“Can we do that set again guys?” Trevor glanced around at his fellow band members.

“Come on dude.” Roman groaned behind the drums and then clashed his drumstick into the snare with frustration. “We’ve done this song twelve times in a row now.”

“Yeah,” Asher agreed. “I think we’ve got this one in the bag.”

“No, we don’t.” Trevor shook his head. The odds were against him, and he wasn’t going to win this battle. As the front man, he had some authority over them. “One more time.”

“Fine,” the gang groaned and began the set all over again.

Trevor was distracted. He kept picturing Emelia eyes, staring a hole through his soul. Her questions today had rocked him to the core. She’d found a picture of himself with her brother. Jesus! He shuddered.

He wanted to go back to other fantasies about her, the ones where her legs were wrapped around him, and she’s kissing the hell out of him — not the dark, sinister memories that were now clouding his mind.

He had to shake it off and get his shit together. Four hours until show time and he was messing up his vocals big time. He needed to wrap himself up in the music and envelop himself in a zone where he was the ultimate rock god, and nothing could stop him. It was a state of mind and being that made Trevor feel alive, and he craved that sensation. On a whim, he grabbed the electric guitar and strummed a different tune.

His subconscious took over, and he began singing the first words that erupted from his throat and were birthed from his heart.

“Sha-la-la-la-la, la-te-da,” he sang. “Brown Eyed Girl.”

Colton was the first one to stop playing, then Roman, then Asher. Finally, Lucas stopped and stared at Trevor as if he had lost his mind.

“Dude, are you okay?” Lucas called out, shouting over the noise of Trevor’s guitar. “This isn’t part of the set.”

“It’s not even our song,” Colton mentioned and rolled his eyes.

He ignored his band and kept on strumming, singing louder and playing longer than before. It centered him, focused him so, the hell with it.

Eventually, Roman caved and began drumming along to the song with Trevor. Then they all played together until the song was carried out with perfection. It ended, and his brain was more on target. So they started their song, the real one, again. And he nailed up, finally.

Several hours later, Trevor found himself standing under the glow of the spotlight. The crowd noise roared through his ears. The sense of unbalance came back like a brewing storm cloud, hovering over him, waiting to unleash. Once the music started, he settled into character, letting what he knew and loved seep into him. He went through the motions, lost himself in the songs and the sounds, all while realizing that Emelia wasn’t front and center. She wasn’t there.

And why should she be? She belonged to another man.

Three hours passed in a blink, and before he knew it, Trevor was backstage willing his heart to slow down and his body to cool. He was soaked with sweat, as usual, high on adrenaline after yet another show. He had missed a couple lyrics, had some bad timing. Nothing the fans noticed with all their screaming and jumping around. Even if they did, he doubted they cared. It bothered him, though. He had never been this distracted before.

Well, maybe once and that was after something really terrible had happened.

They wrapped things up and headed to a local bar. He hoped Emelia would be there, but honestly, he hadn’t seen her so how would she know where to find him?

Roman had been giving him the side-eye since they’d finished the show, but Trevor was ignoring him. He wasn’t in the mood for feelings and shit tonight. He wasn’t going to hide in some private back room, either. When his bandmates headed that way, Trevor stayed out front at the bar. Fuck it. He’d drink where he wanted to. Roman hung back with him.

“Two whiskeys, please.” Roman flagged down the bartender.

“Coming right up.” The bartender gave them a double take but didn’t say anything more.

Trevor gave Roman a sideways glance of horror. “I’m having one; then I’m switching to water.”

“Yeah, right.”

The bartender pushed the glasses of amber liquid in front of Trevor and Roman. Roman turned to face his friend and band members. “Too pretty girls and rocking songs,” he chimed as he raised his glass in the air.

“Here, here,” Trevor yielded and clanked his glass against the side of Roman’s. He took a sip and winced, puckering his lips as the hot liquid burned going down his throat. “Damn, I really am a lightweight.”

“Something tells me you needed that, though. You had a rough time on stage tonight.”

“Ugh.” Trevor groaned and ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t remind me.”

Roman cleared his throat and shot Trevor a look that he had been dreading, but expecting, all night.

“What is it?” Trevor propped his elbows on the bar.

Roman bypassed the question. “Can I get a beer man?”

“Sure thing,” the bartender smiled. “You guys are in that band, right? The one that played tonight?”

Trevor and Roman glanced at each other and then back at the bartender. “Yep,” Roman confessed. “Infinity Prism.”

“Sweet.” The bartender threw a clean dishrag over his shoulder. “Do you guys mind if I get your autograph?”

“No problem.”

“You can sign the wall if you want?” The bartender suggested. “That should get some foot traffic in here.”

“You got a wall of fame or something?” Roman guessed.

“Yes, sir. Right over there.” The bartender pointed across the room and handed them a permanent marker. “If you both don’t mind?” He sheepishly handed over the pen.

Trevor walked over and scrawled his name, Roman following suit.

The barstool creaked as Trevor straddled it once again. “It just feels good to sit down.”

“I can tell something is up with you. What is it?”

“Just because I had one bad night on stage?” Trevor fired back.

“Just asking.” Roman raised his hands as if to pronounce he meant no harm by the direction where the conversation was headed.

“I’m fine.” Trevor drummed his fingers against the bar top and shook his leg with an anxious jitter.

“No distractions, huh?” Roman pressed.

“Nope.” Trevor refused to make eye contact with him.

“Okay...” Roman trailed off, sounding unconvinced. “If you say so.”

“If something was wrong, I’d tell you,” Trevor lied.

“I would hope so.” Roman took a long sip of his beer, staring off into space.

“You are my best friend,” Trevor promised.

He hated harboring dishonesty with Roman, but he didn’t want to get him involved in the tangled web of emotions he felt regarding Emelia. Everything was confusing and laced with uncertainty. He was attracted to her, but she was already in a relationship with someone else. And the ghosts of his past said he’d never have a chance.

“You, ah, thinking about Emelia’s brother?”

Trevor paused in reaching for his drink. Cold shivers razed down his spine.

“What makes you ask that?”

Roman shrugged. “I don’t know. Because you want to get in touch with a movie producer so badly.”

Fuck. Ok, that brother. He took a hard breath and let it out. Roman didn’t know about that night all those years ago. No one did. Just him, and it was going to stay that way for the rest of his life.

“I mean, we are headed to LA next. Wouldn’t it be a good time to get in touch with this guy? Have our people contact his people?”

“By people, you mean Emelia.”

Roman smiled and took a drink. Trevor’s pulse picked up. Damn, that’s exactly what he fucking meant.