5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

Toby

M y face hurts from forced smiles, and my fingers cramp from all the writing. Though playing guitar has strengthened my hands, nothing compares to writing the same thing over and over and over again.

When does the real party start?

It's only when I see Anna flushing for the second time tonight, amid a crowd of fans, that I toss my Sharpie onto the table. "Who do you think she's talking to?"

"What do you care?" Mac asks and tips his chair back on two legs beside me. Our PR rep switches the phone to her other hand as she paces nearby, away from patrons but not too far from us.

"Because shit's been weird as hell and it's creeping me out."

Mac snorts and accepts another Pride flag for his signature, the fan bypassing me, even when I make a move to offer my pen.

"It's because of your beard. No one wants to tell you how ugly it is."

The comment catches me off guard and has a laugh bubbling up. "Where's the fucking whiskey? I'm over this already."

Mac elbows me in the ribs as a fan scowls at me, another signature bypassed. "Could you at least pretend ?"

It's the first time tonight that he looks serious, his chair now on all four legs and his brow furrowed.

"Pretend what?"

"That you give a fuck. Duh . You're throwing all kinds of weird vibes," Mac says, muttering something else under his breath that I miss. Then, in an instant, he's back to his usual self, the joking drummer.

Literally.

He snatches my marker and starts piddling a beat on the table's edge with the plastic.

A few cheers sound around us, accompanied by flashes of cameras, spurring him on. He begins to tap his foot as if it's his kick pedal, his other hand joining in with his own marker, creating a series of annoying clinks .

How his bodyguard deals with him on a regular—

"Excuse me, Toby?" The female voice has my attention snapping away from the bastard beside me and landing on a soft smile and an As Above tee.

Now that's what I'm talking about.

"Hey," I greet, grinning for real, and she blushes. "You got something for me to sign?" I tilt my head to the papers in her grip, and she gets an even deeper shade of red in the face.

Hmm, wonder what else is flushed?

I like 'em shy. Hell, I like 'em confident, too.

Equal opportunist and all.

And this chick just landed on my radar for a potential bed mate for the night.

Let's see how easy she can corrupt. That's my absolute favorite.

"Y-yeah," she stammers and steps closer.

"Please collect your things and move along!" Anna calls from somewhere behind the chick in front of me, making her jump and my brow dip.

"Don't worry, hun." I hold a hand out in offering. "I'll make it quick."

The woman leans in, close enough that her thighs touch the tabletop, and her grimace grows into a forced grin. "That's what you said last time I saw you."

What?

Confusion contorts my features, making me drop my hand when she slaps papers over top of the few posters strewn before me. It's some kind of typed-up, official-looking paperwork with a signature line at the bottom and a complete contrast to the band posters beneath.

"Sign this," she hisses through gritted teeth. "Or I go public."

I feel like I'm the mouse caught by the tail.

"The fuck is this?"

"You know exactly what this is," she whispers and taps a chipped black nail on the papers.

Is she trembling?

My gaze flips to Mac, my brow furrowed, the hair on the back of my neck standing on end. "Okay, c'mon. Where are the cameras?"

I force a chuckle that goes unreciprocated. Because Mac looks just as dumbfounded as me.

This has to be a shitty joke.

Right?

"No cameras if you sign," the chick responds, her eyes darkening, her tight smile thinning.

"There a problem here?" I spare a glance at the papers when Lugh's voice cuts in and double-take. I'm up out of my seat like it's on fire, sweat prickling my brow as I fist the sheets the chick laid out for me. Only a few of the printed words register in my head.

Words like child bounce around inside my skull and threaten to pop out.

Child.

"There's definitely a fuckin' problem," I growl to the bodyguard who appears at my side and accepts the shitstorm in my hands. Without another word, Lugh rounds the table and grabs the chick by her elbow. Her face drops when the bodyguard turns her away from me and she begins to struggle.

"Hey! Let go of me—"

"Hell no," Lugh responds, and even though he moves them another step away from me, my stomach drops.

No way it's real.

Is it real?

"Get off me," the woman nearly screams, gaining just enough attention from those around her, promising a scene if Lugh doesn't get her the fuck out of here. "Let go, or I'll sue—"

"We gotta go." I feel eyes on me. Hands. Cameras. The whispered comments filling the room as it goes silent aside from the grating feminine voice beside me, urging my feet to move. "Jeffers, go. Now."

It can't be real.

Fake pregnancies and pretend babies have happened with As Above. It's one of the easiest ways to get attention in our world. But none of them have ever had paperwork .

Real life, honest-to-the courts paperwork.

My head spins. My feet shuffle. My hearing tunnels as I wrack my memory and try to place her face.

Did I ever sleep with her?

Why can I not remember her?

"Toby."

It's not real.

"Tob, c'mon."

Not even Mac can muster up a weird name. I hear his voice calling after me, feel his presence, and yet …

"This can't be real." The words tumble from my numb lips, my fingers tingling at the tips as I look around me and feel only eyes. They're on me, only me, filled with different levels of judgment and sympathy.

It is real.

I'm just like them.

Just. Like. Them.

I'm gonna be tied down and washed up. Wrung out and pinned to the spot, waiting and wishing and filling with regret with each day that passes.

With each day, I'll lose my freedom.

My breathing becomes labored, my heart racing in my chest, my bandmates staring intently, waiting for the explosion that is my life. Waiting for the inevitable collapse of all that is me.

It's all over.

My dream … our dream.

It's over.