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“You made that one up,” Logan said.

“I didn’t.” Zach tugged his shirt over his head, the glittery material catching the light even in the green room. “A group of squirrels is called a scurry.”

“I thought that was geese,” Nico said.

“You’re thinking of that song from the musical Oklahoma,” Logan said. “A group of geese is called a gaggle.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen a musical about Oklahoma,” Nico said as he tied his sneakers.

“How did you know what a group of geese is called?” Zach asked.

Logan shrugged. “Everyone knows that one.”

“Did you know that one?” Zach asked Beckett.

“Who gives a fuck about geese?” Beckett asked as he massaged body oil over his chest and abs. He hated the stuff and the greasy feel of it on his skin, but wardrobe swore it made the tattoos on his bare chest look better under the stage lights. If he was honest, making his ink pop on stage was the last thing on his mind, but he needed to do something to keep himself from tearing apart the whole arena until he found his brother. He might as well do the one thing wardrobe had asked of him.

“A group of tigers is called a—”

“Enough with the animal facts! Fuck!” Beckett barked, grabbing his leather jacket from the clothing rack.

Logan rested his hand on Beckett’s back, dropping his voice. “He’s going to be okay, Becks. Gideon will find him.”

Beckett shrugged his bandmate off. “What if he doesn’t?”

“He will,” Nico said. “Gid’s the best there is. And Jackson loves performing too much not to show.”

“We should think about what we do if they don’t find him,” Zach said.

“We go on without him,” Logan said.

“No,” Beckett said.

“Nico and Zach can take his solos—”

“No,” Beckett repeated, venom dripping from the single syllable. “We all go on or none of us do.”

“Becks, there’s a sold-out audience out there,” Logan said.

“A group of squid is called an audience,” Zach muttered.

The green room door swung open and all four heads turned in its direction as Jackson sauntered in, a smug look on his face. Beckett took a step in his direction, but Nico stopped him with a hand on his chest, immediately pulling his hand back with a disgusted look at the body oil now slicking his palm.

“Where were you?” Beckett demanded.

Jackson ignored him, calmly pulling off his plain white t-shirt and grabbing his black shirt from the wardrobe rack. Zach sidled up next to him, hanging on the rack with one hand. “You good?” he asked.

“Great,” Jackson replied with a smile that bordered on a sneer.

“You’re late,” Beckett snapped.

“Let’s all take the temperature down a few degrees,” Logan said, his eyes darting between the two brothers.

“I’m taking a walk.” Beckett pushed past his bandmates. He just needed to move, to get out of the small shared space, to get away from the anger rolling off his brother so thick it was suffocating.

“We’re on in ten,” Nico said.

Beckett raised his hand in acknowledgment as he shoved open the door and strode out into the hallway. He stalked down the underground passageway, not sure where he was going, but already feeling like he could breathe deeper. How the hell was he going to get through the entire show with this animosity simmering between him and his twin? Hopefully muscle memory would kick in and he could get through it on autopilot. Get through, get offstage, and get back to his hotel room, find out what the hell had happened with Kat and Derek. She hadn’t answered his last two texts.