As our car took us to our hotel, Matt laid out the plans for the day. “Okay, we’ve got two radio gigs today, then Live with Johnny tonight.” I puffed out an irritated breath at hearing that last one and Matt tossed me a glare. “Get over it, Griffin. It’s a big show with a big audience, and we need to be on it.”

“Dude’s an asshole. I don’t see why we need to do anything for him,” I muttered.

Matt ran a hand through his short hair. I swear he had less of it now. The stress of running the band and planning his wedding was getting to him. I might have felt sorry, but he was the one who’d had Denny line up this gig, so I didn’t. I hoped all his hair fell out. He should have known better than to go back to Johnny’s. The guy was famous for being an ass to his “guests.” He was like the evil love child of Ricky Gervais and Simon Cowell. Nobody who went on that show came out unscathed, but we were all supposed to be okay with being insulted. It was “part of the act” as Denny frequently told me. Whatever. Guy was a douche; the last time we’d gone on the show, he’d basically ignored the rest of the guys and ragged on me the entire time, insulting me in odd ways that I weren’t even sure were insults, but I was sure I didn’t like it. Smart-ass, pansy-loving jerkwad.

“I know he’s not the nicest host…but we’re not doing the show for him, we’re doing it for us. He has a very loyal, almost cultlike following, and if he says, ‘Buy their album,’ then that’s what they’ll do.”

Rolling my eyes, I countered with “And if he says, ‘These guys are tools, don’t give them the time of day,’ that’s what they’ll do. We should just ignore him. There are plenty of other late-night talk shows out there.”

Matt leaned back in his seat. “You don’t have to talk to him. Just sit back and let us do the work. You’re good at that.” The last part was really quiet, but I still heard it. Matt was starting to sound just like Johnny. Assholes.

After a brief rest at the hotel, we headed out for radio gigs. Like always, Kellan stole the show. All the questions were directed at him, and all the answers came from him. Occasionally, I would try to interject something, but more often than not, I was ignored. Or given a polite, dismissive laugh that clearly said, Cute, but please be quiet and let us talk to the real star. After the second gig, I was sick of interviews. Interviews about Kellan, that was. I was more than ready to talk about me and my still-secret upcoming project. Nobody asked though, and I couldn’t volunteer the information yet. God, I hoped Harold had good news soon.

Anna called me that night while we were driving to Johnny’s studio. “So, how’s it going?”

“Same old, same old,” I said. “All Kellan, all the time…” Kellan was talking on the phone too, probably to Kiera, so he didn’t hear me. He was smiling, laughing, and looking genuinely pleased with every aspect of his life. Maybe he got a high from keeping me under his thumb.

Anna sighed. She hated it when I said stuff like that. “You’re a star too, babe. The brightest in my sky.” She sighed again. “Hurry home. The girls and I miss you.”

The thought of my three girls at home, all missing me, made a brightness flare up inside me. Even if Kellan stole the show at work, I was the center of their world, and that was really comforting. “Yeah, I miss you guys too. Make sure you all watch Johnny’s show tonight, especially Gibson. I want her to see her dad rock the house.”

Anna laughed. “We wouldn’t miss it. But if he spends the entire interview slamming you again, I might have to reach through the TV and strangle him.”

My wife was so fucking awesome. “Please do. I hate that cocksucker.” After Anna agreed with my sentiment, I told her to give the girls a kiss for me. She said she would, then we hung up. With Anna having my back, I felt a little better about this upcoming performance and interview. Let that fucker try and make me look stupid. I dared him to.

When we got to the studio, we were led in through the back and politely hidden away from the world by a girl with headphones and a clipboard. She stared at Kellan the entire time she explained what amenities were available for us.

She gave Kellan a bright smile and didn’t leave until he thanked her. It made me roll my eyes. There are four of us, chica. Maybe we needed something. Looking around, I asked the guys, “Want to bail and go check out the nightlife around here? It’s been a while since I’ve kicked your guys’ asses at Find-a-Skank.”

They all shook their heads; Evan even yawned.

“Fine,” I muttered. When did our band become such sticklers for the rules? We used to be rebels. We used to be rock stars. We used to shun responsibility and laugh in the face of order. Chaos ruled our lives. I missed those days.

What felt like hours later, Kellan’s starry-eyed PA came in to tell us a commercial break was happening soon and we needed to get ready. We followed her to the stage, waited for the light to change to signal that a commercial was in progress, then stepped out from behind the curtain to take up our instruments.

The crowd watching the recording went nuts when they saw us. Johnny threw up both of his hands and snapped, “Save it for the camera, people!” They shushed a little, but the occasional “I love you, Kellan!” rang through the space between us and them.

Tossing on a fake smile, Johnny, the man too awesome to have a last name, strode our way. I clenched my jaw as he approached us. Douche was plastered in heavy makeup, giving him the appearance of a tan that he didn’t really have. “Boys! So good to have you back. Kellan, you’re our number one requested artist.” He stretched out his hand to Kellan, and Kellan, being the ambassador of goodwill that he was, shook it.

“Thank you for having us. It’s an honor to be on the show.”

I snorted after hearing Kellan’s words. Honor, my ass. It was an obligation, nothing more. My derisive noise got Johnny’s attention. His pudgy face swiveled my way, and his cordial smile twisted to smugness. “New member?” he asked. Extending his hand to me, he said, “You must be thrilled to be a part of the band. I’m Johnny, welcome to my show.”

I didn’t take the fucker’s hand. Brown hair or not, he knew full well that I was an original member of the band. “Bite me, cornhole.” Matt elbowed me in the ribs, but I didn’t care. My comment had finally wiped the smile from Johnny’s face.

“Articulate as always,” he said, then that damn smile came back. “See you boys after your set.”

Matt grabbed my elbow. “Don’t make a scene,” he hissed. “Just do your job.”

I shoved him away from me. “I’m nothing but professional…so step off, ass munch.”

Matt scrubbed his face with his hands, then stopped and took a deep cleansing breath. “It’s going to be fine,” he muttered to himself before turning to his instrument.

“Of course it is,” I answered him as I picked up my bass. “I’m here, aren’t I?”

None of the guys responded to my encouraging comment, but they didn’t really have time to anyway. The commercial break was ending. A crew member off-screen was giving Johnny a countdown, and his face split into a cheesy grin when the guy signed zero—showtime.

“Welcome back. Without further ado, ladies and gentlemen, I give you…the D-Bags!” He swished his hands our way and the cameras directly in front of us turned on. The well-trained crowd screamed louder than when they saw us the first time.

Evan tapped out a rhythm to start us off, then we took off. We played our new single, the song we’d been promoting nonstop for the past couple of weeks. I was glad this was the last time we’d be playing it for a while. I needed a break. Or at least variety. The same song over and over was killing me.

When we finished, I nearly said, “Thank God,” but I didn’t. Restraint was quickly becoming my new middle name.