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“Cheer up, man,” Taylor says, scarfing down another free bagel. All I can do is exhale slowly through my nose and try to breathe.

You'd think I'd be more stoked to be here but in all honesty, it's just been a fucking shitshow.

Not only did we roll into Huck’s grandparents' house late as hell last night after driving for thirteen hours, we were also late getting here this morning because his grandma cooked an entire feast for breakfast. Taylor was so excited to visit with them again that I couldn't stomach the thought of pulling him away, even if I do regret eating all those pancakes now.

On top of all that, the band isn't even here. Symbiotic is off with Salem filming their set somewhere else while Tay and I pretend to be the bassist and singer for the video. From what we've been told, the concept is us speeding away from metaphorical “ghosts.”

They already took a few stills of us racing down the road they'd blocked off this morning. All the cars we weaved through were stationary, but movie magic'll make them look like they're moving, I'm sure. All in all, it's gone okay, I guess.

So why the fuck ain't I happy?

This should be enough. This used to be enough. A bike vibrating between my legs, adrenaline coursing through my veins at full throttle as I hit maximum speed. Motocross and Taylor were all I ever needed in life. Yet, I feel like I'm riding like shit. I haven't earned the right to be here yet, and Taylor isn't mine anymore. Not really.

I know the guy will always be my best friend, but it's taking longer than necessary to process the fact that he doesn't need me the way I thought I needed him. And maybe the shit Dev said to me the other night is still messing with my head.

No wonder Arya left.

Is the reason she left the same one that made Taylor leave, too? Is something wrong with me? Fuck. I've never been the one left behind before—I’m always the one to leave first.

I hate it.

“Earth to Christian.” Fingers snap in front of my face, jerking me out of my thoughts.

I scowl at my best friend. “What do you want, cariño? Can't you see I'm busy moping?”

“Seriously, what is your deal? You know Salem never said we'd get to meet the band, right? I know it sucks, but look where we are, fucker.”

I sigh and try to scrub the haziness from my eyes. “I know, I know. I’m not mad about that. I mean… I am, but that’s not the point.”

“Then what is?”

“Are we, like, good?” I ask, staring out into the bay. Fog looks like it's beginning to clear a little.

Taylor tilts his head. “Good? What are you talking about?”

“You and I. Our friendship. We're solid, right?”

“The fuck? Dude, we used to share a bed in high school. I'd literally crawl through your window to hide from my dad. We've ridden together, fought together, and fucked together since forever. What the hell do you think?”

Yeah, well, we don’t do any of that anymore.

There's a long moment of silence as I try to formulate words for how I'm feeling, but ultimately come up short. It all sounds pathetic, anyway, because he's right. It doesn’t matter if he moved out and started a new life without me, our bond is for fucking ever.

But why am I feeling like such shit lately? Maybe I need another perspective. Like, an outsider's point of view.

“Be right back,” I say, dismounting my bike. “Gonna make a phone call.”

Taylor holds my two-stroke steady and nods, though a wrinkle of worry still creases his forehead. “Alright, hurry. Fog should be gone soon.”

Crew members are milling about everywhere, so I walk a short distance away and tuck myself between two shipping containers for some privacy. Digging my phone out of my pocket, I pull up my contacts list and gaze down at Arya's name in dread before hitting the call button.

I haven't talked to her in over a year. Not since she left.

The phone rings long enough that I think she won’t answer—until she does.

“Christian?”

“Arya, hey,” I say, swallowing hard. “Uh… sorry. I know this is probably weird.”