Doesn’t anyone else care? We used to work for days on a single verse to nail it because we wanted it to be perfect. Now we’re settling for this, like the songs we stayed up all night working on are something we can half-ass.
I start to open my mouth to say something, but I’m cut off.
“Fuck, that hurts.”
All eyes go to Lacey. Her brows are pinched and she has her index finger in her mouth.
Evelyn is the first to react, reaching to inspect where red blooms against Lacey’s skin. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I think there’s just a loose staple or nail in the couch. I should probably find a first-aid kit,” she says, turning from Evelyn to us on stage. “Drew, can you help?” I guess that’s what she calls him.
“Of course,” he says, concern carved in the lines of his face.
He abandons us on stage and guides her into the hall. Garrett and Jared set down their instruments and stretch, working tension from their shoulders.
“I wonder if we’ll even make it through the first song at this rate.” I sit on the edge of the stage.
“Stop being so hard on him,” Evelyn snaps. In an instant, she’s on her feet and in my face. Sweet as she may appear, she’s fierce when she wants to be.
“Why?” I bristle. “He hasn’t practiced. It’s obvious. Do you know how many people are going to be watching? This is our last performance, and he can’t even spare a few hours to prepare.” I gesture to the door. “He’s managed to get a girlfriend and keep that bar going.”
“Are you fucking dense?” she shouts. “Do you have any idea what the last few years have been like for him? I’m pretty sure the only reason he’s here is because of her.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, genuinely perplexed. Luca’s put as much effort into staying in touch with me as he has prepping for the reunion.
“He’s never felt like enough for you—any of you.” Evelyn steps back so she can get a good look at all of us. “And I’ve spent the last ten years trying to get my brother to talk to me and have an honest conversation about how he’s doing. You think he’s having a good time hiding away in Atlanta? He barely leaves the bar, rarely answers my texts. He’s struggling, and the only one of you who ever bothers to check in on him is Jared.” Her green eyes are practically glowing with years of pent-up frustration.
“I didn’t know.” My voice cracks.
“Of course you didn’t. You’re focused on the Wesley Hart Show.” She throws her hands in the air. “He might ruin one song, but you ruin people, Wes. I think we both know which is worse.”
Before I can say anything else, the door opens. Evelyn fixes a smile to her face and rushes over. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah, just a little cut. I was just being dramatic,” Lacey says.
“It was nice to have a break.” Luca looks down at Lacey, relief softening his features. It’s a punch to the gut. Of course, Lacey didn’t need his help, she made a fuss to give him a moment to collect himself.
To get away from me.
My mouth stays shut for the rest of the rehearsal, but the damage is done, not just today, but years ago.
I tore the band apart. I made that choice, knowing it would hurt all of us, but I thought the hurt would be temporary. That I’d be the only one having to deal with the fall out of what I did to protect them. But seeing Luca rattles me. What if I made the wrong choice? What if there was never a right choice to begin with?
The week of rehearsals drags on and I keep my mouth shut unless someone asks me a question. No reconciliation, just a push to make it through without making things worse.
The hotel I head back to every night only adds insult to injury. It’s where we stayed for our first ever headlining concert. Back then it was the nicest place any of us had ever stayed. Soaring ceilings dripping with chandeliers. Slabs of marble we ran across until we earned withering glances from staff. Now it’s mundane.
Instead of going to my room, I head to the bar and order a drink and watch as condensation weeps down my glass, seeping into the branded coaster.
“Gin and tonic, please,” a woman says to my right, taking a seat directly beside me.
A smile finds its way to my face before I even look up, but when I do my heart leaps. “I know you from somewhere.”
“I don’t think so, but I get that a lot. There’s this popstar with red hair that everyone accuses me of copying, but I did it first,” Avery says. She’s dressed casually, in a baggy T-shirt and jeans with her hair tied up in a bun. “Though, you do look familiar.”
“Did you—” I start, but she cuts me off, dashing my hopes before I can even finish the thought.
“I’m not in Atlanta for the rehearsal, Wes. I’m here to meet Lydia in a few days. I assume I don’t have to explain why since I know you’ve been reading the tabloids?”
