“Then what was so horrible that he believed he had to die?”

They all look at each other and shrug.

I blink at them like they’re speaking a foreign language. “I just don’t understand any of this.”

Reece squeezes my shoulder. “We have no idea what happened. We were all there and none of us noticed anything. We’ve been banging our heads against the wall for hours. He was acting normal. The interview earlier in the day went good. We were all bummed about going public about the band splitting up, but he seemed okay.”

“He seemed fine,” Koler adds.

“How does someone seem fine and then jump off a roof?”

They all shake their heads and I gape at them in disbelief. How could they have not noticed something? These are his best friends, his bandmates. They’ve been with him through everything—through all the good times and the bad.

Something must have happened or been said. People don’t just attempt to take their own lives without acting strange or sad or depressed or giving off some kind of vibe.

“Did you guys fight about him wanting to leave the band and you just don’t want me to know? He only wanted to be happy. That’s all. He just wanted to get away from it and have some peace with me and his daughter. There’s nothing wrong with that!” My voice starts to take on a hysterical shriek. They must be hiding something from me. Blue would never, ever, ever leave me and Lyric.

“Piper… there weren’t any fights. Everything was cool with us. He was excited about a new start, the wedding, writing songs for other bands, maybe making a solo album. We’re just as shocked as you are. Did he say anything to you that night? Did you guys maybe have a fight?”

I’m taken aback. “I didn’t hear from him at all. I spoke to him the night before, after the live show, and everything was fine. We were happy.”

“Blue’s been fucked in the head for years. I think he just fucking snapped,” Alex says, rubbing his hands over his face.

I glare at him with anger burning up inside me. “How dare you say that about him,” I seethe. “He’s exhausted from the tours and the stress and writing all the songs. That’s all. I don’t believe any of this.” I stand and throw my water cup in the trash. “Blue would never try to take his own life. He loves me and he loves his daughter. You guys are all crazy and guilty because you pushed him too hard. You used him to do all the work. He probably just went to smoke a cigarette and he fell because he was so tired.”

That’s exactly what happened. Blue loves to look at the sky. He was probably exhausted and lost his balance. It was a horrible, terrible accident and he’s going to be okay.

“Wake up, Piper,” Koler says. “Blue’s been a fucking mess forever. It’s been a constant struggle for us keeping his shit together. Do you know how many times he almost ruined this band with his crazy shit? Disappearing for days? Trying to sleep in strange places? His crazy-ass mood swings? His rambling? He’s up, he’s down. He’s a goddamn ping pong ball. Yeah, he’s a fucking god and the fans love him, and sure—he wrote all the songs. But we were the ones holding him up and picking up the pieces and doing constant damage control and babysitting. You never saw that side of him, you weren’t on the road with us. You saw little slivers of him. He’s always been on the edge of having a fucking meltdown and it finally happened.” He takes a deep breath. “Ya know what? We shoulda quit this shit when he disappeared in the fucking desert. None of this was worth his life. We’re all to blame for this.”

“I can’t listen to this,” I spit out. “I’m going to find one of his doctors and I’m going to see him and he’ll tell me the truth. I know him. He would never try to kill himself.”

Reece grabs my arm and pulls me back down into the chair next to him.

“Give us a few minutes,” he says to the guys, and I watch their feet as they stand and shuffle out of the room.

Good riddance.

“Piper,” Reece says slowly. “We’re not the enemy here. I know you’re upset and scared, but you have to trust us.”

I shake my head. “No. I don’t. You guys don’t know him like I do.”

He pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket, and I recognize the paper immediately because I have many notes just like this one at home.

“This was left for you. I’m sorry, but I read it when I found it in his room. So did the police. I asked them if I could give it to you since it’s meant for you. If he doesn’t live, it’s considered evidence. The police photographed it and I wouldn’t be surprised if this ends up online someday. Shit like this gets really ugly.”