“Bri!”

I jumped in my seat.

“Go. Get this done.”

My hands were shaking, but I moved on autopilot. Climbing out of the car, I shut the door and then leaned against it for a moment. I closed my eyes. My hands were behind me, gripping the door handle. I wanted to go back in, but I couldn’t.

“Bri.” He pounded on the door, yelling from inside the car. “Get!”

I jerked away as memories of those fists hurting my mother played in the forefront of my mind. I bolted toward the house as if he had hit me right then and there. The closer I got, the more I felt myself leave my body.

“It was easy, actually. I snuck in through your window, and everything was how he said.” My mouth was so dry. “I was the one who robbed your dad. I took the money—”

“He blamed me.” Luke’s voice was painful. It was hoarse and so quiet. “He beat me when I kept denying it. I was in the hospital for a week, Brielle.”

I never went to the hospital. I couldn’t see him that way. “It was my fault.”

“That’s why you went to Elijah?”

My head moved up and down, but it didn’t feel attached to my body. “I’m sorry, Luke. I’m so sorry.”

The room was so tense, and I was afraid to look at him. I was afraid to do anything. He was going to leave. I knew it. I’d be kicked out of the band, and I’d never be with him again. I was going to lose Luke, but it had been right to tell him. Finally.

He stood up; I still didn’t dare look at him, but I heard him pacing. When he spoke, there was an anguished tone to his voice. “I wanted to talk to you tonight because the two people you saw me with are from a record label. Peter and Priscilla Montley. They’re twins, too. They came to hear us play. They’d like to manage us, and if we sign with them, they’ve promised us a record deal. We’ve all discussed it, and the guys are in. You’ve been so busy I haven’t had the chance to tell you about it until now.”

My hands were shaking.

He added, “You lied to me, Bri. Three years. I can’t—he had beaten me before, but this—you lied to me. I can’t…we’re going to Los Angeles tomorrow.” He paused a split second, and then rasped out, “But not you. I don’t want you to have any part of this. I—”

He left.

I waited for him to slam the door shut, but it didn’t come. The door was left hanging open as he walked away.

It was over.

They left the next morning. Braden had been the only one to say goodbye. My mom asked later if I had said my goodbyes earlier because I wasn’t outside when they picked up Braden. I couldn’t answer her. I didn’t want to see the judgment in her eyes.

Four months later, I was trying to shove my way through a crowd of girls to grab a drink from the kitchen. When I got there, I heard a girl squeal, “Hubba hubba! Luke Skeet is going to help me birth my babies.”

I whipped around. The crowd of girls were surrounding something. Moving to get a better look, I saw an iPad with a YouTube clip playing. I couldn’t see what was on the clip, but hearing the excited squeals, the bottom of my stomach fell out. They were watching my band.

Her friends laughed, and another said, “Shut up. He’s my future husband.”

“I heard they’re from Grant West.”

“No way?! Are you serious? Isn’t that clip in Nebraska?”

The first girl spoke, nodding like she was close to the band, “It is. My cousin used to watch them play at some bar there.”

“Grant West, as in two towns over?”

I couldn’t move. I knew they’d been writing music, and Braden mentioned an impromptu tour last week, but this time I was hearing strangers talking about them. I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the group of girls huddled in the corner, clutching their phones, staring at their screens with rapt attention. I was riveted by their reactions. These girls spoke as if Luke and the band were gods.

“Can you move?”

That last question was directed at me. I glanced back, saw a line had formed behind me, and moved to the side.

“Bri?” Wes said my name. He was tall and angelic-looking with blond hair, blue eyes, and overall dreamy. I could almost see the halo attached to his head. He was one of those guys that was too-nice-of-a-guy. He was the lead singer of my new band. Or, correction, I had joined his band, Callen. He smiled at me and placed a hand on my shoulder. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” I gave him a small smile, but rolled my shoulder a bit so he’d release me. As he did, an apology flashed in his eyes, and he moved back a step. I saw his lips move and knew he was going to say another ‘nice guy’ comment—one that would make me feel like a bitch— so before he could speak, I said, “This is a good gig.”

“What?” He leaned closer and then nodded after I repeated myself. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, it is. The guy who lives here said there’d be a big crowd. There’s a bunch of other bands here, too. I don’t know if they’re all playing, but he booked two others.” He signaled to a group of people standing, clustered in a small circle. One guy was bobbing his head in rhythm to the music, and another guy was beating out a fast pace with his fingers in the air. Wes said, “That’s Jersey over there.” I caught a small twinge of jealousy in his gaze when he mentioned the band. “They have Avi. You heard about her, right?”

I nodded. I knew Avi. Her voice was raved about by others, but that wasn’t how I knew her. I wondered if she still kept in touch with my brother, and thinking about him, I glanced back at the girls who were still gushing over their phones, watching videos of the band that I should be with.