So far, Justin hadn’t lost the staring contest…but he hadn’t won, either.

His uncle slouched across from him with quiet ease, like a fifth of Jack poured into a chair. He smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and old beer. Or, rather, he looked like he should smell of those things—road-weary rock stars usually did. But all Justin had smelled since he’d arrived was warm salt and citrus, as if this frivolous island had been made out of dreams and oranges.

Justin leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. His skin was just as tan and tattooed as his uncle’s, his jeans just as worn and his boots just as scuffed. He wasn’t sure if he should be pleased or annoyed at the similarity, so he felt both, with a side of frustration. “Why am I here?”

His uncle didn’t answer right away. Instead, he brushed his long hair behind one diamond-studded ear and draped an arm across the back of his chair. “You’ve heard of a come-to-Jesus, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, consider this a come-to-Donny.”

Justin clenched his teeth. He wanted to punch something, break something, drink something, snort something. But doing any of those things would have solidified their image of him as an irredeemable rebel so he forced himself to remain as still as a stone. It didn’t matter who he was—if he even knew who he was anymore. The lesson that had been drummed into his brain over the last six months was clear enough: perception was everything.

“I know why I’m in America,” said Justin. “Why am I on this particular side of it?” He pointed behind him, where a high arched window framed a ridiculously picturesque beach with white sand, palm trees, and fluffy white clouds in an impossibly blue sky. Not that Justin minded the coast; this was just the wrong one.

A storm on that annoyingly perfect horizon would have done wonders to ease his mind. Justin had never before wished for a hurricane, but he wished for one now. Some serious act of God to illustrate his violent mood without words or fists.

“You need a babysitter.”

Justin ground his teeth harder. His uncle wasn’t wrong. Justin did need something, maybe even someone to look out for him…but he could have done without the condescension. His flighty mum had moved him from Australia to California when he was just a kid. She’d promised a better life for both of them, but in reality they’d just shifted from one toxic environment to another. Out of the frying pan, into the fire.

And boy, had he burned.

“Listen. I like this about as much as you do. But I’ve seen more than my fair share of talented people go down dark paths and never come back. My baby sister might be one of them.”

“Might be?” Justin scoffed. His mother was a butterfly, flitting from pretty flower to pretty flower. She had no idea how dark the path around her had grown, or how it affected the son she’d pulled along with her.

“Let me worry about Grace. Right now, you just worry about you.” His uncle’s fingers twitched, as if subconsciously playing a guitar solo, or itching for one of the cigarettes Aunt Ona believed he didn’t smoke anymore. “You’re old enough to make your own choices, but you’re still young enough for someone else to take the responsibility of pulling you back from the edge of the abyss.”

Justin snorted at that one. “And you’re my catcher in the rye?”

Donny cracked a smile at the comment. “I always did like you, kid. There are still a few functioning brain cells left in that thick head of yours, which is why I think you have a shot. Do me a favor and take it, will you?”

Justin wanted to tell his uncle where to stick his favor…and break a few things on the way out of the perfect room. But Justin had been clean for long enough now to recognize a decent chance when he saw it. “So what, you’re gonna tie a noose around my neck and drag me behind the Z-Train?”

A gruesome image, to be sure, but Justin only said it to get a rise out of Donny. Ruffle his feathers a bit. A remark like that would have sent his mum through the roof.

His uncle, on the other hand, just kept grinning like a cat. “I’m giving you to Xander.”

“WHAT? That asshole? You can’t be serious.”

Just the thought was ridiculous. Xander wasn’t a nurse or a bodyguard…hell, Xander was barely older than Justin. All through grade school they’d been great band mates and better friends. Now, Justin couldn’t stand the sight of him, and Xander had made it known in no uncertain terms that the feeling was mutual.

Xander was the luckiest son of a bitch on the planet—everything he touched turned to gold. He was frontman for a constantly touring up-and-coming indie band. Their third studio and fifth live album was due to come out later that year. Xander had steady gigs, and worse—a steadier girlfriend with a Real Job who was crazy enough to love the fact that her boyfriend was absent seventy percent of the year.

Even when Xander screwed up, he didn’t screw up half as badly as Justin. Xander was the perfect rockstar son that Donny the Rock God never had. And with their history, Xander certainly wasn’t going to do Justin any favors.

“Xander’s just going to let me play in his band?”

Donny shrugged noncommittally. “Up to Xander. Yesterday their publicist announced a little side-tour throughout Florida over the next few weeks. Due to the last-minute booking, they’ll need a bassist. But you’ll have to audition first.”

“What?”

“Today, as a matter of fact.”

“What?”

“For a wedding here at the resort.”

Justin couldn’t bring himself to say “what” again, so he let out a series of curses instead.

“Look kid, I don’t care if you’re on stage, or if you’re a grip who makes sandwich runs. You’re Xander’s problem now, and will remain his problem until you can prove to me that you finally have your shit together. Xander’s band is performing today as a personal favor to me. The Florida tour, this olive branch, is a personal favor to you. This is your last chance as a performer to clean up your act. Do not screw this up, understand?”

Justin’s nostrils flared. “And if I do?” He was pretty sure he already knew the consequences, but he wanted to see if there was any way he could call Donny’s bluff.

He didn’t.

“All those favors that everyone’s been doing for you your whole life? Those will dry up. If you’re lucky, that pretty face of yours might get you in a boy band. Otherwise, the only time you’ll see anything like a stage again is open mic night at the Starbucks where you work. That’s right, you’ll have to get a job because there will be no money. None. All your accounts—including the trust I set up for you—will be closed. Worst of all, the next time you screw up, no matter where in the world you happen to be, your family won’t be around to protect you.”

So jail, death, and possibly open mic night. Pretty much every circle of hell Justin had ever imagined except one.

“…nor will I stick around to help with Grace,” Donny added.

That was the one. Justin’s mum needed guidance, far more than Justin could ever provide without sacrificing his entire future. Donny might have been bluffing about that too, but lost to the darkness or not, Justin loved his mum too much to risk it.

“Do we have a deal?”

Justin looked down to where his uncle had extended his hand. “I hate you,” he said through his teeth.

Donny reached out and forced Justin to shake his hand anyway. “Hate me all you want, kid. Despise me until my dying day. Do whatever it takes.” He stared hard into Justin’s unwavering eyes. “Just survive.”