4. Varian

Iclosed out of my email.

"Maybe he lost it." My brother, Vallen, folded our set list into a paper airplane.

"Do you think?" I'd bared my soul and gotten blown off.

"You're on tour, sitting in a hotel business center after checking your email fifteen times a day. What is it with this guy?"

"The signal here is shit, and I figured maybe my email wasn't delivering." I lifted my shoulders and slumped back in the desk chair. "Am I stupid?"

"The right person will."

"Will what?" I swiveled to look at him.

"The right person will show up for you every day."

"It doesn't feel like I'll ever find the right person." I knew my position as second fiddle.

Vallen threw the airplane at me.

I snatched it out of the air.

"What has you all?" Bronx walked into the business center, eating a bowl of cereal from the free continental breakfast, and gestured at me.His red mohawk was laid down, making him look like he had one luxurious side of hair with a buzzed other side.

"Has me what?" I played dumb, not wanting to admit it.

"You look like a wet blanket," Fox muttered, stepping in behind Bronx, shoving food into his face.

"The bus leaves in five minutes. Why are you just eating?"I looked between our other two bandmates.

"I'm just taking advantage of the free food," Bronx admitted, not ashamed.

"Second breakfast. I burn six thousand calories drumming under the stage lights. I can't lose any more weight or my doctor won't let me play." Fox huffed but kept eating.

"So rock and roll of you to watch your weight with your doctor," Bronx said, holding back a laugh. "You really could use to put on a few pounds, though. I'm a little worried you'll blow over in a strong wind." He wasn't wrong.

"I'm trying." Fox shoved a massive bite into his mouth before dumping the half-eaten bowl into the trash. "Hence the doctor."

"I don't know how you eat fifteen times what I do in a day, and you don't gain a pound." Bronx shook his head. "If I look at food too long, I gain five pounds."

"Not like food on the road helps," Val said, glancing down at himself. He'd always been self-conscious about his weight.

"You're looking a little thin," I said, not even sure how to address that he didn't need to lose anymore. His cheeks were already hollow.

"It's this cold." Val waved me off.

I nodded, knowing this was the worst time to press it. "You have been sick a lot."

"It's shit," Val agreed. "I swear someone sneezes in a club, and I'm sick the next day. My voice is shot. I'm looking forward to our month off before Warped."

"Can we circle back to who pissed in your cornflakes?" Bronx asked, holding open the door for us to walk out to the bus.

"He's waiting for the singer of Second Star to reply to him." Val sold me out.

"No shit?" Fox asked, turning around to block the entrance to the bus.He was lanky with blacked-out sleeves and geo patterns that stretched from under his chin down to a point between his pecs. It might have struck an imposing figure to a stranger, but I'd known him too long. While he could be an asshole, he wasn't to me.

"I don't know. We had a…moment at his release party, and I gave him my email…" The more I spoke, the dumber I felt. I shoved my hair out of my eyes, sure I was fucking up the style.

"Did you scare him off already?" Fox lifted a brow.

I held up my middle finger. "I don't even have his number."

"Wait, is this the band you were gushing about?" Bronx snapped his fingers, screwing up his face, trying to remember. "Second Star? They're playing Warped, right?"

"Yep." I shoved past Fox, knowing we needed to get on the road.

"You'll see him in a month. Do you need to talk to him before?"

"We had—" I cut myself off. "No, you're right."

Bronx and Fox exchanged a glance.

"They had a moment," Val filled in for me.

I flipped him the bird. "He seemed into it. Maybe he was just blowing smoke. He's busy. They went platinum. It doesn't matter. Come on. We got to go." I'd feel better after a few hours in my bunk.

"Give him some time. It gets wild when you blow up. You've got to remember." Val softened, all the tease dropping out of his voice.

"I'll feel better after I sleep."

* * *

I didn't feel better.

I felt anxious.

I felt like the world was closing in around me. Like everything I touch turns to ash. Heading back to play in our hometown intensified my imposter syndrome. It didn't matter that I had a successful album, was about to headline one of the biggest festivals in the world, and Rolling Stone had called Dopamine-Fiend one of the bands redefining grunge; the rejection still stung. And none of it would matter when I walked over the threshold of my grandparents' apartment in Brooklyn to see the worry written in the lines on my grandmother's face. I knew she saw my father every time she looked at me.

I didn't know how to prove to her I'd never be my parents, and the cherry on the fucking cake was finally having the courage to open up to someone about it all and it falling flat.

* * *

By the time we got onstage all of my energy was gone. Left some place on long stretches of highways. I focused on the passion from our home crowd. They were the reason we got to live this life. This was the reason I could pay my grandparents' mortgage every month to pay them back for taking us in when my parents couldn't be trusted. To pay them back for the surgeries and therapies following my accident.

Our fans were the reason they could have a good retirement.

I had to keep driving forward even if my grandparents believed it would end in ruin.

I settled into a rhythm, getting my vibe back, when a flicker caught my attention.

Intense green eyes.

I noticed them before anything else. They held an otherworldly ferocity.

It couldn't be.

Don't get your fucking hopes up.

When I caught a moment between songs, I cast a sly look in his direction, getting a better look at the tight, sleeveless undershirt. Over it he wore a beaten leather jacket. Safety pins hung from self-pierced ears, and he wore a smile stretched across his whole face.Those fucking dimples.

What a fucking sight.

One look, and he stole the breath from my lungs. I almost missed my chords, forgetting how to play or maybe how to function entirely.

Thankfully, the fingering came back to me, but I missed my backup vocals. My brother would have to get over it.

Why was Arik here? What in the world brought him to fucking Brooklyn?

Maybe he was here for some album promo. It had to be a coincidence he was in town the last night of our tour.

He wore this sexy puppy dog look about him as he dug his teeth into his lower lip. He caught me looking and smiled, shoving his hands into his pockets.

This guy. This fucking guy.

I tried to look away when he lifted his gaze again, seeking me out, but I couldn't make myself. He smiled so warmly that it was infectious. I stood in front of my mic and sang my heart out, never taking my eyes off him.

How did Arik simply showing up here make me this happy?

Shit. I had to get myself together so I didn't make an ass of myself.

We finished our set—somehow, and I bolted offstage to get into the crowd. I'd barely unplugged myself and ditched my guitar with my brother before I was making my way through the densely packed people waiting for the headliner. It would be at least thirty minutes before they went on, and chances were I'd get recognized, but I didn't care.

I had one singular focus.

He wasn't where he'd been when our show ended. I hoped he hadn't left. He couldn't only be here to see me, could he? But what other reason would he have?

Did he watch us play and bail?

Wouldn't he have at least said hi?

Finally, I spotted him at the bar, and I slipped in next to him. "Hey there, star boy."

"Star boy?" He turned to look at me with a smile that would light up the whole sky. ‘Star boy' was so fitting.

"You picked it, not me."

"Because we are Second Star?" he asked, amusement showing in his eyes as he picked up his drink.

"It's that or Pan. Choose carefully." I took it out of his hand before he could finish it and downed the last sip.

"Hey!" He reached for the glass, but it was already gone.

"Aren't you too young to be drinking?"I knew he was twenty-one, but he had an innocence to him I found endearing.

"I'm almost twenty-two." He held up a finger up to the bartender, and when he walked over, he ordered two more of his vodka UVs.

"You're such a basic guy." I had to laugh.

"I like sweet shit. No judging." He tossed down cash and picked up the fresh drink. "What would you rather be drinking? Everything else tastes like shit. That Jack we drank gave me heartburn. And who can even afford this? After what it cost me in gas to get here, who is paying these prices in this economy?"

"What do you expect in New York?" I dug in my pocket for the drink tickets the venue gave us as part of our deal for playing tonight and replaced his cash. "I got this one."

"Thanks," he muttered, cheeks heating.

"Don't worry, star boy, I'll teach you." I sipped my drink, unable to take my eyes off of him.

"The right one will." My brother's words echoed in my head.

Don't get your fucking hopes up, I tried to tell myself.

Why did this feel like it was written in the stars?

And why was Val always fucking right?

"What are you thinking about?" Arik asked.

"A lot of stuff."

"Like?" He traced a finger over the VIP band around my wrist.

"What made you come to my show?" I said carefully, not sure how far I could push this or really what I could say. I didn't want to freak him out if he was that type of guy because I did genuinely want to be friends.

I hated the way I was sometimes and how scared society was of it. I wasn't attracted to men or women. I was attracted to people and personalities and maybe a little what I made up about someone in my head. But with Arik, it was so much more. He felt a little more real than the rest of the world. Like he was the only one in bold while the rest of us lived in muted tones. I wanted to feel as alive as he felt all the time.

"I tried to write an email, but I'm no good with words. I can't get them to come out right." He dropped his attention to his glass on the bar top, spinning it slowly.

"The songwriter is no good with words?"

He shrugged. "Not when I want them. They come when I don't need them."

I understood it. Art was forever finicky. "What was your email going to say?"

Arik hesitated. "That I wanted to see you again."

My voice caught in my throat. Was this a friend thing or more?

I didn't dare think he was gay, did I?

"Why is that?" I asked with a slick confidence I didn't really feel.

He shrugged and shook his head. "That night." That night in-fucking-deed. "I want to be friends—is that a weird fucking thing to say? Fuck. I just made it weird."

I laughed. A hint of social anxiety from the guy who exuded confidence made me feel a little better. "It's not weird. I like that you're forward. Especially in this job, it's hard to know what people want from you, and we aren't even that famous."

"You're way more famous than we are. I'm sure you get it more than we do."

I stared at the side of his head. "Are you kidding me? You have this die-hard fan group. I think they'd kill for you. It's like a damn mob. And look how good your first major record label album is doing. I heard it's almost double platinum."

He nodded. "Chicago is like that for our own."

"I'm jealous. It took us a lot of touring to build up to that, and no matter how much work we put in, we'll always be accused of only being famous because of my parents."

"Anyone who's heard your music would know better. It's good. What makes you feel like that?"

"I don't know, some days it still feels like we are on the edge of disappointing everyone. Like if we aren't better with every single and every show, they'll leave. They are always sitting on the fence in case I don't live up to my father. Or my mother, for that matter," I added as an afterthought.

"What makes you feel that way?"

"I don't know. But it doesn't feel like your fans. Your fans seem to be frothing at the mouth for you."

"You just got off touring with a massive band, you're headlining Warped, and I've heard you're going to be headlining your own tour come fall. And I was in the pit for your set. I'd say your fans are pretty rabid." He downed the rest of his drink.

I dug in my pocket for the other tickets, throwing down a couple more while picking up my forgotten drink. "Maybe it's me."

"If they see what I see, you're gonna shoot past the moon after Warped." Arik lifted his eyes from his drink. Green with flecks of gold, like someone had made this guy in a goddamn lab.

"Is everything celestial for you?"

"Only when I like it."

A smile stretched across my face, hurting my cheeks. "Didn't you post last night you went to your parents' house for spring break? How did you get here so fast?" It just occurred to me there was no way he was here for media.

"I drove all night."

"Did you sleep?"

"What's sleep? Guys in bands don't get to sleep." Even other people in the scene were just doing this for fun on the side and hedging until they made it big. I could already tell Arik and I saw it differently.

We were in this for life.

"You've got to be beat." My next question sat at the tip of my tongue, but I didn't dare ask.

"I napped in my car for a few hours."

"You're not planning on driving back tonight…are you?" I hedged, not fully asking what I wanted.

"I'll sleep for a few more hours in my car or something. I spent most of my cash to get here. I can't blow the rest on a hotel." He pulled a face. "Didn't think that one fully through."

"You can crash with Val and me. It's nothing special since we live with our grandparents when we aren't touring, but they gave us their basement so we have our own space." It wasn't exactly finished or heated, but we weren't here that much.

"That's really cool of them. I know you said they aren't that supportive."

"They are, and they aren't. Better than them dragging me onto Jerry Springer for out-of-control teens or some shit." I laughed because I'm sure they wanted to do worse throughout Val's and my adolescence.

He fought a smile, biting his bottom lip, but his dimples showed, and I fucking liked them. "This is why I stayed so straight-laced looking to my parents with good grades. I'm still worried they'll have me committed for dropping out of law school."

"Did you tell them?" I asked, remembering he'd been afraid.

"I did. My mom didn't take it well, but my dad did."

"Maybe they'll come around."

He lifted his shoulders and tapped his empty drink cup on the bar. "Do you have to go pack up? Want some help?"

I raised a brow, wetting my lips with my tongue. "If you're going to hang out for the night…" I said like I could bribe him.

"As long as I'm not keeping you from something. I don't have to be back tonight…"

"Tonight, huh? You saying I got all night?"

He searched my face. "Got big plans for me?"

I laughed. "You have no idea, star boy."

I was surprised when he followed me to the back. Mostly that I hadn't scared him off yet.