One week later

Blake heard a knock at the door and groaned. He didn’t want to see anyone. Fuck, he didn’t even want to move. His position in his favorite chair, reclined in front of the television, the footrest up, was where he wanted to be. Most importantly—alone.

The knock came again, louder.

“Hold on,” he growled and pushed to his feet. He kicked past the empty pizza boxes and crumpled pieces of paper strewn across the floor before yanking the front door open.

“Holy shit. Did I knock on the right door?” Sean chuckled, turning to Mason.

“To be honest, I’m not sure,” Mason replied. “Emo, is that you under all that hair?”

Blake rubbed at the beard covering his jaw and cringed. He hadn’t shaved in…well, he couldn’t remember, but he didn’t give a shit.

“Lay off,” Ryan said, pushing past Blake and into his apartment. “We all have aspirations. He can be a yeti if he wants.”

Mitch snorted and gave Blake a half-hearted punch to the gut as he followed Ryan. “Lookin’…good, buddy.”

Mason and Sean didn’t ask for an invitation either, they simply strode into his apartment carrying bottles of soda and beer.

“Make yourselves at home,” Blake muttered, slamming the door shut.

The guys had hounded him all week, calling daily, visiting too often, and constantly reminding him about the outside world even though he didn’t want to be a part of it.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Mason called from the living room. “It’s very ‘ghetto’ and suits the new look you’re sporting.”

Blake gave him the bird and started picking up rubbish from the floor.

“So tell me the plan again,” Sean leaned forward on the sofa, his focus on Mitch. “Do I get to hold him down while you guys shave that shit off his face, or do I get the blade?”

“Fuck off,” Blake snapped.

“What’s with all the paper?” Mason asked, looking at the hundreds of crumpled notepad sheets on the floor.

“Nothin’.” Blake glared, taking his first load of garbage to the bin in the kitchen.

All week, he’d focused his waning energy on the emotions running through his mind—the regret, the heartache, the love. He wanted to write everything down, maybe compose a song, but the words he scratched along each page were shit.

The sound of paper crinkling came over the chatter, and Blake strode back into the living room, ripping the opened page from Mason’s hand.

Mason rested back in the chair and frowned. “Were they lyrics?”

They were none of his fucking business. Blake closed his eyes, breathed through his annoyance, and crumpled the page into his fist.

“They’re good, man,” Ryan said from behind him.

Blake pivoted and snatched the paper Ryan held open. “Leave my shit alone!” Those pages were filled with pieces of his soul. The words were personal, intimate, and something he didn’t want anyone to see. Especially not these teasing assholes.

“But you have so much of it to share,” Sean chuckled.

Blake worked his jaw. He was going to lose his fucking mind. If they didn’t leave, he would hurt one of them. All of them. It didn’t matter how many. He just wanted to wipe those shit eating grins from their faces. “Why are you all here?”

The four of them looked at one another before focusing back on him.

“To help you clean up after your pity party,” Ryan answered.

Mitch pinned him with a serious stare. “Michelle’s attacker has been caught, the fans are all rallying behind you, and the fucking label has loved the publicity. So it’s time to man up and move on.”

Blake gritted his teeth. “No thanks. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah, we can see that.” Mason’s gaze raked over Blake, taking in the old, dirty sweatpants and ripped T-shirt. “When was the last time you showered?”

“Is that an invitation to scrub my back?”

“I’m not usually into bestiality, however, if that’s what it takes to make you human again.” Mason shrugged.

Blake stood at the end of the sofa and crossed his arms over his chest. This was bullshit. He was a fucking grown man. He could grow a beard and forget to shower if he wanted to. Hell, he was a rock star. This behavior was how the public expected him to act on his downtime.

Mason cracked open a bottle of beer and inclined his head as he took a swig. “I don’t care how long it takes to snap you outta this. I’ve got enough beer to last until tomorrow morning.”

Assholes. Every single one of them.

“Fine. I’ll shower.” Blake turned and headed for his bedroom. “Then you can leave.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Mitch chuckled.

 

Fifteen minutes later, Blake strode from his bathroom into his now clean bedroom.

“What the fuck?”

His bed was made, the clothes previously strewn across the floor were nowhere to be seen, and his window was open a crack, letting in fresh air. He threw his towel on the bed and stalked down the hall. His dishwasher hummed from the kitchen, and he poked his head in the room to find Sean stacking empty pizza boxes on the counter.

“Fuckers!”

He continued down the hall to the living room finding the floor now spotless and cleared of paper. Mason and Mitch knelt at his coffee table, flattening out the previously crumpled notepad pages and placing them in a pile.

No! Oh, god, no.

He felt his balls shrink. Nothing could’ve emasculated him more than having his friends read those discarded heartbroken rants. The things he’d written were deep—unintelligibly deep. And totally fucking embarrassing. The guys were going to think he was the biggest pussy on earth.

“Why don’t you get Sidney to help you with these?” Mitch asked, patting the pile of pages.

Blake closed his eyes and let his head fall back. Did he really want to go that route? Calling the famous songwriter would mean he was deliberately sharing his weaknesses with the world. Hadn’t he already done enough of that?

“They’re good,” Mason added. “Really good. Are they all about Gabi?”

Blake rubbed his hands down his now clean shaven face and let out a moan, which ended up sounding like a delirious laugh. Every word was about her, every thought, every memory, every regret. He’d hoped writing down his emotions would get her out of his mind, and they probably would’ve had a chance if he could make them fit together properly.

“Yeah,” he admitted, and opened his eyes, waiting for their laughter.

None came. His friends only nodded and continued straightening his private pieces of paper.

“You’ll be fine, princess.” Ryan strode into the room, clapping Blake on the back when he passed. “We Cinderella’d your place and you look all purty again. It’s only a matter of time before you’re back to normal.”

“You really should call Sidney.” Mitch stood and jerked a thumb in Mason’s direction. “Or get lover boy to call her.”

“Love to,” Mason answered. “Only I don’t think it would work in your favor. That woman wants to gut me.”

Blake snickered, and the guys all stopped what they were doing to look at him. “Oh, Christ, come on. It’s not like I’ve never laughed before.”

Mitch shrugged. “It’s just good to hear, that’s all.”

Blake ignored the twinge of regret that turned his stomach. Even though he was miserable without Gabi, he needed to remember he had a lot to be thankful for. His friends were at the top of that list, followed closely by his position in Reckless Beat. He didn’t know what he would’ve done if the label tore up his contract.

Walking to the couch, he sat in the corner, alongside Ryan. It was time to man the fuck up. Once the cloying thoughts were out of his mind, he’d be able to move forward. Well, at least he’d have the brain capacity to figure out how to take the first step.

Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he unlocked the screen and glanced at Mason. “Ok, then. What’s Sidney’s number?”