad’s death.Three years.It’s been three years since I last heard my dad laugh, hugged him, listened to one of his shit jokes, and since my family was whole. SinceIwas whole.
It doesn’t get easier. I don’t know why people say that. Imiss him just as much now as I did when it happened. I’ve just learned to cope better. Kind of.
The guys purposely scheduled shit this entire week to keep me busy, trying to keep me from spiraling. They must think if I’m busy, I won’t have time to think, to feel bad, or remember. I wish it were that easy. Unfortunately, even if my mind could somehow forget, my body would still feel it. A deep, hollow ache in my chest that makes it hard to breathe. Hard to function. Hard to even move with the profound anguish cutting through my bones.
A pit of despair swirls in my stomach, making me nauseous. I don’t eat, I sleep even less than usual, and the slightest thing will make me rage.
Every single thing takes maximum fucking effort.
I call my mom. This day is even harder for her, and it feels like shit knowing there’s nothing I can say or do to make it any easier. She doesn’t answer, but I didn’t expect her to. She’s probably working a double like she normally does. I leave her a message, telling her I love her.
I crawl in bed, lying awake—eyes on the ceiling—as the sun rises, making my room too damn bright, even with my blackout curtains. Right on cue, my phone rings. I make no move to reach for it. I know who it is. A minute later, it rings again. This time, I grab it. He’ll just show up here if I don’t answer.
“What?”
“Hey, man, wanna get breakfast? I’m fucking starving. I?—”
“Fuck off,” I growl, hanging up.
My phone is full of unread messages from our group chat, but I swipe them all away, not in the mood for them. I appreciate it. I know they mean well, but sometimes I wish they’d fuck off and let me wallow.
And as much as I don’t want to practice today, I will. Knowing it’ll hurt just a little less while I’m playing.
Minutes later, there’s a pounding at my door. I sigh, debating on leaving them out there, but they won’t stop and eventually, it’ll piss my neighbors off. I climb out of bed and let my best friends in.
“Why’s this so hard?Can’t we just hit record and play a fucking song?” Travis complains.
“It’s not a music video, Travis, it’s content. It’s supposed to be behind the scenes,” Tanner explains.
We’re working on a video for our YouTube channel, but we’d literally rather be doing anything else. We’ve been at it for hours but haven’t got shit to show for it. None of us want any part of the social media or marketing shit. Tanner tries, but at this point, I think he needs to give it up and hire someone. It was his idea to start posting more regularly with the possibility of a summer tour. We need to stay relevant and start creating hype, but it’s clear he’s as lost as we are.
“Just give me a minute. Take five,” Travis says, grabbing his phone and disappearing into his house.
“You good?” Tanner asks me.
“Yup.”
I feel him staring, but I ignore it. They always look a little harder this week, making sure I’m not crumbling into a pile of fucking nothing.
