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God, I hate lying to the guys, but what else can I say? They’re still pissed at Luke for leaving us. Luke is pissed at me for existing. I don’t need to close the “pissed” loop.

“I told you. Family stuff. Molly had a thing.” I return my attention to the guitar, hoping they won’t probe further. “I think we should cut ‘Better Get Back’ from the set.”

“What?!”my bandmates cry, the previous topic forgotten.

Mission accomplished.

“That’s our biggest track!” Sweeny says.

“Did you see the crowd at sound check?” I return.

“There was no one here at sound check. Doors weren’t even open yet.”

“Exactly.”

I push up from the couch to head backstage. That confusing exchange should keep them busy for a while.

They’re still mumbling to each other about whatever’s up my ass as I escape down the hall. The fact that this place evenhasa green room was a surprise.

Another surprise? The scratch of new lyrics and melodies that’s been haunting me since I boarded the plane yesterday. It’s not a full song yet, but it’s enough to know I’m in deep shit.

I’ve spent the last five years surrounded by celebrities and beautiful women, and it’s some random girl in a diner who’s cemented herself in my brain. A woman I will probably never see again.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

Nothing in me wants to entertain this weird compulsion, but I find myself pulling out my phone anyway. I open the notes app and start typing. Maybe just writing things down will purge them from my turbulent head.

For a few minutes, I dump the strange words onto the notepad. It feels good just to be writing again—until I read them back.

A chill runs through me at what I just wrote.

“I can only dream of ending all the waiting

Praying that I’ll see you again

Traveling the world, I’ve seen so many others

But I can’t keep from thinking of you

But I still walk alone

Should I just move along

Only time will tell

If I can be the one inside your dreams

Can it be me?”

What the actual hell?!

I scrub at my face and stare at the sappy lyrics that make no sense. My finger hovers over the delete button. Embarrassed and confused, I re-read the lines from the wing of the stage as the dull murmur of the crowd evolves into a cheer when the lights come down.

Delete it. Let it go. There’s nothing for you in that damn city.

A smack on the arm startles me, and I glance up to see Marcus with a questioning look on his face.

“You good, dude?” our contract guitarist asks as our intro music blares through the house.