Three weeks later it was a relief to return to LA and Mama’s house. Yes, Mama’s house. Faith had tried to push me to keep staying with her, but I’d pushed back. With Mama finally treating me as an equal and giving me my space, my priority was being close to Damon. Not that I planned on hovering over him like a bossy big sister. I currently had my assistant scouring the Hollywood Hills for properties I might want to buy. Meanwhile, I wanted to spend as much time with my brother as possible before my next production started.

Living in the same house again, Damon confided in me like old times, and one of the confidences he shared was that he’d been asked to be in a band—Gabe’s band.

“Gabe’s band?” I repeated for the third time as I sat propped on a stool in Damon’s studio.

Damon played with the drumsticks, tossing them easily from one hand to another. Most people would think he was showing off, but I knew it meant he was nervous.

“But Gabe doesn’t have a band,” I said, still not understanding.

“No, not Gypsy Hour. The whole world knows they’re through. This is a new band.” He chewed at his lip, awaiting my reply.

“Gabe’s starting a band?” Sorrow quickly followed pride and I looked away.

“Yeah. Are you mad?”

I glanced back at my brother. His dark eyes were wary but behind that emotion I saw something else—hope.

I jumped up and rushed over to him. “Of course not!”

I squeezed him tight, tighter than I would normally.

“Ow,” he complained, and I released him.

I straightened, holding tight to the pride and refusing to acknowledge the sorrow. “I guess this means you’ve been in touch?”

“Yeah. Are you sure you don’t hate me?”

“Don’t be stupid, but I do have questions.” Lots of questions. I walked around and rescued the stool that had rolled away when I’d jumped up. I wheeled it closer to him, sitting down again. “Question number one. You play drums and Gabe plays drums. How’s that going to work?”

Damon’s eyes lit up. “Not anymore. Gabe’s on lead vocals and guitar so there’s a position open for a drummer.”

My pride turned bittersweet. Gabe was going to sing and play guitar? I couldn’t wait to see and hear it. My pride vanished like a puff of smoke. How awkward would that be? And how much more awkward would it be with my little brother playing in a band with my ex-boyfriend—if that’s what he was. I still hadn’t quite figured that out.

This is not about you, Chloe, I reminded myself.

“So who else is there?” I asked, determined to be happy for him.

“Emilio on bass. That’s it for now. We’re a three piece until maybe some of our songs take off. Then we can look at adding another guitar and keys maybe.”

A replacement for Levi. I forced myself to smile. Levi’s restraining order had gone through and I wouldn’t have to see him again for quite some time—hopefully never. Following the news headlines about the restraining order, I had the feeling the public wouldn’t see him again anytime soon, too. He’d gone to ground and no one had heard anything from him the last couple of weeks.

“That’s great,” I said, and I meant it. “So will you write new songs?”

“It will all be fresh stuff. We’re probably going to get a lot of attention in the aftermath of Gypsy Hour and Gabe’s worried about the whole change of line-up. Keeps saying he doesn’t want to be another Dave Grohl post-Nirvana, but I keep reminding him I was the one who tried to kill myself, not Johnnie.”

I shook my head at my brother’s twisted idea of a joke. “Where does that leave Johnnie?”

Damon’s grin faded. “Yeah, he’s still not doing so well. Levi and he were like brothers.”

Sadness pinched the corners of my mouth. There was a time I wouldn’t have cared less about Johnnie, but since getting to know him better, that now wasn’t the case.

“Gabe didn’t want him in the band?” I asked gently.

“Johnnie refused. Told Gabe it was time for Gabe to step up, and he didn’t want to rain on his parade being the attention seeker he is and everything. Johnnie says he’ll look at some sort of solo career, but honestly, I think he’s pretty fucked up by Levi betraying everyone like that.”

“I understand.” I wondered if there was any way I could get in touch with Johnnie, or if Faith had been in touch with him at all. For all his self-centered ways, deep down he had a heart. Who was I kidding? I was probably the last person Johnnie wanted to see right now. According to social media, I was the reason the band had imploded.

If it hadn’t been for that little bitch, Chloe Kemp, my favorite band would still be together.

When I’d dared to hop online, that had been one of the more polite fans on social media sharing their thoughts on Gypsy Hour’s breakup. I’d stopped reading not long after that and had let my publicist deal with it since then.

Despite the sea of emotions warring for my attention, I tried to keep a clear head. “What about the . . . media attention Gabe’s getting?”

‘Media attention’ was putting it lightly. The same way photos of Levi from the party had been leaked immediately, information about Gabe’s past had hit the papers, too. Headlines such as, ‘Who is Gabriel Sloane?’ had been splashed across the tabloids and the reporters were having a field day.

I still refused to read any of them. That wasn’t the way I wanted to find out about my boyfriend’s past—ex-boyfriend? And who knew how much of it was true anyway? While there may have been some facts thrown in, celebrity reporting wasn’t known for its accuracy.

So for the past few weeks I’d conducted a complete media and social media ban, holding onto the hope that Gabe would come and tell me the truth himself. I hadn’t opened the thick yellow envelope Marc had given me in France and it sat on the chest of drawers in my bedroom. It acted as a silent reminder of Gabe’s past, and of his dishonesty.

“You still haven’t spoken to Gabe?” Damon asked softly.

I blinked and returned my focus to my brother. “No. He won’t return any of my messages and I didn’t want to push, but now . . . ” Now I no longer knew what to do anymore. When I’d arrived home, I’d sent Gabe a single message: I’m back in LA and I’d really like to talk to you in person. Please call me.

There had been no reply. Anger and frustration had slowly settled into something more like resignation.

With some distance I could recognize that, while we’d had a strong connection from the beginning, it obviously wasn’t strong enough to weather this storm.

The ring of a cymbal made me jolt. “I hate seeing you sitting around here like a sad, helpless little girl while he’s pretending the whole world doesn’t exist by locking himself in the studio. I just hate it.”

I stared at my brother, speechless, and he grimaced.

“At least you’re still looking after yourself. If Gabe doesn’t start eating and showering more regularly I’m seriously not sure Emilio and I forcing him into this band was a good idea and—” Damon snapped his mouth shut.

“What did you just say?”

“Don’t worry.” Damon started fussing with the drumsticks again.

“The band wasn’t Gabe’s idea?”

Damon fiddled for a moment longer then sighed. “Emilio’s the only one who’s standing by him. He was the one who suggested it. ‘The band’ isn’t really a thing in Gabe’s mind yet, but Emilio has other ideas. He says if we get Gabe working on some songs and record them, he thinks the rest will follow. Johnnie agrees. In the meantime, it keeps Gabe busy.”

Sadness settled over me again. “Thank you.”

Damon’s eyes reflected my own sadness. “Can I ask you to do something that I probably have no right to?”

“What’s that?”

“Don’t give up on Gabe. Not yet.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, and he misread my shock at hearing those words—Gabe’s words—as horror that he could ask me such a thing.

“I know, I know,” he said. “What sort of brother am I? I know he wronged you, Tinker. In the worst way possible. He lied to everyone, but most of all he lied to you. I’d understand if it’s not forgivable, it’s just that everyone else in his life up until now has given up on him. I’m pretty sure that’s why he felt he couldn’t tell you the truth—”

“I think he tried to. Or at least a little bit.” I recalled the pieces of information Gabe had shared when we were together. That his mother was a nurse and that he’d had a rough childhood; how he’d gotten into trouble as a kid. Of course those tiny bits of information were only the tip of the iceberg, but surely they had to count for something, didn’t they? Or maybe I was being naïve again.

Damon reached over and squeezed my hand. “Gabe’s in a real bad place. If you want to speak to him, then I think you’ll need to confront him. Go over there or something.”

Damon stood up and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’ll support you whatever you choose to do.” He left then, leaving me sitting alone in his studio filled with posters, but my eye was drawn to one in particular.

Gabe’s concentration in the image of him playing the drums was so fierce, so raw and so determined. Now I wondered how much of that determination had come from his desire to leave his past behind.

Don’t you give up on me.

Gabe’s words whispered in my ears and tears filled my eyes. I sat in Damon’s studio for a long time after he was gone.