Trevor whispered under his breath, “I think that’s your cue to leave, bro.”
“Yup!” I grabbed my guitar, shoved it in my case, and let the door slam behind me as I made my way into the dreary, salty ocean air.
It was raining.
Had been raining for ten days straight.
Seaside, Oregon, everyone!
I used to think this was a place people went to die or retire, or maybe just really embrace their depression. Instead, it turned out to be one of my favorite places in the world, to the point where I was spending more time on the off-season with my bandmates here than I was back in LA.
They were my family, after all. Even if we were still semi-dysfunctional, and it helped that another band of friends, AD2, lived here along with Zane Andrews, a guy I toured with and was also — surprise, fucking surprise — married with one kid and another on the way.
I’d lived the high life so long, literally, that the minute I got my shit together and jumped off the train, it was like I’d missed everything that was important about your twenties — all the lessons. Instead, I’d made all the mistakes, and now that I was thirty-six, kind of felt like I had nothing to show for it except a shit ton of money, fame, and scars from my past.
So many scars. So much baggage I was sick from it.
With a sigh, I put in my earbuds, and the tracks I’d laid earlier buzzed in my ears. I just needed the right lyrics. I made my way down the boardwalk, careful not to make eye contact.
When you made eye contact, people recognized you.
And wanted pictures.
And pictures meant smiling.
And talking.
And doing all the other useless things humans did when they were impressed with what other humans did for a living and wanted to use it to brag on Instagram.
I was so over it today. I didn’t have the mental or physical energy to put on the mask and grin at someone’s expensive phone.
And feeling lonely, if I was being completely honest. All my bandmates had someone, and it wasn’t like I hadn’t tried. Hell, I’d even taken out Penelope, Ty’s wife, before she gave me a firm no, put me in the friend zone, then promised to bother me forever until I found a wife who could actually put up with me — her words.
Maybe that was why I was complete shit at writing love songs.
The only love I’d ever experienced happened to me when I was in my teens then died a slow, painful death as I numbed myself with drugs, and now that I was in my thirties and touring again, while secretly trying to do a solo album, things just felt…
Stale.
That was the word.
Stale.
Like there was a path I was supposed to take, but nothing interested me enough to want to even take a step in any direction.
I dodged a group of girls as I made my way past the aquarium. Shrieks followed by whispers and then footsteps against the cement. I picked up my speed.
I was too slow.
A tap, tap, tap hit me in the back. “Are you Drew Amhurst?”
I hung my head. I wasn’t like the rest of the guys. I didn’t do fake smile well when I was stressed, and I’d never been so stressed in my entire life.
Slowly, I turned on my heel and stared at the brave girl who’d approached. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, pitch-black hair pulled back into a sleek low ponytail, and she had giant sunglasses covering her eyes. Her skin was flawless, her lips full. Huh.
Damn it! That word!
She looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t put my finger on why. Finally, I relaxed the breath I’d been holding and responded, “Who’s asking?”
I smirked down at her then widened my smile as her breathing quickened. Most girls didn’t know where to look: my nose ring, earrings, lip ring, multiple tattoos decorating my arms and chest, or the blinding, albeit semi-fake, smile.
I always gave them time to figure it out.
“Me.” She pointed to herself and then fidgeted with her iPhone. It had a pink case with a bunny on it. God, I’d never felt so old. “You’re my favorite — well, and my mom’s, though she would never admit it to your face. I was just wondering if I could get a picture?”
Fuck. At thirty-six, I was almost extinct, wasn’t I? Her mom? The hell!
“Did you know that every picture someone takes of me steals another part of my soul?” I said. What? It slipped! She had a bunny case! Calm your tits.
She gaped and then went completely pale.
I reached out and touched her shoulder. “I’m kidding. Relax.” Her body was warm and stiff beneath my fingers. I tilted my head at her while she nodded quickly.
“Yeah, sorry. It’s just been a really hard day.”
Somehow, I doubted she knew the meaning of the word hard with her designer sunglasses, Louis Vuitton purse, and acrylic nails, but I took her for her word and held out my hand. My black fingernails looked out of place against my long-sleeved white pullover, which was a completely random thing for me to notice and a little irritating, yet again reminding me that I’d been off.
She pressed the sleek phone into my hand, and I wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. Geez, she felt frail. I frowned a bit and then said, “Smile.”
I took three shots.
Her smile was hesitant. I didn’t pull away right away but felt like I should say something, I hated it when girls were insecure; hated, even more, when they starved themselves to death to try to obtain the perfect look that was nearly impossible to achieve.
“You should eat more,” I said softly. “You’ll waste away if you keep it up, beautiful.”
She stiffened even more. “You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me,” I fired back. “Not really. I just want you to know,
