Page 162 of My Three Billionaire Rockstars

“Wow,” he says. “Hello to you, too.”

“You called me.”

“You answer phones aggressively.”

“I answer everything aggressively. It’s a core personality trait.”

He laughs softly, but there’s a thinness underneath it today.

That catches my attention. “You okay?”

There’s a beat too long before he answers. “Not really.”

I slow at a stop sign. “What happened?”

A long exhale crackles through the speakers. “Dylan posted online.”

I close my eyes briefly. “Oh no.”

“Yeah.”

“What did he post?”

“Just a photo.”

“That doesn’t sound bad.”

“It’s him at our place.”

My stomach drops.

“The fans figured it out?”

“Immediately,” Julian says tiredly. “They’re already dissecting shadows and timestamps like the FBI.”

“That’s horrifying.”

“It’s actually impressive in a deeply unhealthy way.”

I can practically hear him rubbing his face. “What are they saying?”

“That The Last Rebels are signing with us. Or that The Lonely Ones are reuniting. Or that Dylan and Xander fought. Or that someone heard music through a wall and now there’s a conspiracy thread about a secret album.”

I blink. “People really need hobbies.”

“They think this is a hobby.”

I turn onto the next road, trees flashing gold green through the windshield.

“So,” Julian says lightly, in the exact tone people use when pretending they’re not losing their minds, “the house feels super relaxed today.”

“How bad?”

“Well, Xander looks like he wants to bury Gabe under the patio.”

I wince. Partly because I can imagine it perfectly. Partly because underneath all the anger last night, there’d been something worse in Xander.

Hurt.