“Fucking College!” I scream into my cellphone.

“Ryan, I told you about the contest.” Mel says dismissively.

“I am pretty sure you fucking didn’t Mel.” I reply, losing patience.

“Live Nation sponsored; students put in their votes for the artist they want to perform at their college, and the college who had the highest participation level won a concert by the artist they chose.” Mel explains.

“Tell me Mel, why would we want to perform at a fucking college when we have worked our asses off the past eight years to sell out Madison Square Garden?” I scream back again, not letting this shit just slide under the bridge.

“Steele calm down. Think about it, this is like giving back to your fans, young adults are your biggest fan-base, they are the people buying your records, and they put you where you are. So think of it as paying them back. You go there for a week, do a show. Then interview intern candidates and then start your tour. This is just a minor bump in the road." Mel states, pleading his case.

“Mel, I'm hanging up right now. I'm going to pretend you didn't suggest that I interview anyone. This. Is. Not. My. Job. I am going to pretend you didn't just spring this shit on me. You’re lucky we have a contract or you would be fucking fired.”

I want to slam my cell down. Knowing it would smash it to pieces, I don’t. Instead, I put my fist through my bedroom wall. I can’t believe he did this to us. For Mel to wake me up at six o'clock in the morning just to tell me that we have to leave tonight to do a show in two days and then visit the damn college for a week is complete bullshit. I do the music; I pay everyone else to do the other shit. I put my heart and soul into my music. I have worked so fucking hard to get here.

All to go back to a fucking college.

I can see gossip papers now. “Steele's Army: Sales must be down, once sold out now touring colleges!”

It will be untrue of course, but what else do papers and magazines print if not anything except a rumor. We just finished an album a couple of weeks ago, our people are predicting it will top the last album we released in sales. Already set to break the charts once again. I put more of myself into these songs than any I have made before.

Knowing there is no way I can go back to sleep now, I decide to go for a run on the public beach just outside of my condominium. Every morning when we aren't on tour, I opt to take a jog on the beach. The day we cashed our first check from our recording company; I bought a condominium in Long Beach, California. It’s been the closest thing to a home that I have ever had.

Something about the scent of salt in the air and the wind blowing my hair, also forcing the sand to root in every crevice always helps keep me at peace. Most days it’s where I find my songs. It‘s also where I go to pick through my issues.

I finish my run. Figure I'll call the boys then take a shower. It is easier calling them all at once that way I can hear the “What the fucks” and the “why didn't you tell us sooner” once and then “yeah, yeah were packing. Where and what time.”

So much easier.

I call them, and it goes just as I had guessed. When I hang up, I decide I should lay back down and get some rest. With all of the times I have flown, you would think it would be simple for me to just close my eyes and fall asleep. Nope. With the ear popping, and possible turbulence it always leaves my nerves a wreck.

I’m sure the press would love to run with that as a front page article, me an alpha, bad boy rock star afraid of flying. The guys know about it, so they are always trying to distract me by fucking around with fellow passengers or the flight attendants. We have to fly quite a bit, so they are always pushing that bar higher and higher. It’s surprising we haven’t been kicked off a flight yet.

I wake up around four leaving just enough time to pack. For me on a tour I only need enough clothes to last me a week. We do laundry runs once a week when we stay at the hotel. Also, there’s not a lot of storage on a tour bus when you’re housing five men. I change my now wrinkled clothes into something clean then grab my luggage and head out the door .When I get outside, the Limousine I had called for earlier is already waiting for me. Ready to take me to LAX.

We’re driving throughout Los Angeles in the middle of rush hour. This is going to be a while. I take a deep breath and set my mind in the relaxed zone, the guys can always pick up on my moods, more so when I’m pissed off. And Mel has set that tone for me for today. So I try to calm down a little.

Once we get on the airplane that's it for six months. Many bands do at least a six month tour, but because we just finished an album, we're extending our tour. Our first stint is two months, and then we will head back home for three weeks and be gone for six more months. The only benefit is that the five people I do care about, my true family in every sense, is the band, and they will be with me. So I'm not leaving anything or anyone behind.

My parents are long gone. They lived long enough to see my success. They never truly cared about me, my music or my band anyway.

I snap out of the trance that I put myself in, when I see that we are approaching the airport. My door opens, and I'm at the entrance to LAX , I'm sure the guys are already at our boarding gate for Boston seeing as how they all live together and in Los Angeles they were much closer.

I grab my bag, tip the driver and walk through security, readying myself to getting fondled by a guy. Just what I need to keep this already shitty day going. I understand why they do it, fuck I wouldn't want anyone on my plane with any sort of weapon, but I’m just not comfortable with strangers touching my body. My hands are one thing; it’s how I do business. I shake hands at the closing of deals, when meeting fans, but not one of them.

I pass through security like a breeze, check my luggage in and head to the boarding gate. When I get there, I see the guys sitting down waiting for our flight to be called for boarding. I walk over to join them, taking a seat and start to bullshit.

“I’m thinking we should make a bet right now on whose going to get the most pussy while we’re in Boston, winner decides the losers’ humiliation.” Zepp declares.

“We all know Steele is going to win, and you remember the last time what he made all of us do. Do you really want to have to tell every woman you come into contact with for a week that you carry an incurable sexually transmitted disease? Because I sure the fuck don’t.”

I start laughing, remembering that kickass wager. No one gets a chance to answer because our flights called, we all stand up and board the plane. Seven hours later, we arrive at Logan International airport. The guys talked throughout the entire flight; they came to the conclusion that a night of partying was in order to celebrate the pre-tour, so they plan on going out after we arrive at the hotel.

We pick our luggage up at baggage claim and exit the airport. I spot our driver, band name “Steele’s Army” is written on a piece of loose-leaf paper upside down, this makes me compulsively annoyed while Liam and Gage are laughing hysterically.

Zepp stands guard, ready to apologize for what is very close to coming out of my mouth; I expect perfection from everyone especially if they are working for me. We walk over to the driver; he is intimidated instantly and bows his head, lucky for him and his show of submissive behavior has me holding my lips closed tightly together. Obviously, this guy is a pushover and hadn’t realized his mistake. I can be a forgiving person, when I want to.

Most people act this way when they meet us, and I can’t blame him by the image we project. It suits myself and the rest of the band just fine. Making ourselves seem just out of reach to the everyday common fan, or groupie. Hell, even the press is a protective shield. Too many people in our line of business are only out to make a name for themselves or to take advantage of us.

So I am always on the defensive mode and watching, waiting for those rats to try and sneak in. Pat, our driver, introduces himself. After a few awkward moments of silence, he then opens the car door we all climb in. Leaving the airport he is taking us directly to our hotel the Ritz-Carlton, after working as hard as we have we deserve nothing but luxury and any hotel we stay at must provide nothing but. On our drive, I tell the guys I'm going to pass on their bar hopping and catch up on some much needed rest.

Also advising them they should do the same since our impromptu concert is tomorrow afternoon. Whether or not it’s at some small college or an arena, we are putting on a God damn good show. After a short ride, our car arrives at the hotel. Pat opens the door for us. Grabbing my wallet, I quickly snatch out some random bills and tip our driver. We walk through the revolving doors to the front lobby of the hotel we are staying in for the next few days.

The lady at the concierge desk is flirting with me non-stop. Bluntly making it clear that she wants to fuck. Being the gentleman that I am I politely decline. Once the keys are in my hand I dish them out, and we all decide to meet up at eight in the morning, which is pretty fucking early since they will most likely be out drinking all night. I suggest that if they really have to go out, they should try to get in at a decent time.

We planned to meet in my room to have breakfast and to discuss our plans while we are here. I still haven’t told them about the prospective intern we have to interview for. Choosing to call Mel after I get some substance in my stomach and some sleep, I will find out tomorrow about his qualifications for this intern and what in the fuck they are supposed to be doing with the band while on tour.

Leaving them to find their own rooms, I tell them that our bet is on and that I am doing them a favor by giving them a head start.