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“Thank you, Ron, for letting us use your condo for a meeting place.” I glance at Ron and think, again, that our ex-manager looks worse than the last time I saw him. Even so, he nods and smiles at Dante before they continue. “The good news is that you have about three months to do whatever you want for the holidays before the band meets back up on January twelfth to jump back on the wagon for another album.”

“Three months?” Connor grins from ear to ear.

“Also,” Dante raises a hand, “you’ll be going on a two-month tour next August. And you’ve been invited back to Rocktoberfest next year. I accepted on your behalf. Isn’t that fantastic news?” The mock cheerfulness emoting from our manager has me chuckling.

“A whole three months,” Bobby says with glee, rubbing his hands together. “How about it?” He elbows me.

Before I can respond, Connor and Danny announce at the same time, “Separate vacations.” The smiles they give their respective partners are so suggestive that, if I were a blushing man, I’d be as red as a cooked beet.

“But we all can spend time together for Christmas,” Danny adds.

“Or Thanksgiving,” Connor throws in.

I don’t argue with their brilliant idea, but I let them know I have my own plans. “I’m going to use my time to track down Lyric,” I blurt out.

As one, my friends swivel their heads my way, and it’s kind of creepy.

“Why?” Bobby asks, his crumbling smile yanking at me. “Don’t let no dick get in our way.”

“Bobby, man, all I want to know is why Lyric left without saying goodbye.” I know it’s a paltry excuse, but damn it, I need to know. No one ever ghosted me before, and that pisses me off.

From the evil eye Dante is giving me, I wonder if he’s known all this time where Lyric is.

“Dude.” Bobby pops yet another sucker into his mouth. “Where am I going to hang?” His frown deepens. “I thought we could go back to Vegas.”

“You can. You can even use my condo. But I have to do this.”

The atmosphere is tense, and before an argument between me and Bobby can break out Ron decides to break the awkwardness. “I have an announcement,” he says quietly.

We all turn our heads to Ron. His skin seems sallower than the last time I saw him. He has already had two rounds of chemo treatments, so I thought he would be looking better. But he doesn’t.

“I’m moving in with Dean,” Ron says, before a coughing fit strikes him.

Ron hired Harper Securities, a Chicago firm owned by Dean Harper, to cover our asses before the first Rocktoberfest, when Danny had his stalker. Tobias and John were part of the first security detail that Dean sent, but then they left Dean’s group and contracted separately to provide the band’s security. To Dean’s credit, it never appeared there were any hard feelings about it—he still provided extra security guys when Tobias and John needed them. And he’d continued to be friends with Ron. They were maybe better friends than I’d thought.

“What Ron is saying,” Dean explains, “is that he’s already moved in so I can take care of him. He’s turned everything relating to Warrior Black over to Dante, so if you need anything, from now on please go to them.”

“Yes,” Ron hoarsely adds. “But if you do need to talk to me about anything other than business, you have my number.”

Danny turns pale. “Why? Is there something you’re not telling us?” he asks shakily. Tobias places a hand on my friend’s shoulder for support. “

“I need help, Danny. That’s all,” Ron admits simply as he tucks in the end of the wrap covering his bald head. “Dean offered his place and besides, Chicago has one of the best cancer hospitals in the country.”

“I thought your cancer treatments were working,” Connor chimes in as John leans against his chair. Like Tobias did for Danny, Connor’s partner places a hand on his shoulder.

“Yes, the treatments are killing the cancer. But I’m getting weaker from them. So I’m looking into other alternatives. But I feel guilty whenever Dean has to stop work just to come out here to help me,” Ron further explains while he gently rubs cream over his puffy, reddened face. “So me moving to Chicago will be best for both of us.”

“Don’t you worry about that,” Dean says softly. “You just focus on getting better.”

“I know, but I can’t help but worry about burdening you.”

“What do you need from us? I can take time off to help,” Pen says, stepping up from the back of the room, concern written all over his face. He, out of everyone who has worked security for us, has the closest relationship to Ron. I’ve often thought Ron was almost like a father to Pen—fuck knows he needed one because he has shit parents. I can’t imagine how Pen’s feeling right now, when hearing about our old manager’s battle with cancer has me gutted like a fish.

“Thank you, love, but I don’t need anything right now.” Ron reaches out a hand, and Pen takes it and squeezes gently. “I’d rather stay with Dean until all this is done.”

The way Ron says done sends an unsettling feeling through me.

“We have a whole three months to take care of you. We won’t be missing much—and with our families living close by, we can see them and help you out.” Danny assures Ron. I notice that Danny’s eyes are watery, then I realize that every one of us has unshed tears.