Page 3 of Pretty When It Burns (When The Lights Go Down #1)

Chapter two

"Apologies" - Three Days Grace

Grayson

Earlier That Same Day…

Iwake up with a start.

An obnoxiously loud bang from down the hall—something slamming into the kitchen floor by the sound of it—indicates the house is already in its usual state of chaos.

Typical for the morning of a show. No one in this damn place knows how to be quiet.

I drag a hand down my face, groaning, because while I’ve been in bed for the last eight hours, I maybe slept for four.

I kick off the sheets, still twisted from another restless night, and head for the shower. Turning the water on as hot as it will go, I strip off my boxers and step under the spray, closing my eyes. It’s too hot, but I don’t care.

The water runs through my hair and I rake my hands through it as my fingers drag roughly against my scalp.

For a moment, I just stand there, bracing myself with my hands against the cool tile.

I’m hoping the scalding water will burn off the aching tension in my chest, but I have no such luck.

My jaw clenches, and my eyes stay shut. Balling my fist and pressing it into the tile, I beg myself to fucking breathe.

The smell of sandalwood from my body wash invades my senses as I cleanse underneath my arms and below the belt. Normally the scent is comforting, but today, it’s almost nauseating. I wish for nothing more than for my anxiety to subside, because I’ve got shit to do today and none of this is helping.

Eventually, when I’ve had as much heat as I can take, I turn the water off.

I grab a towel and rub it across my face and down the back of my neck.

Wrapping it around my waist, I use my forearm to clear the condensation from the mirror.

I look up at my reflection and, even though it’s blurred by stubborn water droplets, I see the exhaustion covering my features.

How am I possibly going to face the day ahead?

We’ve got a huge show tonight. The biggest of my career thus far. We’re just one of the openers, but it’s shows like this where bands get noticed and we’re already on the brink of life changing success.

I should probably shave. Or go back to sleep. Or try to actually give a shit. But none of it feels important enough anymore, and my anxiety is at an all time high.

When I finally make it downstairs, Brandon is flipping eggs while Tony and Eric lounge at the breakfast bar, although I know they haven’t been acting this innocent all morning.

I take my seat next to them and sigh a little too loudly.

It isn’t like I want the guys to know there’s something on my mind, but it feels like I’ve been holding my breath since the night before.

“Lily problems?” Tony asks as Brandon serves each of the rest of us a plate. “She’s on tour again, right?”

Lily Vance—my soon-to-be ex-wife, and the lead singer of The Dilemma.

She’s a powerhouse, no doubt about it. Beautiful, talented, and sharp—but somewhere along the way over the last ten years, the idea of fame has twisted something in her as her own band hovers on the brink of success, too.

The strong-willed, take-no-shit woman I once admired has become someone I barely recognize.

The decision to split isn’t all that recent.

We’ve actually already started the divorce paperwork, and we’re about to reach the six month mark of when we can finalize it.

I haven’t even told the guys yet, and I’ve been trying to hide the worst of the arguments from them.

They don’t know how bad it’s gotten, but it’s at the point where I’m going to have to tell them something.

“Yeah, they’re on the east coast, I think,” I reply, trying to recall the last conversation I had with Lily that didn’t involve us screaming at each other.

“What, it’s been that long since you talked?” Eric asks. “I remember when you two used to talk, like, five times a day—at least.”

“Ah, yes,” Brandon says from his place at the stove. “I think we all remember that phase. Can’t say I miss it.”

“Well, we’re…” I start, trying to find the words. “We’re splitting up, actually. We started the paperwork to get divorced awhile ago.”

Tony chokes on his eggs. “What? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It’s time,” I shrug, trying to play it off like it hasn’t been tearing me apart. “I didn’t want to burden you guys with all of this. Lily and I haven’t been us for a long time.”

“I’m sorry, man,” Brandon sighs, walking over to give me a pat on the back. “Are you sure it’s really happening? For the record—you’re never burdening us. We’ve got your back, no matter what.”

It’s a valid question. Being musicians, we have a flair for the dramatic, so yes, when we decided to split, it wasn’t the first time Lily and I had talked, or fought, about divorce. But it was the first time I allowed myself to admit I really couldn’t do it anymore.

“Positive. It’s over. If I’m being honest, it’s been over for years.”

“We’re gonna get you through this,” Tony says as he takes both of our plates to the sink.

“One hundred percent,” Eric adds from the couch.

After breakfast, we have a quick rehearsal, pack up our equipment, and hand it off to our production team.

They’re descending down the driveway and Tony pulls out a cardboard box from behind his drum set, the rest of us groaning loudly.

He tosses each of us a water gun, already filled up like he’s been planning this for days.

Tony loves to make up games for us to play at the house, and most of them we end up begrudgingly enjoying, except when they end up with the fire department getting called. Yeah, that’s happened more than once.

At least this game involves a liquid, but I’m fairly certain it’s not water.

“Please, no,” I mutter. “Not today, Tony.”

“Yes, absolutely today,” Tony insists. “Each of you has been presented with a water gun. We will be running around the house shooting each other with these, each containing an unknown, suspicious liquid, and the wettest one will be eating this!”

He pulls out a jar of what can only be something he’s left in his room to mold for an extended period of time.

Tony’s games are always extremely creative and almost always involve the loser eating or doing something particularly unpleasant.

I’m honestly surprised none of us have been hospitalized yet, and I thank God on a regular basis for the cleaning crew that will be arriving after we leave.

I’m sure every one of them has a special hatred for Tony.

Before anyone can say another word, Eric sprays his suspicious liquid at each of us and runs screaming from the room.

Although Eric always says he hates these games the most, we all know he secretly loves them more than any of us.

The rest of us follow him out of the room and get in our battle positions.

However, it doesn’t take long for my phone to ring with a call from our tour manager to ruin the fun.

“Hey, shut up!” I yell at the band before answering the call. “What’s up, Jake?”

“Where are you idiots?!” I can hear Jake physically fuming from the other side of the phone. “You were supposed to be at the venue twenty minutes ago for soundcheck!”

I check my watch and wince, realizing he’s right. I hang up before Jake can get another word in. He loves to tell me how irresponsible I am, and I don’t want to hear it—now or ever.

“Game over!” I shout, corralling the guys towards the garage.

“Damn!” Eric complains. “I didn’t have a chance to day-drink or take my nap.”

I roll my eyes and push him out the door in the direction of the car. He can have a beer at the venue.

We roll up to the venue almost an hour late which, to no one’s surprise, makes Jake even more furious than he was before. Thankfully, we’re able to duck into our dressing room before he can fully explode on us.

After a smooth soundcheck, Eric and I start our pre-show warm up and Brandon and Tony go to grab a snack. This is my favorite part of doing a show—the moments before when it’s just me and the band doing our thing. No pressure from the crowd and no one feels like they need to be perfect.

In the middle of a run through of a song we’ll be playing tonight, Brandon returns with his sister, which is a surprise. She’s brought someone else with her, but we finish out the song before I bring myself to fully acknowledge them.

That’s when my whole world shifts.

Piercing green eyes. Chocolate brown hair. Pouty, fucking kissable lips with glowing skin that’s never had an imperfection and a blush that highlights her cheeks in just the right way. Beautiful… familiar. My heart stalls.

“Grayson, Eric,” Brandon calls over to us. “This is Rylee’s friend, Mia.”

I remember that name.

Mia Alexander.

She was literally the girl next door—or, across the street, rather.

The one with the oversized glasses who used to sit on her porch while I played guitar.

I haven’t thought about her in years, but now she’s standing right in front of me—grown, gorgeous, and still somehow familiar in a way that makes my chest ache and sends all the blood in my body rushing straight to my dick.

Damn. She’s more than beautiful. She’s fucking exquisite.

It’s a ridiculous word, but the only one that comes to mind.

Rylee, who knows all of us well, gives me and Tony a hug before stepping back beside her friend and giving Eric a small nod of recognition. Mia settles for shaking our hands, but when she gets to me, I hold on to her hand for just a second too long.

I don’t want to let go.

I can’t think straight. There are so many things I want to say that never make it out of my mouth. My brain is still trying to catch up, and I’m almost lightheaded.

Has she noticed that just the sight of her has made me hard as a fucking rock?

Eric pulls me away, probably noticing the deer-in-the-headlights look on my face. Maybe he recognizes her, too. We did all grow up in the same town, after all.

“Hey, Gray?” he says, pulling me out of my daze. “Let’s go check on the stage set up or something.”

We end up leaving the room to watch the other opening act perform. Before I can get too into the song, Rylee grabs me by the shoulder, turning me to face her and pulling me a few feet away from the rest of the guys.

“So, you know Mia?” she asks. “You used to live across the street from her?”

“Yeah,” I reply simply, my brain still not firing on all cylinders. “I mean, we didn’t know each other super well or anything. She was more of my sister’s friend, but yeah.”

Just like that, Mia appears—a panicked look on her face like she’s worried Rylee will say something she shouldn’t. Before I have time to overthink it, I jog over to her, lift her in a hug, and spin her around.

“God, Mia,” I say into her shoulder. “Look at you—all grown up.”

Once I put her down, we continue to linger in each other’s arms for a moment. I pull away just enough to look her over again, because I can’t help myself. Her body’s fucking incredible, and I already can’t get enough. She smiles—shy, but breathtaking—as I take her in.

Those damn green eyes.

The way her hair cascades in waves down her back.

Those fucking lips that are just asking for me to take one in my mouth.

Damn.

How had I missed this when we were younger?

I have to stop my mind from going elsewhere… imagining what it would be like to run my hands all over her, exploring every inch of her body.

“You’re not here just for tonight, are you?” I ask hopefully.

She shakes her head.

Relief hits. Real, deep-in-my-gut relief.

“Good,” I smile, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. “Don’t go anywhere.”

Then I run out on stage and pick up my guitar and mic. But my head? My head is still back there with Mia.