I stepped out onto the stage in front of a cheering crowd, exuding a fierce confidence, even as a war raged within me.

Sorrow. Today was the anniversary of Harper’s death.

Anger. That blogger had pissed me right the fuck off.

Heartbreak. Every time I looked to Liam, I expected to see that familiar cocky smirk he wore. Instead, I saw flat eyes and a grim face.

I grabbed the microphone and looked out at the audience.

They didn’t know about Liam.

They didn’t know about that blogger.

They didn’t know about Harper.

They had no idea anything was wrong behind the scenes.

I wasn’t about to let them down.

I suppressed every emotion welling up within me as I sang. I put on my best smirk, my most teasing smile. I strutted around on stage, leaning against Gael’s back as he played, draping myself over Nathan as he did a solo, crouching down near the edge to reach out and touch flailing hands.

Even as I took shuddering breaths during the breaks between songs, even as I shook with the effort it took to keep my voice from cracking, I had to hope our fans didn’t have a clue anything was different about me.

I had to hope they had no idea how close I was to breaking.

We hadn’t changed a single thing in our set list, but up there on that stage, on that night, it seemed like every song was about Harper. About Liam. About losing them both.

We finished the last song of our encore. I stayed out on stage a few minutes longer than I normally did, soaking in the energy of the audience. I was afraid as soon as I walked through that backstage curtain I was going to fall apart.

Finally, I thanked the crowd one last time and left the stage. The band was waiting in the wings for me.

“Fucking showed them, didn’t we?” Nathan grinned.

“I think that’s some of the best we’ve ever played,” Seth agreed.

I nodded, not speaking.

What if our fans didn't agree? What if they had sense something different about our performance? If that blogger started writing trash about it, if our fans started to turn on us, if the label lost faith in us…

A wave of nausea swept through me before I ruthlessly forced it down.

We all hustled back to the artist lounge to gather our stuff. The guys continued chatting and joking with each other. I grabbed my bag and checked my phone. There was one missed notification.

People were already posting about our concert.

That lump in my gut grew to the size of a mountain.

I couldn't bring myself to read what they were saying.

“There’s a cool club not far from here,” Nathan said. “Want to go get trashed?”

“Yes,” I said, surprising him with my firm response. “I could stand to let off some steam with a drink or two.”

Or dozen. Whatever it took to rid me of this feeling, this wretched lump of darkness tormenting me with every breath.

I'd lost Harper.

I'd lost Liam.

I didn't think I'd be able to survive if I lost Cherry Lips.

Seth acted as DD again, complaining under his breath the entire time. We managed to score one of those private VIP booths even without having arranged for one ahead of time. It was sort of a rush, the kind of strings the name Cherry Lips could now pull.

“No drinking games for me tonight,” Nathan said. “I’ve got other plans.”

“Scoring with groupies in dark corners counts as a plan?” Gael asked.

“You could try being little less crass about it,” Nathan drawled.

“I’m coming with you,” Seth said.

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “You wanna be my wingman?”

“No,” Seth said. “You’re going to be mine.”

Nathan gave him a startled look, then chuckled. Seth was rarely up for the kind of pick up games Nate liked to play.

“Let’s go score you some chicks, then,” Nathan said, throwing his arm around Seth’s shoulders and leading him to the bar.

The rest of us took seats in leather armchairs near the glass wall overlooking the dance floor. I made sure to sit as far away from Gael and Liam as I could, which placed me next to Julian. He looked oddly lost without his best friend and constant partner by his side. Seth rarely abandoned him like that.

A server came to take our orders. I got my usual whiskey sour. Liam ordered a plain beer instead of one of his fancy rich twelve-year-whatever drinks.

Not that I was paying attention to what he ordered. He could drink himself to death for all I cared, as long as he dragged his corpse up on stage for our next concert.

“I looked up some info on that dickface blogger,” Gael said once we had our drinks. “He does write for one of those trash sites. Apparently his thing is to rile up his interviewees so he can catch them blowing up on camera. We were lucky none of us snapped.” Gael eyed Liam. “Although you looked about ten seconds away from pounding his face in.”

“I’ve dealt with worse,” he said, “I just hated all that shit he brought up.”

Gael clapped him forcefully on the back with a consoling pat. “You’re not a has-been. Don’t worry about it.”

“It wasn’t just that,” Liam murmured into his beer. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”

I knew exactly what had gotten him so pissed off. The blogger had brought up me and Morris. That was the absolute last thing Liam would want to hear about. He was probably thinking about the two of us right now. Wondering what I was doing behind his back after our fight.

“I can’t believe that fucker brought up Morris and the old band,” Gael said, as if echoing my thoughts. “Especially tonight.”

Julian inhaled a sharp breath and looked to me, surprised. I nodded in response to his unasked question. He gave me a sympathetic look.

“You gonna be okay?” he asked quietly.

“Yeah,” I managed to say with a strangled breath.

I found myself rubbing at my nails. The red lacquer was almost completely peeled off at this point. I must have been scratching at the polish all night.

Liam’s frown deepened.

Gael continued talking, still angry about the blogger. “It's especially shitty bringing it up, with the engagement and everything—”

My brother cut himself off as I stood quickly, nearly splashing my drink as my fight or flight instinct kicked in. I put a hand on the back of the sofa, fingers digging into the cushions. Gael’s eyes went wide.

“Cerise, if you want to just go home, we can do that,” he said.

“Running away again?” Liam said. His eyes were dark and flat.

“If my sister is feeling like shit there’s no reason she needs to stay here and drink with the rest of us,” Gael said.

Liam ignored him and stood to face me with a scowl.

Julian took a quiet sip of his drink and sat back, watching all three of us with rapt attention, although there was concern in his eyes when they fell on me.

“You should just get over it,” Liam said, almost spitting the words. His fist shook as he gripped his beer tight. “Morris is marrying Natalie, not you.”

A sharp stab spiked through me. I reeled back.

“What the fuck are you going on about?” Gael asked Liam.

“You can’t tell me you don’t know?” Liam scoffed and gestured to me with the hand holding his beer. “Your sister is still in love with Morris even though he’s engaged to another woman.”

Gael’s squinted at him, then looked down at his drink, as if wondering whether he’d already had too many to hear correctly. He looked back up at Liam.

“My sister isn’t in love with Morris,” he said with a sort of snorted laugh.

“Could have fooled me,” Liam snarked.

“Cerise isn’t upset because Morris is marrying Natalie,” Julian finally spoke up. His dark eyes were soft as they met mine, but once he flicked them to Liam, they narrowed. “She’s upset because her fiancé was murdered five years ago today.”