Wes followed my gaze and made a sound. “I see.”

I looked at him. “What?”

“Sustain.” His eyebrows shot up, and he ducked his head, looking dejected. “I get it.”

“Sustain?”

“Your old band.”

I continued to frown at him. “What are you talking about?”

“Sustain.” He stared at me. “They used to be your band.”

“My band’s name is Braille.”

He sighed, his mouth moving in a grimace. “I thought Callen was…never mind.” Then he moved closer again and leaned toward my ear. Resting a hand on my shoulder as he pointed to the squealing girls, he spoke clearly, “They’re talking about your old band. They changed their name since you’re not with them. They aren’t Braille anymore. It’s Sustain now.”

I moved his hand off me. “Is this a joke?” Why hadn’t Braden told me this? But I knew, even as I thought that, I knew why he didn’t. It was because it would be more final. They were a different band. They were moving on without me. New name. New member. New direction. I was out. Four months later, it still hurt.

“No joke. They’re getting big, Bri. You must be proud. I mean, that’s your brother, your cousin, your b…your friend.”

“How big? What do you mean by that?”

“It’s like they exploded this week. I mean, they were big already, but now they’re signed, and they’re traveling. It was kind of genius. I heard their label wanted them to do a mini-tour, test out some of their new material before doing a big launch. They’ve got fans all over now. They were picked up to headline for another band, too. That’s huge, but,” he was studying me intently, “you must know all about this.”

My lips pressed in a flat line. “Yeah, Braden calls home all the time. I must’ve forgotten about a lot of this.”

A renewed squeal came from the girls’ corner again, and they began waving their phones around. I could hear their voices over the noise in the room, but the music paused in that slight second, and I heard Luke’s voice fill the air. It was slight, but they had programmed all their phones to play at the same instant, so Luke’s voice rose in volume.

“Hello, Phoenix!” Luke called out.

Phoenix. They said Nebraska before.

I needed a beer. “When do we play again?”

Wes had been watching me the whole time. “You didn’t know any of this, did you?”

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to.

He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Bri. I thought you knew. Hell, I thought you would’ve been proud. They have a website for their band, too. There’s not much on there, just their future shows and pictures, but there are lots of comments. A lot of girls go on there. They’re nuts for Luke and Braden.”

“When do we go on again?” Please, shut up.

“Um,” he hesitated.

“Wes,” I snapped, glaring at him. “I’m going to go outside and drink. I need to know when to come back in.”

“I can come get you. We don’t have a set time, probably a half hour or so.”

“You’ll come get me?”

“You’ll be okay to play?”

I rolled my eyes and shoved through the crowd again. Snagging a case of beer, I went out the back door and inhaled. I needed the crisp air since the air inside was stifling. My lungs had started to constrict. Veering to a few vacant seats I had spotted at the edge of the yard, I passed a large group of people hanging out on the patio. Grateful for the trees surrounding me and blocking me from view, I plopped down, set the case beside me, and opened my first beer of the night.

I hadn’t made it a habit of playing while I was drunk, but I knew I could do it. I could handle Callen; they weren’t as good as my old band—I stopped thinking and downed the beer.

“Don’t do that.”

My hand clenched around the beer can, and I gritted my teeth. Of course, he would be here. Twisting around, I glimpsed Elijah emerging from the trees surrounding me. He dropped to the chair beside me. Pointing his lit cigarette to the beer, he said, “Give me one.”

I did, but scowled. “‘Don’t do’ what?”

He leaned back, finished his cigarette, and opened his beer. “You look ready to drown your sorrows or whatever cliché shit that is.”

“What are you doing here?”

He laughed and shoved his free hand into his sweatshirt, then took a long pull from his beer. “I’m at a party. What do you think?”

“You’re selling.”

He shrugged. “Who cares if I am? Pretty Boy’s gone. From my viewpoint, it looks like you need a friend. So,” he angled his chin up with a wicked gleam in his eyes, “do you need a friend, Bria?”

“It’s still not Bria.”

“But you need a friend, don’t you?”

“Not you.”

He scoffed, finishing his beer. He held out his hand, and I put another beer in it. Then he shrugged again, slumping down in his chair and getting even more comfortable. “Get the stick out of your ass. Pretty Boy isn’t here anymore. I am and you need someone around you that you trust. I know you don’t trust that new band you joined. They look like a bunch of pussies.”

“I don’t trust yo—”

“Yes, you do,” he cut me off, and it was true. I did trust Elijah. I didn’t approve of some of the things he did, but I trusted him. He asked, “Are you okay? No bullshit. Are you okay?”