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“Look, Ster,” he says. His babka is gone; he leans over and takes a bite of yours, wagging his fork for emphasis.

“You are surrounded by yes-men. Probably not your intention; not saying you did it on purpose, but that’s what happened.

Nobody wants to give it to you straight.

They’re too worried that you’ll get offended, and you can’t offend Sterling Grayson, the world’s biggest superstar … ”

“Come on…” you groan.

“Shut up,” he cuts you off. “I don’t have those same compunctions.

I was there when you performed in public for the first time, man.

I remember when you came home from high school and cried after the first day because Jase De Meyer insulted your stupid Justin Bieber haircut, and you didn’t want to go back. Noemi had to get me to talk you down.”

“I think I get your point.”

“My point, ” he echoes, “is that you have your head so far up your own ass, getting high on your own farts, that you’ve forgotten how to be normal.

Normal people can apologize. Normal people realize that it isn’t a fatal mistake if they mess up.

Normal people can just say what they’re thinking to the people they love, and not save all their big feelings for hit songs. ”

“I do not …”

“Uh-uh,” he says, holding up a finger. “You are shutting up, remember? When’s the last time you had a conversation where you weren’t worried about things sounding good, or right, or whatever?

You’ve had too much media training. It’s warped your perspective.

You’ve got a good man there, Ster. I know I don’t know him, but I hear how you talk about him, even when you guys are fighting.

I read the papers. I’ve seen a dozen pictures of him looking at you.

The guy’s down bad, bro. You have a good thing here.

Maybe even a once-in-a-lifetime kinda thing. Don’t let him go. You may speak now.”

Clearly satisfied, he sits back in his chair.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” you say. “Look at your life, Ry. It’s perfect. You’ve got a wife, a beautiful baby. A gorgeous house. A good job that doesn’t involve needing bodyguards and people wanting to throw things at you. It’s hard…”

“No,” Ryan interrupts again. He’s pulled over your pastry and is eating it unabashedly, making you wish that you had spent less time talking and more time enjoying it.

“That’s bullshit, my friend. That’s some poor little rich boy pity-party BS.

You’re living your dream. This is what you always wanted.

Maybe not the fame part. But people singing your songs?

Making a fuck-ton of money playing your guitar?

The Sterling I met when we were kids would be geeked off his face if he could see what you have accomplished.

There’s nothing stopping you from having it all.

Nothing but your own ego getting in the way. ”

“Kai deserves better,” you mumble. “I’m dragging him down with this lifestyle and all my personal bullshit. He never wanted any of this. He’s not that type of guy.”

“We all come with bullshit,” Ryan says. “I snore at night. Sienna can’t stand the noises I make when I’m chewing food.

My boss tells me that I have a bad habit of coming in too hot when these IEP coordinators are giving my special ed families shit about accommodations for their kiddos.

Nobody’s perfect. The good news is, sometimes we meet people who don’t mind the ugly parts.

For some reason, Sienna still likes me. Sounds a lot like Kai really likes you, ugly or not. ”

“You make it sound so simple,” you say.

He shrugs. “Maybe it is? You gonna get on your knees and beg that studly-ass man to forgive your nonsense, or are you gonna cry about it all night?”

“Studly?” You raise an eyebrow.

Ryan laughs. “Bro, we’ve all seen those yogurt commercials.”

“My psychiatrist wants me to go on something for my anxiety,” you confess. “I completely blew her off. I’m guessing you’re gonna say that I should rethink that, too?”

“ Sterling Grayson is wound up tighter than a virgin at a prison rodeo?” He huffs and shakes his head.

“Never have I ever had that thought. C’mon.

You already know the answer. Take the goddamn pills.

Lots of people need their chemicals straightened out.

Maybe they’ll help un-jam that stick from your ass. ”

“Thanks,” you say sarcastically.

“Any time,” he says. “I mean that, too. We really need to get together some time when you aren’t having a mental breakdown, though.

My door’s always open. Come for, like, a cookout in the summer.

I bet Kai can crush some hamburgers and hot dogs.

Hazel will be walking by then. Maybe you can teach her some sweet dance moves. ”

“You’d better get your guest bedroom ready,” you say, “because it’s happening.”

“Good,” he says with a smile. “Hey, not that I want to break up this conversation, but your phone is going nuts.”

Your phone is on silent and flipped upside down on the other end of the dish that was holding your babka, making it out of sight and out of mind for you. When you pick it up, it’s vibrating like crazy. You have three missed calls from Los Angeles, and you’re about to miss Number Four.

“Holy shit,” you swear. “Let me just step outside and take this, Ry. It’s super important.”

“No worries!” he says cheerfully. “When you come in, Sienna’s gonna want that pickleball story. I’ll refresh your coffee.”

“I want another piece of that babka!” you call as you hustle towards the door.

As you step outside into the frigid night to take the phone call—a call that you’ve been waiting for literally for months—the breeze cuts right through you. Somehow, however, you are lighter and warmer than you’ve felt in longer than you can remember.