We’re putting the finishing touches on the album, meaning a less intense studio schedule, so the guys start to drift in just after midday with no sense of urgency about getting down to work. When Ryan arrives and we’re all present—variously occupied with our phones, chatting, getting coffee, and eternally tired dad Jake dozing on one of the easy chairs—I attempt to call everyone to attention, clearing my throat a few times. It has zero impact, so instead, I whistle between my fingers. Loudly. It has the desired effect—everyone stops what they’re doing to look my way. Everyone except Jake, who always seems to sleep much more heavily than the rest of us. I guess having kids will do that to you. Not that I’d know.

Not yet at least, but holy shit, it hits me like a ten-ton truck that one day soon I will know. I’ve known since finding the ultrasound that I’m going to be a dad, but for the first time right now, it feels real. Holy. Fucking. Shit.

Stevie kicks at Jake’s sneaker-clad foot until he jerks awake, looking shocked. “What?”

Everyone looks at him, then at me. I study my shoe for a moment before glancing around the room and taking in the four pairs of eyes looking expectantly back at me. I sigh heavily.

“So there’s some shit going down I think you all should be aware of. There are going to be some changes around here that will affect you, so I wanted you to know. First, you may or may not know that just before all of this crap happened with the video and Marnie, I asked London to move in with me—”

“Did you just say you asked London to move in with you?” Ryan looks at me as though I’ve grown two heads.

“That’s exactly what I said, jerk-off. And you wanna know what’s even more shocking?”

“What?”

“She said yes.” I glare at him, even though I know his shock is more than justified.

“Get the fuck out of here! She did not.”

“Yeah, she did.” Cue amazed stares from the rest of the guys. “I asked her on launch night at the gallery.”

“Was that before or after we all had to stand there and make polite small talk while pretending we couldn’t hear the two of you fucking like horny rabbits?”

I shoot Stevie a death stare but don’t bother to pick a fight—he has a point.

“After. I may or may not have taken advantage of the postcoital high she was on. Then we went home, and in a matter of hours, that video surfaced. Yada, yada, yada. You know the rest. After the stupid intervention you guys organized—thanks, by the way. I know you were only trying to help, in your own dumbass way—I called and spoke to Mom again a few days ago, and she told me I needed to grow the fuck up. Except you know Mom, she didn’t say it quite like that. Anyway, that got me thinking that we’ve been on this crazy ride since we were just kids, and I just realized that somewhere in amongst all of it, I turned into a giant douche.”

A chorus of childish snickers rolls through the room.

“I’m that guy. The celebrity asshole the rest of the world can see is an out-of-control dick. The one who is too high on his own supply to listen when anybody tries to tell him to get the fuck over himself, so people stop trying. That. Guy.”

Stevie speaks up. “Listen, Arlo, I get what you mean, but I think you’re being too hard on yourself, and kinda… dramatic. Can PMS affect dudes too? You seem a little… overemotional or something.”

I flip him the bird, much to his amusement. He carries on.

“Seriously, dude, you need to cut yourself some slack here. You didn’t turn into the giant douche we see before us overnight. By all accounts, you were born that way, and have been refining your shtick ever since. You’re right about one thing though—the difference now is that with the fame, money, and power, there aren’t as many people prepared to slap you upside your head when you let it get out of control.”

He’s flat-out laughing and not making any attempt to hide it. I flip him off again, this time with both hands, and carry on as though he hasn’t spoken.

“I feel like Scrooge after the ghosts of whatever-the-fuck visit him. I’m not going to end up like the bitter, burnt-out old rocker stereotype who ODs alone and unloved in a filthy hovel, fortune spent, friends and family deserted. I might be late to the party, but I guess this is the turning point—the wake-up call I needed to get my head together. If I’m to get the things I want in life, especially London, I need to make some changes. Starting now.”

At some point in my speech, the other guys realize I’m serious and go from mocking laughter to listening attentively. Now that I’ve got them, I drop the real bombshell.

“And if everything goes well, I’m going to be a father, so I guess—”

I have to stop speaking as Ryan erupts in a choking fit. He splutters coffee all over himself, causing him to wave his hands around like a lunatic. Bad move, considering one hand is still holding the cup of black coffee he’s choking on, which in turn makes him spill more burning hot liquid on himself, and on and on it goes. What a chump. This level of uncool is completely out of character for him.

Our bass player often seems to play the role of dispassionate observer, hanging back from the group slightly while carefully watching everything that goes down. He has a dry sense of humor, and his killer comments are the hilarious soundtrack to band life. He’s like a sarcastic sportscaster, quietly observing and reporting on life as it happens.

Apart from the obvious wit, he’s also seriously intelligent. He mostly channels his smarts into pointing out just how not smart the rest of us are, with hilarious consequences. On the other hand, with his tendency to hang back and take shit in, he was the first to realize that Stevie’s fun and games had strayed into addiction, and bring it to the attention of the rest of us, so it’s not all shits and giggles. Even then, because that’s the way Stevie had always been even at school, and because hell-raising is part and parcel of the rock star lifestyle, it was a long time before anyone took the problem seriously, and by then, it was too late.

People who don’t know Ryan well can sometimes find him shy or standoffish, but actually, he’s neither; he just doesn’t waste words on bullshit, or people who he doesn’t think are worthy of his energy. I guess that’s what people mean when they describe someone as having “hidden depths.” Musically speaking, they say that “the bass drives the band from the back of the bus,” and the same could be said for Ryan’s personality. He might not be the most upfront member of the band, but he makes his presence felt in other ways.

We all watch this ridiculous dance with amusement. By the time the coughing eventually subsides, Jake is laughing so hard, tears are streaming down his face and I think he’s having an asthma attack.

Ryan gets himself under control and looks at me again, eyes still watering.

“Man, I didn’t know whether to give you the Heimlich or treat you for third-degree burns,” I tell him, joining in with the laughter.

He pats his chest for good measure before speaking.

“Did someone put something in this coffee? One of you freakazoids wants me so bad you roofied me, and I’m trippin’, right? I thought I just heard you say that you’re about to be a father.”

“Nobody tried to roofie you, man. First off, there’s nothing you’ve got that we want, but if there was, we all know we wouldn’t have to waste good shit to get it from you.” Jake is on fire today, and he’s not even trying—the laughs just keep coming. I answer Ryan before he wigs out completely.

“Well at this point, it’s partially true, at least. London is pregnant, but the fact is, I haven’t seen or spoken to her at all since she dropped the bombshell. Her choice, not mine. By the time I even found out, she was on a plane headed for Sydney. As things stand right now, she doesn’t want to see me, probably doesn’t even want to think about me, let alone raise a kid with me.” I’m aware that my life sounds like the plot of a cheap daytime soap opera—it would be called Rock Hard and Restless.

Silence. You could have heard a flea fart in California.

Luke crosses the room in a few sleek strides. Sometimes I forget how similar we are, physically if not mentally. Then he does something like that and it’s like looking at myself in the mirror. When he reaches me, he’s beaming from ear to ear.

“Man, that’s awesome. The baby part. Not the whole Sydney thing. That part sucks. I’ll be honest, I thought I’d witness a snowman’s convention in Hell before I saw the day that you were ready and willing to be a father. How long have you known?” Before I can answer, he has me in a bear hug. “Seriously, congrats. That’s… beyond… I mean it’s wild, but it’s also fucking amazing.”

I disentangle myself from his embrace.

“Thanks, man. Yeah, I know it’s a total mindfuck. I still haven’t fully figured shit out in my head, and I can honestly say that the moment a few weeks ago when I found out was the most bittersweet of my life.”

“A few weeks? What the fuck, man, why didn’t you say something sooner?”

“I didn’t know what to think, let alone say.”

“Hmm… I could see something was off, obviously even a fool could, but I couldn’t work out why you were so sideways. I mean I get it, you love her, but even so, it was completely out of character. Man, I was so wrapped up in my own shit….” I don’t miss the wistful, regretful tone of his voice. Before I can ask what’s going on with him, he carries on. “At least I know you’re not losing your mind.”

“Maybe I was for a moment there. I guess I needed that time in my head to deal with the shock, and let me tell you, it was a monumental shock. London had just broken it off with me over the whole video debacle. We had a farewell fuck, and when I woke up, there was an ultrasound photo on the pillow and she was long gone. She pretty much left my bed and immediately flew to the other side of the fucking world. I’m choosing to believe she just needs a timeout, but who the fuck knows? She could be gone for good, taking my baby with her.”

My words are received with stunned silence from the guys. Luke’s expression has clouded over, his ecstatic grin replaced by a deep frown. He cracks his neck, again reminding me of me, and goes back to his seat.

“Shit, man, that’s rough. I wish you’d come to me with this sooner, instead of carrying it all yourself. I could have… I don’t know, even just helped you sink a few bottles or something.”

He’s right, but I guess I just needed to do this my way and bring it to the group when I was good and ready. Besides, Luke has been keeping himself scarce lately—he hasn’t stayed at the house for weeks. I guess he thought I needed time.

“Yeah, I know, but I think this is something I just had to go through alone at first, to get my shit straight. Or straighter, at least. The only person I told was Mom.”

“What did she say?”

“She said I need to man up and get my girl. She’s right.”

“You’re going to Australia?”

“No. I’m giving her the space to do her thing. Cool off, get her head straight about the baby and me, spend quality time with her parents. All of that.”

“So that’s your ‘plan,’ to do nothing and hope she comes to her senses?” The bite in Luke’s voice surprises me. What’s eating him?

“No, you dumb knucklehead, that’s not my goddamn plan. Do I look like a fucking chump to you?” He opens his mouth as though to answer, but I shoot him a look that says, “If you value your teeth sitting in your head, don’t say a fucking word.” He closes his mouth again, choosing to remain silent. Smart guy.

“No, dude. When have you ever known me to sit back and do nothing? In any situation? If I’m going down, I’m going down fighting. You know this. When she gets back here, I want her and our baby in my life, and while I have a pulse, I’m going to make sure that happens. But if this is going to work, she has to think it’s her idea—if she feels backed into a corner, she’ll take off again. I need to show her that she wants and needs me in her and the baby’s lives, or it’s all over. Jesus, I never thought it was possible, but that woman has a harder head than I do.”

“Bigger balls too!”

I think I may have to end Stevie, although he’s probably right.

“Suck my balls, then suck hers, you dick.” Everyone erupts into laughter, breaking the tension. One by one, the rest of the band approach to give me their personal congratulations—a bro hug and a wisecrack about how unbelievable the situation is.

“So, changes are coming. First, I’m going to try and maybe be a little less of a douche. But as Stevie so wisely pointed out, we’re talking about breaking a lifetime of habits here. I don’t know how well that’s gonna work for me. Baby steps. No pun intended.” The looks of disbelief on the guys’ faces are priceless. I think they think they’re being punk’d or something. Fuck them.

“The biggest shift is that I’m moving back to New York. I mean, I guess that’s obvious by the fact that I asked London to move in with me here, but anyway, I guess you can say I’ve moved back already. I’m going to start using my office at the club for something other than storage, and I’ll be taking on a more hands-on role there. Hunter is nailing the running of the place, but I think I can put his skills to even better use elsewhere in my businesses. I haven’t told him yet, so if you do happen to run into him by some fluke, don’t spill your guts.”

As everyone makes their way back to their seats, I carry on.

“So the net-net of all that is that even with me taking on more responsibility at the club, you’re gonna be seeing more of me around here than you ever used to, and I guess you’re just gonna have to deal with it, suckers!” Predictably, they all look like I’ve just given them an STI. They can go fuck themselves with a rusty screwdriver.

Stevie is the first to speak.

“Wow. You know, I got on really well with London when we were on tour. She’s mad smart, funny, and warm, but obviously doesn’t take any shit, least of all from you. And of course, she’s hot as living fuck.”

I clench my fists and shoot him a look that I hope conveys the depth of my hatred for him right now. He shrugs, grinning like the cat that got the whole fucking dairy, not just the cream. Even though I know he’s just being an ass, trying to push my buttons, it’s still working. I don’t otherwise acknowledge that he’s spoken, which he takes as his cue to continue poking the bear.

“But even with all that, I must have really underestimated her, because I never thought I’d see the day when the great Arlo Jones would wake up, smell the espresso martini, and realize what an epic asshat he is. Am I right?” He looks to the other boys for backup. Everybody nods as though their lives depend on it. Bunch of jerks.

I scowl at him and leer at the rest of them. “Listen, man, I said I’m going to try to be a little less of a dick. I don’t remember saying anything about turning into a complete pussy, and I’m damn sure I didn’t say anything about not whooping your ass if you carry on trash-talking me. I’ll let that one through the keeper for free, but you better watch yourself in the future, because next time I won’t be so nice about it.”

“Nice,” Stevie mutters under his breath.

Fuck that asshole.

“But yeah, you’ve nailed it, Stevie. London’s this tiny little Pandora’s box of a person, but you take the lid off and boom! There’s an explosive firecracker.”

She’s kicked my ass like nobody ever has. She had me on the ropes from day one, and I’m not out of the woods yet. I guess I’ve been in my corner tending to my wounds, but now I feel like I have a plan that will get me back into the fight. Skin. In. The. Game.

That said, as things currently stand, nothing with her is certain. Not even close.