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Our last concert of a six-year-long tour—one year in the States, five in Europe—was going to be our most epic. The best part was that it was in our hometown, beloved NOLA.

Even better, the four of us decided to jam out in Phil’s dad’s garage like the old days, figuring out a slightly different lineup for tomorrow’s concert.

“We have to play ‘A Madman’s Love Letter,’” Flipper insisted. “Think about it! It’s the one song we’ve never done live. We gotta show NOLA she’s special.”

After having injured himself with too much wild drumming, Flipper was feeling much better, and able to practice with us once again. He’d been in such a bad way. Tim had found him some sort of therapy specialist, and he’d been going for the past four days. Whomever it was knew what they were fuckin’ doing. He was killing it on his kit.

But I got the feeling our Mexican brother was up to something. I didn’t know why. He was a sneaky little fucker regardless, but he had a strange frequency about him right now. Like he was carrying the answers to the secrets of the universe, which was just fuckin’ bizarre because he was just the weirdo drummer.

Phil looked uncomfortable. “I don’t know, man.”

“Oh, come on!” Flipper whined. He tapped at his cymbal. Ratta-tatta, ratta-tatta. “Our homecoming needs to blow them away.”

“And we wouldn’t without ‘Love Letter’?” Jason asked.

“I think we should do the instrumental bit and warp it into ‘Love Letter.’”

My stomach knotted up as I thought of the instrumental bit. I was the weak link in the band, musically speaking. It wasn’t that I was terrible—far fuckin’ from it. It was just that Flipper, Jason, and Phil were gifted, and everything I knew was because I’d beaten it into my head during years of practice.

Jam sessions were awesome.

Jam sessions in front of thousands of people…not so much.

“But why ‘Love Letter’?” Phil asked. “There’s other shit we ain’t done live. We could do a cover or somethin’.”

“Or we could give NOLA somethin’ they’d go apeshit over,” countered Flipper. “Our fans would know how much we loved them if we gave them that.”

Jason nodded. “True.”

Phil still didn’t look convinced, but he shrugged. “Whatever.”

We all knew why he never wanted to perform it live. It was fuckin’ personal. When we’d heard the recording of the vocals, it took all three of us irritating the almighty shit out of him just to put it on the Adopted Son album.

“Yes!” Flipper cried. “This is gonna be awesome. Let’s get it down then.”

We took two full hours to get it just right. After the first few times, Phil really got into it. The emotion pouring out of him was enough to make my heart ache.

He missed that girl so much. I couldn’t understand why or how his Baby Girl had infected him so badly, but six years after losing her, he was still fucked up over her. All it had taken was a couple of hours one night.

One kiss.

That kiss had destroyed him.

In a way, I wanted to feel that sort of passion for someone—hell, for anything. But the pain it caused, I wasn’t so sure it was worth it.

Besides, it wasn’t like I needed that sort of pressure on me, not when I had less than two years until the sand in my hourglass was done. I might not be able to go through with this shit if I had someone to love like that or if they loved me in that way. As much as I loved Phil—which was more than anyone else ever—I could leave him if it meant giving him the life he’d always dreamed of.

And not just Phil’s dream. Jason’s and Flipper’s, too.

“I think we got it, man,” said Jason, removing his guitar from his shoulder. “With the energy from the crowd, it’ll be mind-blowing.”

I agreed, which was saying something since I rarely agreed with Jace on anything.

Phil pulled on his shirt and walked out of his dad’s garage without a word.

Flipper rolled his eyes and sighed. “Prima donna.”

“He’ll get over it,” said Jason. He closed the top of his guitar case and snapped the clasps.

“I’m kind of shocked he agreed to do it at all,” I said, putting away my precious five-string.

Flipper started bouncing, something he did only when he had shit in him he couldn’t contain.

“What is it?” I asked him.

Nervous black eyes darted at me. “I gotta go.”

“Where?” asked Jason. “You already went to therapy today, yeah?”

“I’m gonna see Vivian. See you assholes later.”

Jace and I stared at him as he tore out of the garage.

“Is he on something?” Jace asked me.

“I don’t think so.”

“Shame. I could use a whack of coke right about now. I’m fuckin’ drained.”

I shot him a dirty look. “Don’t you go and get fucked up before the last show, man. Save it for the party, okay?”

He waved me down. “No worries, man. I’m staying with Granny for another night. She don’t need to know that shit. Though, from what she says her spirit guides tell her, she knows a little too much for my fuckin’ peace of mind.”

At the mention of Granny’s spirit guides, my heart dropped into my gut.

“How’s Granny liking the new house?” I asked.

Almost seven years ago, Louis had had his people go and look at the hovel Jason had grown up in and had it condemned. Granny had had a fuckin’ fit, but he’d stuck her ass in a primo trailer home on her swamp property and built her a brand-new house, propped up on stilts so that it wouldn’t sink or flood.

Jason smiled. “The old bitch loves it. She can still fish off the back porch and everythin’. She caught a gator for dinner last night. I think she scares the piss outta Sheri.”

Granny scared the piss outta me, too, but I wasn’t gonna tell Jace that.

“Well, I guess that’s it for practice then. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said, hoisting my bass over my shoulder.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Jason muttered. “Bein’ back.”

“Yeah, it is. I forgot what prudes my parents are. And Erika…she ain’t a little kid anymore. When we left, she was ten years old. She fuckin’ wears bras and has her driver’s license now.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, that’s gotta be a shock.”

“A little bit, man. So, yeah…”

“See you,” said Jason, pretty much dismissing me.

Royal bayou-backwater trash.

“NOLA’s Own!” Phil cried into the mic while we were all backstage. “Are you ready to welcome your boys back home?”

The stadium as a fuckin’ whole screamed for us, and, fuck, the buzz was incredible. I used to hate this part, and maybe I still did a little bit, but at least I felt the rush, too, making it all worth it.

We ran out onstage while the lights were out, getting into position. Then, the lights blew up white and revealed the sea of people before us. Flipper kicked off the beat to “Adopted Son,” and that was it. My head and heart dived straight into the music.

We’d decided to do “Addicted Masochist” and then a jam session to give Phil some time to find his balls to perform “A Madman’s Love Letter.”

And, holy hell, did he perform the fuckin’ shit out of it, chucking the mic at the end and storming offstage.

It was the best concert we’d ever done. And, fuck yeah, the most fun.

I was so proud of my brothers. So proud of what we’d accomplished. So fuckin’ proud that we’d come home to this, the screams of thousands of fans welcoming us back.

After the show, we all piled into the black van, ready to head to Phil’s old home in La Place. There was going to be a massive after-party, all of our crew and groupies and some old friends joining us.

Flipper demanded we drop him off to see his therapist first, telling us she was gonna make sure he was still in fine form after a two-hour set.

“She went to the show,” he said, his legs bouncing in the seat next to me. “I’m bringing her back to the party with a couple of her friends. It’s the least we could do, seeing she got me playing in time.”

“True,” agreed Phil.

“Is she cute?” I asked.

“Fuckin’ gorgeous,” replied Flipper. “Tall though.”

“So, not your type.”

He smirked. “I think Phil would like her.”

“I ain’t touchin’ anyone but Baby Girl,” came Phil’s voice from the seat behind us. “End of, so don’t fuckin’ bother.”

“Well, there’s plenty of roadies to keep the ladies entertained if we don’t want them,” said Flipper.

He didn’t want them. He wanted Vivian.

But I didn’t mind tall chicks. Maybe Flipper had landed his ass a kinky therapist who’d be down for an orgy with her friends. I’d be up for that.

Tim pulled the van into a nearly empty parking lot just after midnight.

“You sure this is safe?” asked Sheri.

“Yeah,” replied Flipper, opening the sliding door. “See you guys in a bit!”

After a show, especially a great one, there was nothing better than blowing off some of that excess energy with an orgasm or two. I’d had half a chub since walking offstage.

There were plenty of willing holes around, but what I wanted was a blow job by a certain someone who could suck like a Hoover. That was how I ended up in one of the many bathrooms in Phil’s house with our tech guy, Seth, his mouth wrapped around my dick. He was amazing at deep-throating, too. And he swallowed.

Leaning heavily against the wall, I let him work his magic. Sucking hard, slurping, he bobbed his head between my legs like a fucking champ. Moaning, I fisted my hands in his hair and thrust forward, fucking his face until strings of spit hung off his chin.

He was into it, so I was a little surprised when he pulled off me.

“Fuck, man,” I groaned. “Why’d you stop?”

“Because I want you to fuck me.”

I bit my lip and closed my eyes. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

He stood up, dropped his pants, and bent over the sink. I fished a condom out of my pocket and slicked it down over my dripping cock. Then, I spit a decent amount onto my fingers and applied it between Seth’s ass cheeks.

He moaned and pushed back against my fingers. “Fuck.”

I pushed a finger inside, pumping slowly. He was hot and so fucking tight, so with my left hand, I spread apart his cheeks just a little and spit directly on his asshole, pushing it into him with my finger.

From just to the left of him, I watched him in the mirror. He had a nice cock, fat and veiny. He was a damn good-looking motherfucker, too. Light-brown hair, heavy brows, a couple days’ growth of beard. His eyes were a pretty brown, and he had full lips and a chiseled jaw.

He started bucking against my finger, so I slipped in another, loosening him up.

I bet, the moment my dick is deep in him, he’ll blow his load.

Removing my finger from his ass, I took my cock and pressed that inside him instead.

Seth threw his head back and moaned loudly. I grasped his hips and began pumping into him, steadily increasing my pace. He quickly worked his hand over himself, and I wished I could see it in the mirror.

I moved him slightly to the side, finally able to catch a glimpse. I loved watching sex as much as performing it, and, fuck, the sight of him whacking off with my dick in his ass was so fucking hot.

“Harder,” he begged.

I started ramming him, both of us groaning, our sweat-coated skin sharply slapping together. I closed my eyes, just feeling everything—how warm and soft but springy the flesh of his anus was, how tight the band of muscle grasped my dick.

He whimpered, moaning behind closed lips, and I could feel the deep root of him faintly pulsing. He was about to blow, and it made my own orgasm that much better, knowing I was taking him with me.

With a guttural cry, I emptied into him, thrusting hard. Seth shouted incoherently as he came, his knees buckling and knocking into the cabinet doors under the sink.

Panting, I leaned into him, needing a moment to get myself together. Once my blood pressure slowed a bit, I reached down and grabbed the base of my cock, making sure the condom was still in place. Easing out of him, I removed the condom and tossed it in the trash can next to the toilet.

“Damn, I needed that,” he said, grabbing some toilet paper and wiping spunk off his hand. He’d gotten it on the cabinet doors and the floor, and he quickly wiped that up, too. “Thanks, man.”

“Back at you, brother.”

That was what I really loved about the guy. He wasn’t in it for anything other than the sex. He was a lot like me in that respect. He fucked chicks, too; the groupies loved him. It wasn’t about being gay or straight or bi. It was just about what felt good.

Sometimes, all I needed was a dick up my ass, too.

“Dude, you fuckin’ missed it!” Flipper crowed as I entered the kitchen.

“Missed what?” I asked, opening the fridge and grabbing a beer.

Flipper bounced next to me, reaching in and grabbing one for himself. “I found Baby Girl.”

I dropped the bottle, and it smashed to bits on the tiles, beer soaking my and Flipper’s pants and shoes. Two groupies came over and started to drunkenly clean it up before handing me a new one.

“What?” I croaked.

“The doctor that I’ve been seein’, the one doin’ my therapy?”

“Uh-huh.”

“She’s Kenna MacGregor. Fuckin’ Baby Girl. I almost had a fuckin’ heart attack when I realized who she was.”

“Why didn’t you tell Phil?” I demanded. “You’ve known who she was since Monday!”

“Indeed, I have,” he gloated. “But what good would have come out of it? Besides, she asked me not to. She didn’t want to fuck with some doctor-patient-confidentiality clause or some shit. So, I made her promise she’d come tonight. And she did along with those two chicks who were with her at Bougainvillea.”

I stared at Flipper, stunned, my heart skipping a beat. “Alys is here?”

His eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up!” he hissed. “You, too?”

My back straightened, and I glowered. “Me, too, what?”

“You’ve been pinin’ for this woman all this time?”

“No! Have I given you any reason to think I’m even a fraction as insane as Phil?”

“Naw, brother. If anythin’, you’re the best of all of us,” he said, clapping me on my shoulder. “But, yeah, Alys is here.”

“The best of all of us.”

Hearing him say that fuckin’ felt so fuckin’ awesome. He wasn’t speaking of my music abilities. If he had been, I’d have nut-chucked him for lying to my face. But, for everything else, my brothers knew they could count on me. I would never let them down.

“Come on,” he said. “The girls are out back, and they’re too nice to leave alone with this crowd.”

As it so happened, as we walked out to the back patio, we witnessed Sheri getting up in someone’s face. All we could see was the back of her head. The words oompa loompa, dirty wetback, and bayou-backwater trash—which I called Jace all the time, so that must’ve rubbed off on her—escaped her mouth. She raised her right arm to strike whoever was in front of her, but somehow, she ended up being the one on the ground.

And there stood Alys, breathing heavy, her eyes narrowed in fury, as she glared at Sheri whimpering on the ground.

Suddenly, “Here Comes the Sun” by The Beatles blared through my head as a warm gold and rose-colored glow emanated from Alys. I blinked a few times, wondering what the hell was wrong with my vision. The glow dimmed somewhat—the fuckin’ music didn’t—and it was as though I could see below the surface of her to the pain and sorrow churning within her soul.

What the ever-lovin’ fuck is this shit?

I’d believe it if Phil said he’d seen something like this, but now that it was happening to me, I wondered if Phil’s wack-ass wonder powers were contagious.

But then I was hit with an epiphany. My sole purpose for the rest of the time I had in this life was to make that woman happy. It was now my job to make her feel loved, to show her everything she was missing, to fill some hollow void within her, to show her how worthy she truly was. I was gonna make her laugh every damn day. With me, she was going to realize just how she should be treated by a man, and even when I was gone, the memories we made together were gonna last the rest of her long lifetime.