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“It won’t be,” I admit. “But I think this is something I need to do on my own.”
“I get it.” He nods.
The door swings open, and Ryan comes in, half breathless, as he darts to the fridge to grab a bottle of water.
“What’s got your pants on fire?” Kieran asks.
Ryan holds up a finger and chugs half the bottle, then tosses Kieran his phone. “Check it out. You too, Madden. You’re going to want to see this.”
I drag my ass over to the sofa and take a seat next to Kieran. When I get a glimpse of the screen, I’m not sure whether to be fucking livid or curious when I see that Ryan’s uploaded one of our songs to YouTube. It’s under the name of the band we came up with when we were drinking one night. A nod to the brother we couldn’t bring home and the promises we made to each other should any of us die.
Last Rite.
It seemed fitting at the time, but that was when it was just the three of us fucking around in our living room. Now, it’s out there for the world, and I don’t know what to think about any of it.
“What the fuck?” I glare up at Ryan when I notice the track he chose. “A Song for Peaches?”
He shrugs. “It’s your best work. Anyway, that’s not the fucking point. Look at how many people have watched it.”
I do, and it almost knocks the breath from my lungs. There are over two million views.
“Is that right?” Kieran blinks.
“I uploaded it last night,” Ryan tells us. “It went fucking viral. Can you believe that shit?”
Kieran and I glance at each other, and I honestly don’t know what to say. Ryan snatches the phone back and scrolls through the comments, reading them out loud.
Who the hell are these guys? We need more!
I love this band!
These guys are fucking hot.
Where did they come from?
Holy shit, that voice. Those lyrics. Can I be Peaches, please?
“This is insane.” Kieran scrubs a hand over his face and shakes his head. “How did this even happen?”
“I’ve been uploading some videos for a couple of weeks now,” Ryan admits reluctantly. “I had some help with tags, but my cousin tweeted the clip from last night, and it just snowballed from there.”
“Who’s your cousin?” I ask.
“That’s not important just yet.” Ryan tosses me a sideways glance, sensing my uncertainty. “All you need to know is that he has a studio in Cali and a place where we can crash.”
“Are you talking about recording an album?” I stare at him like he’s lost his goddamn mind.
“Why not?” he challenges. “What have we been practicing for? You’ve got the lyrics and the vocals. We can write more songs. We can jam every day. I think this thing deserves a chance.”
“I don’t know.” I stand and pace across the room, staring out the window.
“What the fuck else have you got to do?” Kieran asks me.
I glance over my shoulder at his shit-eating grin, and some of the tension in my body ebbs away.
“Asshole.”
“Prick,” he fires back.
“Is that a yes?” Ryan asks us, his entire body vibrating with bottled-up energy.
I look at Kieran, and Kieran looks at Ryan. And I don’t know what the fuck possesses me to think this is a reasonable idea or that it could even go anywhere. It seems too good to be true, but I want it. Even if it crashes and burns in a spectacular shit show, I want it.
“Well.” I shrug. “What the fuck else have we got to do?”
With the keys in hand to a brand-new truck, I head out on the road. It will be a long drive to Texas, but in a little over a week, I’ll meet Kieran and Ryan in California.
I don’t mind driving. It’s the world around me that untethers me. I’m on edge, overly alert, and sweating bullets the first seven hours before I stop for the night in Knoxville. I check into a hotel, grab a burger and a beer, and try to settle in. But it’s a busy night, and the sound of footsteps outside my door keeps me from closing my eyes for hours. The foot traffic here is much louder than at the house in Bethesda. And even though it’s been months since my return, I’m still trying to figure out how to be a civilian again.
The psychologist at the hospital told me I needed time. But time hasn’t slowed the steady drip feed of my adrenaline, and I underestimated how difficult it would be in unfamiliar territory. Tonight, when I try to close my eyes, the memories come flooding right back.
A car exhaust pops outside, and logically, I know that’s what it is. But my body isn’t on the same wavelength. Heat crawls up the base of my neck, and the room around me disappears. The next thing I know, I’m back in the dirt, and Wyatt is beside me, choking on his own blood as I watch helplessly. The smell of burned flesh, dust, and copper swirls around me. Metal crunches. Shots ring out. The weight of my dead legs keeps me from moving, and I keep telling Wyatt to hang on. Just hang the fuck on.
