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“Asshole,” Beckett muttered with a chuckle, his chest tight at the idea of performing without his twin. Why did he feel like he was the one with the broken ribs?

“Besides, it’ll be like I’m there. You’ll all be singing my songs.” Jackson turned his head to meet his brother’s eyes, a heaviness to his expression that felt like a punch in the gut. “The new song I was writing for you. It’s still missing something.”

“Don’t worry about that right now,” Beckett said.

“I wrote it down. It’s in my bag back at the hotel. Take it. Finish it. Zach will help you.”

“It’s your song.”

Jackson shook his head. “It’s yours. I wrote it for you.” He turned his head to look out the window at the city. His voice was quiet when he spoke again, eyes trained on the lights below. “I don’t want to be like him.”

Him. Their father. Yet another thing they never talked about.

Beckett shook his head vehemently. “You’re not.”

“I am. Right now, I am.” He flicked his eyes towards his brother then back out the window. “I’m going to do better.”

“We’ll do better together,” Beckett said.

Jackson huffed out a mirthless laugh. “You can’t do this one with me, Becks.” He scrunched up his face as if he were holding back an onslaught of all the ugly feelings they never talked about. “I asked the doc to help me find a place for when I’m released. A rehab, I guess. Somewhere warm, with a lot of sun. Somewhere I can go right away. I think if I wait… I’ll find a reason not to go. You know?”

Beckett’s nose stung, and he blinked back the unwelcome display of emotion. “We’ll find you someplace good.”

“Maybe with a pool,” Jackson said with a soft sort of half smile. “Always wanted to be one of those rock stars who did yoga and got all enlightened and shit.”

He set his hand on Jackson’s forearm. He squeezed his arm before letting his hand fall away, still uncomfortable with the display of affection. “Proud of you, Jackie.”

“Don’t be. I haven’t done anything to be proud of yet.”

“You have.”

A nurse in pale green scrubs poked his head in the hospital room door. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hayes. We need to ask you to step out for a minute.”

Beckett patted the edge of Jackson’s bed and ducked out into the hall. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he saw multiple missed calls and texts. The first one was from a reporter at Superfan who regularly covered music industry news and contained a link to a video. As the video began to play, his stomach dropped.

“What the fuck did you do?” Beckett shouted as he stalked across the hospital parking lot towards Derek.

When he’d returned to the family room, Kat and Derek were both gone, his bandmates staring quietly at each other in a state of shock. Nico and Logan had haltingly shared what they’d been told, that Kat had been fired, effective immediately, and within a few hours would be on a plane back to Boston. Zach wouldn’t even look at him.

By the time Beckett made it down to the hospital lobby, Derek was watching a town car pull away from the curb, no doubt taking Kat back to the hotel.

“How’s your brother?” Derek asked calmly.

“What did you do?” Beckett demanded again.

Derek crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels, putting space between himself and the furious pop star. “She violated the terms of her contract.”

“She isn’t responsible for Jackson’s shitty decision making,” Beckett said through gritted teeth.

“You’re right. She’s responsible for her own.”

Beckett scoffed.

“Failure to report serious medical concerns about an artist. Failure to ensure the safety of the artist.”

“Jackson—”

“Lying to the press. Failure to disclose a personal, intimate relationship with a member of the band.”