Until you are as

broken and

Raw and

Vulnerable.

As you leave me.

(Rike’s poems to Peyton)

“I need you to come home,” he says the next morning. I peer at him over a cup of coffee and he sits down across from me. He’s dressed in a pair of loose flannel sleep, pants his chest bare except for ink. And my teeth marks.

I flush, and look away.

“Why?" I ask and his eyebrows rise.

I shake my head, "Why now? What's different about now?"

"Lindsay is being released from the hospital. Scott has talked her into coming home. But she needs her family. She needs you, just as much as she needs him. It's an all or nothing kind of thing."

"So, no pressure, right?" I joke, and he shakes his head.

"No, Pey. This is all the pressure. I'm not going to lie to you about that. Scott and Lindsay are doing worse than we are, and we aren't even living in the same fucking state since you moved in with Brody. We're falling apart. I don't know that Scott’ll survive losing Lindsay. I need you to come home, because I can't lose my best friend and the love of my life. And we don't work without all of us."

I reach for him, squeezing his hand. "You don't have to talk me into this, Rike. I'm in this. I know I've been distant. And I'm sorry; I had to be. I had to figure out who I am."

"I know. I'm sorry. I want to give you time—" He sighs. Shakes his head. "No, I don't. I want to take you home, lock you in our room, and fuck you until you can't remember a time when we weren't together. Until I'm a part of you, so fucking wrapped up in you that there is no you or me. Just us. That's what I've wanted since the day you opened your eyes. But I've given you time and space because I know that what I wanted wasn't what you needed and I love you too much to force you into something."

"You aren't," I protest, and he holds up a hand.

"Let me finish, Peyton," he says.

I fall silent, stung just a little. He huffs out a breath. "I love you. I always will. But I'm not going to force you into this because I do. Not when you can't remember loving me. I love you too much for that. I would walk away and wait for you to come to me. I would wait for you forever, if I had to. But Lindsay doesn't have that kind of patience. She never has. We need you to keep her and our family together. The only person who matters to me the way you do is Scott." His gaze is pleading and sad when he finally lifts those bright blue eyes to look at me. "He's my brother and he's falling apart, Peyton. She's talking about going to her parents’ house. About never coming home. He can't—he can't lose her."

I put my coffee down and lean forward, catching his hand in mine. Squeezing it until his gaze finds mine, so desolate and broken.

I did this. I left him. He's not seeing Lindsay leaving Scott, and how that will fall out. He's remembering me leaving him, and how fucking horrible it will be for his best friend to live through that same nightmare.

I hate that I've done that to him.

"Ok, Rike. Let's go home."

Chapter 25—: Before

It happens a few weeks before Christmas. We’ve been playing for increasingly busier crowds. More nights spent in bars and venues we’ve never been to than in Barrie’s. It’s caused a bit of a strain with him, but I’m following Scott’s lead—this is his dream, and I’ll follow wherever he chooses to chase it.

Ever since we played “Perfect Girl,” we've been growing. It's opened doors for Scott as a singer and me as a songwriter that neither of us expected. And the girls have cheered us along—Linds has worked almost as hard as Scott to find new venues and bands to open for, anything to get more exposure.

Anytime I wonder about her and how she feels about Scott, I remember that.

"See that guy?" she asks now, almost bouncing in her seat. "Black suit, red tie, looks like Simon Cowell's cuter younger brother?" I crane my head and see the dude she's talking about. The guy has been on his phone all night and Scott scowls in his direction. She raps the table sharply with one finger. "He's with an indie label out of Austin, up scouting talent in Nashville. I got a friend to pass him your demo."

"When did we make a demo?" I wonder, and Lindsay flicks me a longsuffering look. I hold up a hand in surrender.

"So he's interested in the guys?" Peyton says curiously.

"Yeah. So do good tonight." She leans into Scott, kissing him before she hops down and scurries for the bar. Peyton follows. They don't do bars alone, and they know we like a minute alone before we take the stage.

There are nerves in Scott's eyes when I look at him, unexpected nerves, and I lean forward. "Same shit, brother. Sing like we're still at Barrie’s.”

"We aren't though," he says, blowing out a breath. "This is real."

I nod. "But it's everything we've been working for. So. Embrace the real shit, dude.”

“The real shit is risky as hell,” he says.

I get it.

It's a risk every time we debut a new song, anytime we do a show anywhere that isn't Barrie's. There's comfort in the familiar old ruts but…"We get to decide who and what we are," I say quietly. Then I stand up and go to where the opening act is winding down, pulling my drumsticks. My koi winks up at me, a brilliant flare of color that grounds me while we ride the crowd's energy.

Scott bounds onto the stage a step ahead of me, and I let out a relieved sigh. The mood has passed and he's ready to perform.

***

"Gentlemen," a smooth voice says behind us. It cuts through Peyton's low murmur and Lindsay's excited chatter as they hug us and we order drinks. The set is over, just, and we're still surrounded by throbbing noise and the energy of the music. And the studio exec is staring at us with a smile on his face.

Real shit is scary as fuck.

"Hey, man," Scott says, disentangling from Lindsay and shaking the guy's hand. "Thanks for being here."

"It was a great set. I had a chance to listen to your demo. I don't think that last song was on it. What was the name?"

"Chosen," I say. Peyton's hand slips in mine and I smile at the dude, a tight, reserved smile, slipping easily into my role of quiet backup to Scott's cocky devil may care disregard "And it's new. We debuted it a few weeks ago."

Apparently, that was after the demo, but whatever.

"I think my bosses would like it. I'd like to arrange a meeting where you boys can play some for them and talk about what kind of future you have. Is that something you think you'd be interested in?"

Scott's tense and still at my side, and the girls seem far away. So does everything. Everything we've come from and tried to get past. He's not speaking, and I nod, for both of us. Taking that step that could change every fucking thing. "Yeah, dude. That would be fantastic. We'd love to talk."

The guy grins and slips us a business card and we exchange numbers, scribbling mine on the back of a cocktail napkin. He promises to call and then he's gone, slipping into the crowd and swallowed up, carrying the promise of so fucking much in his back pocket.

I look at Scott and laugh when I see the stunned look in his eyes. Sometimes, laughing is the only way to keep from breaking down.

It breaks the shock that's fallen over him and then he's screaming and I'm screaming, and the girls are laughing, shrieking as we pull them into the hug, celebrating everything that could possibly go right. She's got her arms around my neck, the scent of her hair in my nose, legs wrapped around my waist, and my best friend is happier than I've ever seen.