Townie threw an arm over my shoulder as we made our way off the tour bus. “Can you believe this shit? Backstage at StageFest? Rock star status, man. It’s going to my head.”

We’d wandered out of our tour bus to find ourselves in the backstage area of StageFest. It was just a less crowded part of the grounds, with access granted only to band members and their roadies.

“Just spend a night hanging at my place and you’ll come back down where you belong.” By “my place” I meant my mom’s. Yeah, at twenty-four, I still lived with my mom. It was by choice. I’d helped raise Gracie, and it was better for both of them if I was there, helping out and just making our family more complete. For Gracie, but for Mom and me too. There was never a dad in the picture, so I was the man of the house. Not that a household couldn’t function fine without a guy, but we were family, and that was my role.

Townie laughed, releasing me. “You aren’t kidding, man. Gracie had me read her five books, then I had to sing to her, and she said I wasn’t as good as you. When she had you come in to sing, your mom put me to work on the dishes.”

I grinned as I pictured Gracie hassling him and Mom making him do chores. “Damn straight. Worth it for the meatballs though.” We spent a couple days at home before hitting the road again for StageFest. “She had me doin’ yardwork for six hours the next day. Gracie wanted to help so that slowed things down.”

“And now here we are, getting free shit and royalty treatment at the same festival we could barely afford tickets to just a couple years ago.”

We passed one tent offering free massages, another handing out some sort of vegan smoothies with carrot, beets and kale. The backstage area of StageFest consisted of rows of tour buses for musicians, and rows of stands and tents offering free services, food, and even some random free shit like clothes, headphones, cellphone cases. The vendors wanted us to wear their merch, eat their food, drink from their bottles, so that the hundred thousand people outside would want to do the same thing. Not to mention the millions of social media followers some of the musicians here had.

The thought of social media had me reaching for my cell, wanting to indulge in a little cyber-stalking that had become a bad habit I couldn’t seem to break. Not that I was trying very hard to quit.

Townie stopped me from getting a fix when he asked, “Yo, you worried about Carson?” He kept his voice low, and didn’t need to say more. I glanced at Townie and followed his gaze to where Carson was standing by a couple of women.

One of the women angled forward and slipped her hand in his pocket. Townie leaned closer to inform me, “He just gave her cash.”

Sighing, I led us farther from the massage station. Half the people at this festival, including the musicians, were on something, so a little drug deal going down in broad daylight was no big deal. And it wouldn’t be a big deal for most bands if the members got high once in a while. But this was us, and this was Carson, a guy I’d known for more than half my life. For a couple years when the band was new, senior year of high school and freshman year of college, we all smoked weed once in a while. Will and Carson continued to occasionally, but we all wanted to stay away from the harder stuff. It was too cliché. We knew bands who never made it or blew up just as they were about to make it or right after they finally did, and it almost always came back to drugs. Drugs and rock and roll went hand in hand, and while some rockers claimed it made their music better, none of us bought that. If there was any truth in it, the chances of drugs destroying the music eventually were stronger than any momentary creative boost from being high.

So, knowing we were all on the same page and then watching Carson do God-knows-what on the road, it sucked.

“I’m hoping he’ll figure it out on his own,” I told Townie. “You know drugs are everywhere. He’s just messing around. If we give him a hard time, it’ll backfire.”

Townie’s shoulders were tight and he shook his head. “Hope you’re right, man.”

“Hey, don’t be too rough on him, dude. It’s like you with the women. You can’t get enough of the attention but eventually it’ll get old.” I hoped it worked that way with the drugs, but I wasn’t so confident.

Townie laughed. “Don’t think so. I got a lotta years ahead of me before that happens.”

Women didn’t ruin bands like drugs did. Sure, there were a few we all knew about, but it wasn’t a problem I worried about. Besides, none of us had anyone serious. For the moment.

And, cue bringing up my Instagram app again. Yeah. I could barely go a few minutes without thinking of her. It was an addiction.

Townie was the only one who knew about it. He’d caught me one too many times. He shook his head and I shrugged as he walked to a booth giving away backpacks.

I wasn’t actually one of Kick’s followers. Yeah, it was pathetic, but I didn’t want her to know I still thought about her, remembered her. Which was dumb, because I did hold out hope I’d run into her again, somehow, someway. It was also dumb because she had eighty thousand followers. Doubt she’d notice me. Anyway, I had to search for her account every time I did this.

I was walking slowly as I brought up her account, but stopped when I saw the photo. Her sister and Jett Decker in a car. About to enter StageFest.

“Yo, Townie!” I called over to him. “Let’s check out the rest of the festival. You know, hang with the riff raff.”

Townie glanced over his shoulder at me, backpack slung over it, already on his way to the booth with watches. “You serious? This shit might be picked over tomorrow,” he said, though he didn’t sound too worried.

“Whatever. Grab a watch and let’s go.” Carson came over then, and wanted to come with. Then he texted his sister Addy, and her friend, Cassie, and we had the whole crew except for Will, who was napping on the bus. The dude slept more than anyone I’d ever met.

This was the first festival I’d been to since we went on tour and signed with the label. I wanted to stay focused on the music, on getting up on stage tomorrow, but there was no way I could miss an opportunity to try “bumping” into Lydia Spark.

Addy stuck close by my side. She and Cassie had started referring to themselves as our PAs – personal assistants. Before we signed with the label, Addy had helped us out with some of the administrative tasks that none of us wanted to deal with. She was at the shows, making sure we had what we needed. Now we were able to actually pay her, Cassie too, and their workload had picked up significantly. As they started handling more money and more high-stakes business deals and sponsorship stuff on our behalf, I was questioning if we needed someone more experienced. Yeah, we had an agent who helped out, and at attorney who reviewed contracts before we signed them. But still, Addy was only a couple years older than us. She had a college degree in business administration but aside from hanging around with us, didn’t really have any experience in the music industry.

And there was the problem that she wanted in my pants. She hadn’t made it a secret at first, coming on to me every chance she got, but that was years ago, and she’d stopped trying. Still, I got the sense she hung on to some hope that we could be something more someday. She got all territorial when women approached me, though she hadn’t crossed any lines of actually stopping me from hooking up with someone. I put up with her, because she was Carson’s sister, but I was starting to wonder if I’d have to be the bad guy and hire a real PA or financial person for the band. I didn’t trust she was the best fit for where we were headed.

My eyes darted around the venue as we walked through the vending area, with food trucks and craft booths, ones that actually charged money. The air was thick with various smells – pizza, barbeque, pot, sweat – and the music hadn’t even started yet. The first band was due to go on in about an hour, and most people were still arriving, setting up campsites.

I wasn’t quite at the point of instant recognition, even amongst the concertgoers, but a few people stopped us, asked for autographs or wanted to shoot the shit about the tour, our music. We were hitting the end of the vendor section, the booths starting to intersperse between tents. I hadn’t spotted her, and I was keeping my eye out for Jett or Shay too.

Carson was high, wandering aimlessly away from the group every few minutes before showing back up again, and Cassie was smoking a joint, in a daze as she trailed behind us. Addy didn’t question me as I continued forward, and Townie seemed to be enjoying the attention as people eyed us. Even those who didn’t approach or recognize us must have known we were musicians because I felt the stares. I was about ready to turn around, maybe head to the stage to catch the opening act from the audience side, when a flash of black hair caught my attention.

I peered around a station wagon and a pickup truck, and took a step forward. There she was, laughing as she poked her sister in the butt with a tent pole. I stood there for a few seconds, just taking her in, the light tan on her long legs, the way her tank top exposed a section of her back. She threw her head back and laughed harder as the pole snapped, swinging to whack Jett Decker in the back of the head.

“Shit man, go over and say hi already,” Townie said, sending an elbow to my ribs. “Or else I will.”

That was all it took to get my feet moving. I had no idea how she’d respond, but I wasn’t going to let this chance slip by.