The moment the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a “Move it, sucker,” spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.

After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin—I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.

At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn’t give a single crap.

There was something about Laila’s hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn’t judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn’t. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.

We’d survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I’d gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she’d let me live with them when I’d had to move out of my ex’s place.

She was still hugging the hell out of my middle when she finally spoke. “I’m so happy to see you!”

“I’m so happy to see you too, you lazy broad.” I gestured to her wheelchair before giving her another bone-crushing hug.

“I didn’t feel like dealing with my braces all day,” she explained.

I made a face at her just to give her a hard time, but really, I knew how hard it would be for her to be on her feet for such a long period. Someone just needed to bust her chops so she’d keep walking around as much as she could handle. Pulling away from her, I took a step back and looked her over. Slim, with dark hair and a unique light caramel color to her skin that she’d inherited from her Cuban mom and Caiman dad, I’d always thought she had the face and personality that belonged to a princess in a cartoon movie.

It took me all of a second to realize that her hair had been cut to her shoulders. “When did you get your hair cut?”

Laila blinked back at me. “When did you get your hair cut?”

“That was the surprise I was telling you about,” I explained, touching that shaved section with gentle fingers. The rest of my hair was in a low-side ponytail but it still couldn’t hide the obvious buzz cut. “Surprise!” I muttered, wiggling my fingers in the most unenthusiastic way possible.

She just stared at me before slowly asking, “Holy bologna, Gabba. Was this Soccer Death Match loser crap?”

I nodded. I’d already told her about the ball to the jaw I’d taken. In person, the huge bruise confirmed the story.

She tilted her head to look at me and finally nodded, almost sagely. “You got lucky they didn’t do your whole head at least. You look cute like that, but if it was everything…” She let out a little whistle and flared her nostrils. Sure, she was sweet, but the honesty that came out of her mouth at times was candy-coated brutality at its finest.

Laila opened her mouth for a split second before shutting it at the same time she went bug-eyed. I turned my head just a little to see who she had her eye on. Sacha, Freddy and Julian had all gotten off the bus and were looking in our direction intently from their spots twenty feet away.

“Those guys are on the tour?” she whispered.

“Yes and stop drooling, you horny biatch.”

“I’m not drooling.” Laila shifted in her wheelchair, her small hands gripping the arm rests. “I changed my mind, I need to call my mom and tell her to bring me my braces after all.”

I snorted and went to pop the strap of her bra peeking out from under her tank top.

She didn’t even make a face when the material snapped back against her skin; she was so focused on the three men standing around. Her brown eyes flicked up to mine. “Which one of them is the Sacha-guy you’ve been telling me about?”

“How do you know it’s one of them?”

“Because if I remember correctly, your text message said, ‘I just kicked the hottest guy I’ve probably ever seen in the ass.’ And I asked you what he looked like and you texted me back, ‘Like a double bacon cheeseburger I’d take a bite out of.’”

Apparently, she had gobbled up the information like a hooker would a penis. Because okay, that sounded about right. I gave her a look. “He’s the one in the middle with the sleeve tattoo,” I muttered.

Laila let out another little low whistle. “That’s the same guy that kicked the ball at your face?”

“Yep.”

“Introduce me,” she demanded with a smile, looking up at me.

The little slut.

“Yes, mistress.” I bowed to her, earning a pinch to the back of my knee. “Follow me, Wheels.” She pinched me again even harder.

Under normal circumstances, I would have offered to push her wheelchair but we’d been friends for more than ten years, and I knew her like the back of my hand. I could tell you all of her favorite foods, her pet peeves, what size and style her clothes were, and even what kind of tampons she preferred.

And I knew she wouldn’t want me to push her wheelchair when we were going to meet new people she found attractive. She’d been battling for her independence her entire life, and I was behind her every step of the way. Because of her spina bifida, most people tried to tiptoe around her. I couldn’t say I hadn’t tried to smother her in those first few years we’d become friends, but now we’d figured it out. She liked it when I gave her shit and teased her since most people didn’t.

The moment we were close enough, I smiled at the TCC members.

It was Sacha that spoke up first. “Hey.”

“Hey. This is my friend Laila.” I think I did this weird thing with my hand, drawing a sloppy line between the two of them, but I wasn’t positive since I wasn’t paying attention when Sacha thrust his hand out to shake my best friend’s hand.

“Nice to meet you,” he said after giving her his name.

Freddy and Julian did the same.

Honestly, I was relieved they didn’t start acting weird or talking loudly. People had done that to her before for some reason I didn’t completely understand. Did they think she had hearing problems because she was in a wheelchair? I wasn’t sure, and it aggravated me a lot more than it bothered her.

It was the little things like that—how people treated one another—that mattered the most to me. I appreciated how normal they were being.

“What are you up to today?” Sacha asked.

“Hanging around here,” I answered. “I need to unload the trailer and then we’ll go grab something to eat.”

The man I’d come to think inspired the creators of Hungry, Hungry Hippos brightened up at the mention of his favorite word, eat.

I didn’t even need to ask Laila if it was okay to invite him—them—because I knew the answer. Plus, it would be kind of rude of me to not invite the man that had gone to eat with me in the past every time I’d asked. “We were going to get pho.”

“I love pho,” he replied.

Of course he did.

---

“He’s really cute, Gaby,” Laila stated as she helped me fold shirts behind the merch table a few hours later.

“Who? You were flirting with all of them except Gordo,” I snickered with a laugh. Eli, Mase and Gordo had tagged along to go eat at our favorite pho joint, too.

“It’s pointless to flirt with Gordo,” she said like I didn’t already know that. “And you know who I’m talking about.”

Of course I did. She’d been pinching me under the table every time he spoke. The bruises were going to be happening later.

“Does he have a girlfriend?” she asked when all I did was groan in response.

I bent over to grab another pile of shirts that I’d messed up during a rush of customers the night before. “I don’t know; I don’t think so.”

“Have you heard him talking to anyone for long periods of time?” Investigator Laila inquired.

“No.” I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. “It isn’t like I get to spend all day with him or anything, Lai. I’m in the venue most of the time; I don’t know what goes on when I’m in here and everyone else is out there.”

“I guess, but I think you’d know.” She paused, handing me the two shirts she’d finished refolding. “I’m just saying, he’s really cute and he seems like your type.”

That had me turning my entire body around to give her a look.

“Okay, okay. He’s just about everyone’s type, but you two were flirting.”

I choked. “We weren’t flirting, we just joke around.” A lot.

“That was flirting, you friggin’ liar.”

“Maybe a little bit—“

“He threw a balled-up straw cover at you and called you Princess twice,” Laila stated.

I coughed. “We’re always messing with each other—” I tried to explain before realizing that I was digging myself into a deeper hole. She just didn’t get it.

`

She sighed and touched my knee. “That’s not helping you win your case at all. I love you, and I want you to be happy, Gab. That’s all.”

“I am happy.”

“You know what I mean.”

I nodded at her, and nudged her hand back with mine. “I know, I know, and I swear I’m a lot better now than I was before I left.”

Laila raised an eyebrow that she quickly covered by shaking a shirt out in front of her face. “You don’t want to kill Brandon anymore then?”

“I’d settle for him getting a really bad case of hemorrhoids.”

Laila threw her head back and laughed. “Bleeding, inflamed hemorrhoids.”

There was a reason why our friendship had survived so many years. We high-fived each other.

When I pulled back, I had a big smile on my face. “If I never see him again, I’d be perfectly happy.”

---

Hours later, I knew something was going on when Eli texted me.

Mason, Gordo and him loved their fans, but selling merch was something that none of them were particularly fond of. They couldn't get anything done because people wanted to talk to them more than they wanted to actually buy anything.

When I sent both Mason and Gordo messages and didn't get a response, my gut feeling was confirmed. Those two bitches kept their phones on them like the end of the world would be set into motion if they missed a call or a text message. Laila was sitting behind the merch table with me and offered to keep an eye on it after I showed her the message. I tried my best to get through the crowd as quickly as possible without having to elbow too many people. I'd barely made it to the hallway behind the stage when I spotted Gordo pacing outside of the green room.

His dark, nearly black eyes, widened when he saw me approaching. "Are you leaving?" he asked, scratching his eyebrow with a single index finger.

I shook my head in response. "No. What's going on?"

"Nothing," the son of a bitch answered too quickly. He was worse at lying than I was.

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Gordis."

He winced and immediately sighed in defeat. The man was the easiest person in the universe to break. I would never trust him with a secret because he'd crack in no time. "Brandon is here."

I think that if I’d heard those words two months ago, more than likely I would have gone ballistic breaking things while on a war-path to destroy his face—wherever it was.

But the surprising part was that I found myself without the slightest urge to do just that. I mean, what kind of nerve did he have coming to a show he knew my brother was playing at? I never took Brandon to be that much of a dumbass, but I guess I’d misjudged him. I didn't want to see his face, and I definitely didn't understand where his balls came from.

This tour was my house. My family. My place.

And I sure as hell wasn't going to let him make me cower in hopes that I wouldn't see him. I'd given him too much power over my life in the month immediately after we broke up, and I would never give him or anyone the same again. I hoped.

Screw. That.

I nodded at Gordo and even smiled as his face took on an “oh shit” expression. "Okay."

I was fine, and that fucker would learn just how fine I was. Maybe I’d been completely caught off-guard when he broke things off, but I would bet he’d be way more surprised before the night was over. I made a beeline for The Cloud Collision’s green room next door, knowing that they were the reason why Brandon was at the show.

He hated going to shows. He’d said that to me at least a hundred times in the two years we were together.

When I made it to the back room, I found Sacha and Isaiah inside preparing for the show. Sacha was standing in the corner of the room pulling things out of a small nylon bag I’d seen him go through before after the show. Inside of it was some kind of massager, tea, and an oil he applied to his throat before starting his vocal warm-up. He was already halfway dressed for the night in his slacks and undershirt. Isaiah ,on the other hand, had his guitar in his lap, plugged into a small practice amp. When Isaiah noticed me standing there, he motioned me inside.

"Is everything all right?” he asked.

I cleared my throat and nodded. "Yeah, everything is fine. I was just wondering if you’ve seen Brandon?"

Sacha turned around. The expression on his face was one of pure curiosity.

"The guitar player in Screaming Ivy?" Isaiah asked.

It was an immediate response to want to gag at the mention of that terrible band but I held it back. What the hell had I been thinking, dating someone who played in a band with such a stupid name? "Yes."

"I think he's on the bus with Julian and Miles," Isaiah replied. Miles was the name of the bass player of TCC.

Sacha's lips twitched as he walked over to where Isaiah was sitting and parked his butt on the armrest. "Do you know him?"

I swear I couldn't help but snicker as I steeled my spine and prepared to go rip my ex a new asshole. "Yeah. I do." I rubbed my hands over my thighs and gave them a smile that was probably more vicious than it needed to be. “Thanks for telling me. Have a good show tonight, okay?”

I'd barely made it three steps out of the room when I felt a hand on my elbow. Without looking I knew it was Sacha who was tugging me back toward him. His eyes were wary. "Why do I feel like you're about to go do something bad?"

"Because I am," I chuckled, taking a step forward, a step closer to my mission. "I'm kidding. I swear I'm not going to do anything bad. I just need to go talk to him for a minute."

Those gray eyes swept across my face. "Are you friends?"

I cleared my throat and fought the urge to scratch my ear. "We used to date."

"That guy is your ex?" he asked after a brief pause.

He’d heard more than enough about my infamous ex from my family the night before. Especially from traitor Iza. Damn it.

I nodded completely unenthusiastically. "Yep."

He raised an eyebrow. "But you're not friends?"

I shook my head. I should have focused on the fact that he was so insistent on asking if my ex and I were friends or not, but I didn't. "No. I'd kick my own ass if we were friends."

Sacha smiled at me, this big, grand smile that could have lit up Main Street at Disneyland. "I'd help you if you want."

"You already have." I grinned at his flirty butt. “I promise I’m not going to do anything bad, you can go back and warm up.”

“And miss whatever you’re going to do? Nah.”

The security guard in the back winked at me as we made our way out of the back door toward the bus. Sacha grabbed my forearm that time, easily matching my quick stride with his natural, normal one.

"What exactly are you planning on doing?"

"Ask him what the hell he's doing here." I think.

His large, warm hand tightened its grip. "Were you together for a long time?"

"Around two years," I mumbled, reaching for the door handle to the bus before flinging it open. I don't think I had ever run up those two steps faster than I did right then. I heard the voices in the bus before my foot even landed on the first one.

"—get the fuck out.” I recognized Eli's voice immediately.

"It's not a big deal," the voice I hadn't heard in months greeted me in return when I made it to the top of the steps. The curtain was pulled closed so I couldn't see anyone at first.

"What in the fuck would make you think showing up here wouldn’t be a big deal, you dumbass? Gaby's here, pickle dick!" my twin bellowed.

I don't think I had ever loved Eli more than I did in that moment standing at the top of the stairs with Sacha's warm body directly behind me. He was talking so loudly it could have been considered yelling, but I knew that Eli only genuinely yelled when he was excited about something, and he was definitely not excited to see Brandon.

"I invited him out," the voice I recognized as Julian's deep one spoke up.

“This has nothing to do with you, man. This taint stain knows he had no business coming here but he did anyway,” Eli explained before pausing.

My ex let out a sigh that I’d heard one too many times over the years. “Look—”

"Shut the fuck up and get out. I don't want to see you, and Gaby doesn't want to see you either." I swear to God my brother growled. "Go hide or die, I don't give a shit what you choose. Otherwise I'm going to take a shit on your face right after I knock you out for breaking up with my fucking sister over the phone, mangina."

Sacha poked me in the back at that moment, snickering quietly, and I couldn't help but snort a little too. Leave it to Eli to come up with mangina.

"Gaby's a big girl, Eliza,” I thought I heard my ex say.

But he couldn’t be that stupid, could he?

“What the fuck did you just call me?” Eli snapped, and I had my answer.

This asshole just called my twin by the nickname only I could use. If I wasn't going to murder him for simply showing up to the concert, I was now going to do it because he messed with Eli. Nobody messed with my brother.

Pulling the curtain aside so roughly I might have torn it, I spotted my ex sitting on one of the long couches with his arm draped around a pretty brunette. What struck me first was the fact that the bastard had on a shirt I'd bought him for Valentine's Day a year ago. Seriously?

"Gaby," Brandon muttered with wide blue eyes.

I felt my ears start to heat up from how angry I was getting each second that passed by. "Brandon."

It was only when I felt Sacha's fingertips dip into the band of my jeans, brushing at the small of my back that I calmed down enough to think rationally.

In months past, I’d thought of a hundred messed-up things I would have loved to happen to Brandon. Everything from hooking up with a transvestite, to losing his dick from some kind of strange man-eating bacteria, had waged its war through my imagination. I didn't hate him, really, but he would always and forever have a spot on my Shit List. But when I felt my new friend tug on the back of my jeans, I realized that I wasn't the same person that I'd been a few months back. Even a month back.

Though the flesh and the flakes that comprised the shell of skin were the same, I felt stronger than before. I didn't need Brandon, and I really was better off without him. We'd had a good relationship but in hindsight, he wasn't the kind of man I wanted to be with forever. Our interests were too different and… I guess something had been missing. We didn’t have that easy camaraderie that came so naturally to my demons and I. Hell, even Sacha and I had instantly taken to each other’s humor. He'd loved me, I think, but it wasn't enough to erase the fact that I'd always been second—sometimes third or fourth—in his life after his shitty-ass band. It was just that our breakup had come out of the blue. I’d asked myself a thousand times if the signs had been there that things were falling apart, but no matter how much I over-analyzed it, there really hadn’t been a sign.

Really, it was okay. Whatever his reasons were, I didn’t care anymore. I cried, I grieved, and like every Barreto before me, I was going to move the hell on with my life. I was happy, regardless of whether I knew what I wanted to do with my life or not.

But more than ever, I wanted Brandon’s ass torn up by a dozen hung porn stars.

"Let's go outside," I told my ex in a voice so calm I didn't know I was capable of.

His eyebrows furrowed as his face went a little pink. "What?"

"Come outside with me, Bran," I said, indicating with my head toward the exit. "We should talk."

Those eyes that I'd once cared for narrowed in my direction. He knew me; he knew that even if I was calm, he'd crossed the fucking line calling Eli my nickname for him. Some things were unforgivable. His brunette girlfriend tugged at his hand as she shook her head.

I shot my brother a smirk; he was standing there with a flushed face and rigid jaw. All signs of the devil inside of him were visible, waiting to burst out and destroy. "Come on, Brandon. Let's go. I'll only take a minute."

"Baby," the girl whined softly.

I'd never been clingy with him and maybe that was my mistake, but I couldn't find it in me to bother wondering if that had been a factor in our split. If Brandon had wanted to talk to someone, talk to one of his fans, I'd never cared. I figured if he wanted to cheat on me he could do so any time he wanted and there was nothing I could do about it. But this bitch was going to learn that I definitely didn't want his pimple-butt ass. "I don't want his pickle dick." I glanced at Eli when I said it. "I just want to talk to him for a minute, and I don't want to embarrass him in front of everyone."

Sacha tugged at the back of my pants again, his fingers dipping deeper into the area between the denim and my panties. "Gaby," he warned.

"I didn't know you'd be here," Brandon cut off Sacha. "I figured I could avoid—"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. He thought he could avoid Eli? Oh, please. "I don't care," I piped up in a sing-song voice. "Get off the bus and talk to me. You owe me." I wanted to add a “motherfucker” at the end but I kept it to myself.

He knew he owed me. I didn't bother waiting to see him get off the couch; I glanced over at Eli once more before I turned around. He was clenching his fists and staring at Brandon like he could kill him by looks alone. I passed Sacha on the way out, circling his wrist quickly with my thumb and index finger as best as I could. I didn't meet his eyes, but it wasn't because I was embarrassed that he'd learned that I'd been dumped, much less over the phone. It happens to every girl. I think. Maybe without the phone part. Touching Sacha was more to just tell him that I was fine. That I wasn’t going to do anything I’d end up regretting.

In no time, Brandon was tumbling out of the bus after me, closing the door behind him. Four months had passed since the last time I’d seen him and of course he looked exactly the same: his dark hair was perfectly styled, the facial hair that he kept just long enough to be called a beard the same as always, and his body was still just muscular enough to be considered fit. Was he good looking? Yeah, but who cared? I could go online and find thousands of guys that were just as equally, if not more, attractive as him.

I could look at the guys on tour with me.

Brandon stopped and crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes boring into mine. "Gaby, I'm—"

"Shut up."

Brandon’s eyes widened at my snappy tone, and I didn’t miss the way his shoulders reeled back in surprise. “Why are you being like this?”

Why was I being like this? Seriously? “Are you joking? Or are you really asking me why I’m pissed off that you’re here?”

“This isn’t a joke,” he replied.

“Of course it isn’t a fucking joke. You’re here, and you shouldn’t be. What’s difficult to understand about that?” I snapped.

“Baby, you’ve always been so sweet—”

My vision went red. He’d gone there with the b-word. Holy fuck.

“This isn’t how you usually act—” he kept going, oblivious to the fact he was this close to getting shanked.

Honestly, if there wasn’t steam coming out of my ears, I would have been surprised.

This isn’t how you usually act.

Baby, you’ve always been so sweet.

Gaby, what are you doing with your life?

I can’t do this anymore…

Everyone had his or her breaking point, and I’d reached mine.

“You broke up with me! On the phone! Out of the blue! All you said was that you didn’t want to do this anymore and some shit about me not knowing what I want to do with my life and how it affected your artistic vibe, you prick. I spent two years with you—two years! And in five minutes you kick me out of the place you had asked me to move into with you six months before. I’d told you I didn’t want to live with you and you told me how much fun it would be, how much you loved me, how it was inevitable. Six months, Bran! What the fuck?”

Under normal circumstances, I wasn’t one to go on a rant or a tirade of any sort. Well, unless it was around my family members or Laila. But the words had been bottled up deep in my chest for months now. All the questions and the frustration over what had happened to my doomed relationship just exploded out of me in this hateful, screaming demand.

To give him credit, Brandon put his hands on his forehead and sighed, his gaze going down to the ground. “I did love you. I’ll probably always love you, in a way. You’re great—”

I put my hand up to stop him from continuing on with a list of traits he admired because, frankly, I didn’t give a shit what he liked about me. “We hardly ever fought, and we’d talked on the phone the night before like everything was normal. You just cut me perfectly out of your life after so long, and I never heard from you again. Then a week or two later, I find out you have another girlfriend already? It just caught me out of the blue, do you understand why that pisses me off?”

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry, babe.” He slid his hands down his face with a shaky exhale. “I didn’t mean for things to go the way they did. I swear I didn’t have sex with her while we were still—”

I had to rewind the words that came out of his mouth and go through them again.

When I did, my ears went hot and my brain just kind of short-circuited for a split second. Not once had I even thought that he’d cheated on me. I really hadn’t. Brandon thought he was a catch but not once had he ever been the type of guy that I imagined texting eight other girls while he had a girlfriend. That wasn’t like him. We’d gone on a date the day after we’d met. I guess I had just thought he’d done the same thing again.

But this…

“You didn’t have sex with her while we were still together…? But you started talking to her while we were…?”

Anxiety crossed his features so quick it was amazing. He might have even stopped breathing before he began stuttering. “Well…”

I wasn’t even mad, per se. I wasn’t. What was done was done and whatever. I cleared my throat and got the knot out of it. “It doesn’t matter.” The words came out of my mouth a little rough, a little weird. He’d started talking to other people before we’d even split up.

But my pride, my pride couldn’t handle it.

I picked up the imaginary pieces and balled them up.

"It really doesn’t matter anymore, but I will cut your balls off with my eyebrow trimmers if you ever talk to Eli like that again. You walked out of my life, and I don't care if I ever see you again. My brother doesn't want you around, and you better believe that the only reason your face is still intact is because you came out here with me."

"I'm sorry, baby," he said quietly, using that same damn nickname that was stabbing a spike into the back of my neck. "I didn't mean to hurt you like that."

I shrugged because how else could I respond that didn’t include me punching him right in the eye for being a piece of shit? "I don't care anymore, Brandon. But I want you and your girlfriend to get off the fucking bus. Go watch the show from wherever you want but stay away from me."

He opened his mouth to say something else but he must have understood how serious I was because he closed it. Nodding, Brandon looked away. I took a second just to look at the guy I'd been with for two years.

Brandon was good-looking and tall and lean, but now, I didn't look at him the same way that I used to. None of the physical crap really mattered in the long run. A part of me wanted to focus on everything that he wasn't, but there wasn't a point.

He’d made me look like an idiot. More than anything else, that was something I couldn’t ignore.

I sucked in a breath and smiled in his direction, letting the anger bubble inside of me. It was in that moment that I asked myself what I would regret more later on sitting in my bunk: being an adult or making myself feel better.

And I knew. I knew deep in my heart what exactly I would regret more. A smile easily crawled across my face as I said, “Thank you for seeing things my way.”

He eyed me suspiciously for a second before nodding, his own little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m sorry for everything.”

I nodded.

Then I took two steps forward, holding my arms out at my sides as if I was going to give him a hug… and when he started to lean in, I went onto the tips of my toes and punched him almost as hard as I could right in the throat.

He made this choking, puttering noise as he bent over at the hips, but I wasn’t looking at him any more.

When I pivoted around to head back toward the venue with vindication in my veins, I happened to look up at the windows of the bus to see my brother and Sacha with their faces pressed up against the glass, looks of amazement on their faces. I waved.

There. Now I could go to sleep tonight. Otherwise I would have lay in my bunk with my hand fisted and called myself a coward for not going for it.

The rest of the night went by pretty uneventfully. Laila had apparently made friends with Carter, from the way I found him behind the Ghost Orchid merch table, sitting right next to her. During a break between songs, she asked me loud enough for Carter to hear, “What happened?” All I said in response was, “I punched him in the throat,” which made her burst out laughing and led to Carter asking if it was Mason I punched.

Once she got herself under control right around the time Ghost Orchid went onstage, she kept slapping my shoulder when she got excited. It was a slower night than usual so I had a lot of time to watch their set and The Cloud Collision’s. Sacha moved across the stage so effortlessly and with so much energy it was electric. Even if he wouldn't have one of the most striking faces I'd ever seen, it would have been impossible to keep my eyes away from him. He was a performer in his blood.

Most importantly, he was my friend. When Gordo had stayed inside after he found out Brandon was around, Sacha had been the one to go find him with me because he was worried I would do something bad. If that wasn’t friendship, I didn’t know what was.

At some point in the middle of their set, when he usually got chatty with the audience, telling them some short story about the road or his life, I realized that if anything—Sassy, in his black pants, light blue button-up, and skinny navy tie—was a loyal bastard.

"Do you know what I hate?" he asked the roaring audience in front of him. They screamed all kinds of things in response.

"Pussy!"

Sacha shook his head and pointed in the direction of where the person had screamed. "Nope. I like that."

"Guys in skinny jeans!"

He shrugged dramatically. "Whatever, man."

A couple other people screamed other random things until he waved them off, pressing the microphone really close to his face like he was going to tell the thousand-plus people in the audience a secret. He held up one finger, which he pointed straight ahead almost as if he was pointing at me in the back.

"Pickles," he screamed and then extended his middle finger, still pointing straight ahead. "And dicks!"

Immediately, the loud bang of the bass drum picked up, signaling the start of another song.

I almost pissed my pants from laughing so hard.

---

I was in love with the world and with the men in my life the rest of the night.

Why hadn’t anyone told me that being loved and cared for—albeit in a strange way—could be so awesome? I felt like someone pointed a wand at me and cast a spell that was all rainbows and unicorns. My brother called Brandon a mangina, and Sacha followed that up by calling him out in front of a thousand people. What more could I ask for?

As soon as Carter and I got done loading the dolly with bins and tearing everything down, we made our way out of the venue. Laila had left minutes ago, explaining that she had to be up early for a class she was teaching and her mom didn’t want to pick her up too late. With a flurry of hugs and promises to text me the next day, I said goodbye to my best friend for the next two months.

I saw Eli first, standing with his back to me after loading his drum cases into the massive trailer. With three long steps, I launched myself on top of his back, wrapping my arms around his neck to kiss his cheek. "I love you," I told him, pinching his cheek.

"Fuck, I'd love you if you lost ten pounds before jumping on my back again," he huffed, hoisting me up higher on his back with one hand.

"Whatever," I muttered, pinching his cheek again. "Thanks for standing up for me, Eliza."

"Somebody's gotta do it, Flabby. If I would have known you were gonna punch him in throat, I would have taken it easier on him, you fucking psycho." He laughed. “I swear to God, seeing you do that almost made me cry.”

I snorted, the curiosity killing me. “What happened after I left?”

“He sure as hell didn’t say anything when he got back in the bus. He waved at his girl and got the fuck outta there, but not fast enough because I made sure to laugh right in his face. Sacha had to go into his bunk from how hard he was laughing.” He snorted. “Mason was pissed off he missed it.”

It hit me right then that I hadn't seen Mason all night. He'd gone out of his way to ignore my text messages, but then he also hadn't been on the bus when the Pickle-Dick incident went down. I knew that son of a bitch. There's no way he would have just sat back and done nothing. "Wait. Where was he?"

I could feel the rumble of my brother's chuckles from beneath me. "I think it's better that you don't know just in case the cops ask."

"E!"

A hand smacked my ass really hard and I yelped. Not surprisingly, Mason stopped right next to us, smirking. "That's my payment for tonight, my ball-and-chain,” he said with a fake leer.

"What did you do?" I hissed, but really I was obscenely interested in what he'd done. I'd gladly trade a bruise on my butt to find out.

He shrugged. "Let's just say Brandon is going to need three new tires and a car wash, Flabs. He had it coming.”

My small Grinch heart swelled and swelled.

Eli turned us around so that my butt was in front of Mason one more time before the jerk slapped it even harder than the first time. I jumped off of him, rubbing my poor cheek in hopes the sting would wear down, and then called them both dicks that I loved. Grabbing clean clothes from the compartment beneath the bus, I overheard yelling coming from inside. Since I didn't know exactly who was involved, and I definitely didn't want to make it awkward by walking in during the middle of an argument, I waited until the voices lowered.

Once inside, I spotted Julian and Miles sitting in the living area looking pissed off, the frowns they shot my way were anything but nice. Yet I didn’t give a single shit.

In the back area, I found Sacha and Isaiah in the bunk space, going through their backpacks quietly. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it'd been Sacha and the two in the living area who were fighting just a minute before. It was my fault—well, Brandon's for being an idiot—that it had happened.

"I'm sorry about all that," I told him from the door.

Sacha's gray eyes shot over to me as he tossed his backpack inside his bunk. His facial expression softened and he shook his head. "Don't worry about it." His cheeks pulled up into that crooked smile that made my insides turn to goo and the sensation made me feel weird. What the hell was going on? "It was worth it,” he continued.

I shoved the gooey feeling aside and focused on him and what he’d done. "It was pretty awesome," I laughed. "Thank you."

He lifted a shoulder but kept those hypnotic eyes on me. "Anytime, Streetfighter."

I snorted before closing the distance between us and throwing my arms around the middle of his chest, hugging him. It took him all of two seconds to realize what I was doing before he wrapped his arms over my shoulders, squeezing me to him tightly. I didn't care that he was sweaty, that his undershirt was drenched and clinging to him like a second, wet skin, and obviously he didn't care that I'm sure my hair smelled like it could use a wash, because he hugged me for a minute that seemed to stretch ages and eons. This was my friend, my friend who got into an argument with people he had a more important relationship than the one we had, and he didn't care.

I hugged him even tighter.

It was in that moment, when I was hugging him as if my life depended on it, that I recognized the strange, gooey emotion that had been floating around in my belly the last portion of the night.

I liked Sacha.