1. One

"Jesus Christ, it looks like a party threw up in here." Remi, our lead guitarist, shoved his hands in his blue jean pockets and waded through the sea of discarded bottles and red Solo cups littering the floor. The other four members of After Atom followed close behind. I was probably late for another recording session, but what else was new?

If he thought it looked bad in the living room, I couldn't wait to hear what he thought of the pool. I was pretty sure at least one person had thrown up in it last night. Or was that the night before? I couldn't remember. The days were starting to blur together again, which was never a good sign. I just needed another drink to clear my head. I grabbed the nearest bottle that wasn't empty and sniffed it before taking a swig.

Remi stopped right in front of me in his obnoxious hot pink custom Nikes. "Are you high too, or just drunk this time?"

"Are you gonna be a regular dick or a judgmental dick this time?" I spat back at him and lifted the bottle.

Before I could take another drink, Jake wrenched the bottle out of my grip and passed it to Gabe. "He's worried about you, Dante. All of us are."

Gabe sniffed the vodka and grimaced before putting it down, just out of reach.

I tipped my sunglasses down and immediately regretted it when the sun made my head throb. "I'm fine."

"You're drunk," Trevor said, because of course Trevor would say that. Remi could say the sky was green and Trevor would back him up.

Remi snorted. "He's always drunk."

"And you're always a dick." I got up to retrieve the bottle, but Trevor stood in my way. "Move."

Trevor folded his arms. "No."

"Enough, boys." Our manager, Sam, paced in, surveying the room with a frown. His eyes settled on an old mirror with white powder still scattered over it. "That'd better not be what I think it is."

"What is this? Another intervention?" I plopped back down on the sofa. "So I threw a party last night. Big deal."

"It is a big deal when you're an addict," Remi said.

I rolled my eyes. "You're just pissed I didn't invite you." I picked up my phone, but Sam snatched it away. "Hey! I was using that."

"And now you're going to listen to me," Sam said, tucking the phone into the pocket of his shirt. "Look at yourself! Do you know the kind of field day the media would have if you went out as fucked up as you are right now? God, tell me nobody was in here taking pictures. You didn't have hookers here again? At least tell me they were women this time."

I rolled my eyes. "Fuck off, Sam. It's none of your fucking business. "

"You're made it my business when you hired me." He tried to haul me up to my feet, but I swatted him away.

"Hey, come on. Back off, Sam. That's not helping." Gabe slid between me and Sam to break up the fight that everyone knew was brewing.

Sam was a grade-A biphobic jackass one hundred percent of the time. When I was sober, I could usually just pretend it didn't bother me, but with the hangover jackhammering against my skull, that was impossible. Last time he'd found me this hungover, he'd practically dragged me to rehab. Not because he cared about me or my health. He'd made that clear. No, all Sam cared about was his meal ticket. If I OD'd, he'd lose his golden goose.

"I just need a shower and some coffee, and I'll be good as new," I muttered, looking away from Sam.

"Pretty sure you need more than caffeine and soap, my friend," Jake offered.

I glared at him. "I'm fine. "

Jake sighed and sat down on the sofa next to me. "You need help, Dante. And I'm not the only one who thinks so. We all talked and we agree."

Sam folded his arms. "We don't have time for this. Somebody get me some clean clothes, and run a bath. We're due at the studio in an hour."

"Fuck the studio." Remi got up in Sam's face. "Acting like nothing's wrong is how we got here. He needs rehab, not more work."

"Fuck rehab," I growled.

Three stints in rehab were enough. Besides, that place was practically a prison. Maybe worse than a prison. Rehab was all pointless group sessions spent in circles trying to get us to set goals and talk about our feelings. I didn't need goals, not when I already had everything I ever wanted. Sometimes, I wondered if that was exactly the problem.

I'd come up from nothing, literally the poorest kid I knew. I remember Christmases without electricity and stints of living with grandma while Mom worked two jobs and lived in her ancient Acura. Going from broke to billionaire in the space of a few years had really thrown me for a loop. All I needed was a little more time to adjust. I'd get my head on straight, probably faster if everyone would butt the fuck out of my life.

Jake put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm saying this as your friend, Dante. You need to get sober."

"I am sober," I lied, picking up another vodka bottle and shaking it to see if there was any left.

Jake arched an eyebrow and crossed his arms.

"Okay, sober-ish," I relented and tossed the empty bottle aside. "Have you seen my lighter? The one that looks like a grenade." I started pulling up couch cushions, looking for the lighter.

Remi sighed and closed his eyes. "Dante, if you don't get your shit together, we're going to have to let you go."

I stared at him, expecting him to start laughing. That had to be a joke, right?

"Bullshit," I spat when he didn't laugh. "You can't fire me! Without me, there is no After Atom."

"Remi can sing," Trevor pointed out. "And I already write half the songs."

"Yeah, because that worked out so well for you before," I said, crossing my arms. "Let me guess. This whole thing was your idea, Remi?"

Remi looked away. He was just jealous that it was my voice that sent After Atom to the top, and not his. He'd always resented getting bumped to doing the backup vocals, always pissed that I'd become the face of the band. Well, fuck him. I put After Atom on the map, not him.

"It wasn't Remi's idea." Jake rubbed the back of his neck. "It was mine."

I stared at him, my jaw hanging open. How could he? Jake was my best friend, my only friend some days. He knew how much I hated rehab, and how hard it was for me to cope with all the shit that came with being famous. He was the one who'd passed me the bottle in the first place. My fists clenched, fingernails leaving sharp half-moons in my palms.

Jake lowered his hand. "Listen, Dante, I know this is hard for you to hear, but—"

I scooped up the mirror and dumped the powder in the trash. "That what you want? How about this?" I pitched a near full bottle of imported vodka into the trash, followed by several beers and the whiskey. "How much do I have to throw away before it's good enough for you?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Don't be a child, Dante."

"I don't have time for rehab!" I shouted, throwing my hands up. "The tour kicks off in six weeks. I'm no mathematician, but fuck, man. Don't come at me with this bullshit now. It doesn't help, anyway. If rehab was going to cure me, they'd have succeeded by now."

"Dante…" Jake put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed.

I threaded my fingers together behind my head and turned my back on everyone. "They can't help me. No one can."

"You can," Jake said. "But you have to want it, Dante, and if you don't want it for yourself, I need you to want it for the band."

I lowered my hands and turned back to find my friend looking up at me with glassy eyes .

"Please, Dante. I don't like seeing you like this."

"I'll do it after the tour, okay?" I fished the vodka bottle out of the trash and dusted some coke off the cap. "Promise."

Remi seized the bottle away from me before I even got the cap off. "You're starting today. Right now."

"What the fuck?"

"There isn't a secure rehab facility in California or Nevada that'll take him after the last time," Sam scoffed.

I sighed and folded my arms over my chest. It wasn't my fault I was famous. Okay, so it kinda was, but with the number of celebs who needed rehab every year, it was surprising how few secure facilities there were. And they needed to be secure. Otherwise, the fucking paparazzi would be hiding in the bushes trying to get pictures of pop singers and movie stars, which was exactly what had happened last time. My face had been plastered all over the news everywhere, and legions of well-meaning fans surrounded the facility. They made a shrine outside the building and held vigils like I was already dead. It was a fucking disaster.

"He needs to go somewhere more off the grid," Jake suggested.

I huffed. As if such a place existed. What was his plan? Hide me with the Amish? They were probably the only people in the world who didn't know my face or my music. Even people who hated rock music knew who I was.

"Okay," I said, mostly to humor him. "I'll bite. Where did you have in mind? The Australian Outback? The Saharan Desert? The South Pole? Because those are the only places I can think of that wouldn't have hookers, blow, and booze."

"What about the cabins?" Gabe offered.

Sam frowned. "What cabins? "

"My aunt owns a bunch of chalets in Ohio. They're nice, secluded, far from any big cities or news outlets." Gabe shrugged. "The perfect place to sober up. My aunt can be discreet."

I pulled back and stared at my manager in horror. "Ohio? What the fuck is in Ohio except for corn and cows?"

They ignored me, continuing their conversation.

"Security will be a nightmare," Sam said with a grunt. "We'd have to hire outside help. Someone local to the area. Someone trustworthy."

Oh, God. A new babysitter? I gripped my head. It was bad enough that they were talking about stashing me in the middle of nowhere for a month, but now I was going to have to be stuck there with a stranger?

"This can't be happening. Tell me this is a joke. You can't do this to me! Please! Come on, Sam. I'll go back to rehab. I'll go to the hospital. Anywhere else except for redneck central."

He frowned and pulled his hand away. "It's not up to me. The label execs don't want you making headlines again, Dante. At least not like this. You promised to keep all this queer stuff on the down low, remember?"

How could I forget? It was all Sam ever talked about. He was worried about the backlash, always telling me people would be confused if they found out I was bi, that the rest of the guys didn't want to be seen as a gay rock band. That if I was too loud, too proud, too out about who I was, I could lose everything. And maybe he was right.

I turned to Sam, pleading. "At least let me bring Orlando with me instead of some new guy I don't even know."

Sam shook his head. "I let Orlando go this morning."

"What?" I said in unison with Remi, who paled .

Remi swept up in front of Sam. "You fired Orlando? Without talking to me?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "I don't need to clear decisions through you, Remi."

Gabe frowned. "Why'd you fire Orlando? He was nice."

"You know why," Sam said, glaring at Remi.

Remi crossed his arms and looked away. But we all knew why, and it had nothing to do with me. Sam had been looking for a reason to fire him for months, ever since that tabloid ran that photo of Remi and Orlando holding hands. He thought there was something going on between the two of them, and that it compromised Orlando's ability to protect the band. It was bullshit. Even if there was something between Remi and Orlando, it didn't mean Orlando was bad at his job.

I let out a forlorn groan and sank against the wall, plopping my butt on the floor. Jake and Orlando were my only friends. I didn't want to be away from them. Without my friends, or the music to fall back on, I'd have nothing. It'd be thirty days of absolute boredom.

This was the worst possible thing that could happen.

No, Dante. The worst thing would be getting kicked out of After Atom, which is exactly what will happen if something doesn't change . I sighed. The band had saved my life, propelled me to stardom and given me screaming fans all over the world. After Atom had made me into a household name. None of it would've been possible if my band mates hadn't recruited me.

Back when I joined, they were just another smalltime band uploading sample tracks online, hoping to make it big. They had all the makings of something great, even then, but they were missing a singer with the right voice. They seemed to think it was me, and the label agreed. We got picked up by a major label six months later and the rest was history.

Now, it was annual tours, concerts every other month, interviews on TV, branded T-shirts, and charity events. We'd even been invited to perform at the White House. Next stop? The fucking Super Bowl halftime show, baby. Maybe.

But none of it would happen if I OD'd. None of it would happen at all if I didn't get my shit together. I didn't think I was that bad off, but I had to be if Jake was worried about me. What choice did I have but to try things their way? The worst that could happen was another relapse, and I'd been through plenty of those already.

I sighed and slowly removed my sunglasses. The light hammered against my head as I squinted up at Sam. "When do I leave?"