Chapter Three
Mikey
Fleabag
YUNGBLUD
Tuesday comes way too quicklyafter our last show on Sunday. And being back in Oak Park in the heat of summer is surreal after being on the road for so long. It’s normal, in that rich, catered way only a rockstar’s life could be.
Luc’s backyard looks like a magazine spread; the big pool with sharp blue water, clean stone patio, tidy landscaping, string lights draped like its always golden hour. There’s a bar setup near the outdoor kitchen with a bartender who definitely doesn’t work for free, and two long buffet tables under a canopy where the food is more than hamburgers and hotdogs. Its brisket carved to order and chicken with some fancy glaze, and salads with ingredients that cost more than my first drum set.
My big brother doesn’t do simple and has always been the kind of guy who lands on his feet even when the world tries to pull the ground out from under him. And he loves to prove it by throwing events like this. He claims he’s trying to keep it simple, but it’s anything but.
I walk through the side gate with a bottle of tequila in hand, because of course I do, and nod at our parents already posted near the patio furniture. Mom is wearing sunglasses the size of satellite dishes, sipping something pink from a little straw. Dads got a beer and the posture of a man who still can’t believe his sons grew up to sell out stadiums.
“Michael,” Mom calls out, yelling my name like I’m seven in a grocery store and she’s about two seconds away from ending my life for knocking over a cereal display.
“It’s Mikey,” I try not to whine as I remind her, giving her a hug as she presses a kiss against my cheek.
She smiles like she’s humoring me. “Mikey,” she corrects, and then eyes the bottle. “Starting early?”
“Never stopped,” I shrug, and she makes a sound that could be a laugh or a gasp.
Dad claps me on the shoulder. “You hungover?”
“Still drunk,” I answer on a grin.
“Let’s see if you can reel it in a little bit now that the tour is over?” He suggests, like I’m a problem that needs handling.
“Yeah, sure Dad.” And just to make a point, I take a swig from the bottle as I stroll away toward the back of the yard where Hayden and Dean are already posted near the pool, drinks in hand.
Hayden looks exactly like he always does. He’s relaxed and in complete control, like he’s immune to chaos and temptation. He wears a plain black t-shirt and sunglasses and looks like he could be shooting a Ray Ban ad. The fact that he can look like that and not even be trying is honestly offensive.
Dean is next to him, sleeves rolled up, a plate of food in one hand. Sadie hovers close, camera strap across her body even though she’s technically “off duty.” She’s laughing at something Dean says, her head tipped back, and he’s watching her like the rest of us aren’t even here.
I catch Quinn near them and almost walk straight into the pool. She’s in denim short-shorts and a white fitted crop top that makes her tan look like she stores sunlight under her skin. Her sunglasses are pushed up into her hair, and freckles decorate her cheeks like bright stars on a dark night. She’s holding a drink, something pale and bubbly that is definitely not tequila, and she’s smiling at Sadie like she belongs here.
My chest tightens in that familiar, stupid way it’s been doing since New York. I can’t seem to get past how she shut me down with a firm no and a look that made my confidence feel like a cheap costume.
Since then, I’ve been running the same loop in my head:She said no.Somehow that’s stuck with me more than anything else. And not because I’m owed anything. I’m not. But because women don’t usually say no to me.
And Quinn didn’t just say no. She looked like she could see why I asked in the first place. And yeah, it makes me want her more. I keep walking like I don’t notice her. Like she isn’t a gravitational field I can pretend doesn’t exist.
“Look who crawled out of the bottle long enough to join us,” Dean jokes when I reach them.
“Still crawling.” I lift the tequila.
Hayden’s mouth twitches. “Shocking.”
“Mikey.” Sadie smiles as she brushes a light kiss against my cheek. “We were just talking about how strange it is not being on a bus right now.”
“Give it a week,” I warn. “We’ll all be crawling up the walls.”
“Not me.” Hayden states without a moment of hesitation.
“That’s because you prefer living in the dark with all your secrets,” I shoot back.
He shrugs, unbothered. “Fair point.”
