Beyond the Sea

Chapter One

The straw that broke the camel’s back was shoved up his little brother’s nose.

Quads still burning from his workout and run up to the top floor, Troy watched Tyson where he knelt on the floor in his boxers, shirtless and snorting a line of white powder off a hand mirror on the coffee table.

The door to Tyson’s suite swung closed, and Troy stood there dumbly in his sweaty workout gear.

Even if he’d been able to manage words that weren’t screamed curses, the Rolling Stones were blasting too loudly for anyone to hear.

The fact that one of the women at this secret party was Troy’s girlfriend sent a fresh flare of rage burning through him. He’d thought Savannah didn’t do more than drink or take a toke, yet here she was. The betrayal churned his stomach, hurt and anger warring.

One of the groupies lifted her head and stared at Troy with glazed eyes, a discarded needle on the floor near her dangling fingers.

Savannah followed her gaze, leaping to her feet so quickly her boob popped out of her halter top, her long, dark curls flying.

Her pupils were too big, blue eyes too bright.

She wore makeup as usual, but her lips somehow seemed unnaturally red.

“Troy!” She hastily straightened herself while kicking Nick, who was completely out of it with his head back and mouth wide open. His shaggy blond hair was matted and skin sallow in the artificial light of the room’s lamps.

Nick’s partying had increased dramatically on this tour, and fuck, Troy should have done something about it.

Nick was Ty’s best friend and worst influence, and Troy should have known this was coming.

He should have gone to Joe, because that’s what managers were for.

But he hadn’t wanted to cause trouble. He’d taken a page from his mother’s book and stuck his head in the sand.

But the shitty truth was that Joe and the label knew. Between the crew and all the staff who worked on the tour, of course they knew. The members of Next Up couldn’t sneeze without the entourage around them taking notice. They knew, and they hadn’t done a damn thing either.

Nick grunted and muttered something, and Troy wanted to rip him apart with his bare hands and then get his stupid, reckless ass into rehab along with Ty.

Savannah lunged for the iPod stereo dock on the cluttered bar, jabbing a button. In the sudden silence, Tyson’s head jerked up, and he stared at Troy from the floor, still holding the straw.

Tyson was like a mirror of Troy’s former teenage self.

They shared the same wavy dark hair that Troy cropped close now and Ty let curl cherubically since every band member had to have a different style.

Their dark brown eyes and tan skin were the same, faces a similar round shape down to the little cleft in their chins.

But Tyson was a good four inches shorter than Troy’s five-ten and fifty pounds lighter.

At twenty-two, he was still the pretty boy baby of the band, an unthreatening pinup for young girls around the world.

Troy wanted to haul him over his shoulder and take him home. Lock him away.

Tyson licked his lips, and his voice cracked. “Hey, man. We’re just…it’s no big deal, BT.”

Short for “Big T,” Troy’s fan-coined nickname that the band had co-opted.

He stared down at his little brother. Cocaine dusted Tyson’s nostril.

Savannah reached out to Troy, and as her red-tipped fingers settled on his wrist, he realized his blunt nails were close to breaking the skin of his palms where he clenched his fists. He shook her off with a sharp exhale.

She breathed shallowly. “I thought you and Tomas had to do that animal sanctuary ribbon cutting thing?”

“Greg wanted to see the koalas, so he went instead. I grabbed a workout. Thought maybe we could all hit the pool. Obviously you guys had other plans.”

Ty scoffed defiantly. “Chill, dude.”

“Chill? I can’t fucking believe this,” Troy grated out like his throat was lined with broken glass. “You promised.” He stared at his brother. “You swore to me.”

Ignoring Savannah’s protests, he stepped around her and yanked Tyson to his feet with one hand, sending the remaining cocaine through the air with the other.

Gripping his brother, he stared into his enormous pupils.

They looked all wrong in his baby face. Roughly, he examined Tyson’s arm, looking for the track marks.

He squeezed hard when he found them. “Heroin? Are you kidding me? With a coke chaser to bring you up for the concert?” Glaring toward Nick, he added, “Was this his fucking idea? I bet it was.”

Tyson swallowed audibly, his curls waving as he shook his head. “We’re just…it’s not…” He looked to Nick still slumped on the couch. Help was clearly not forthcoming. “It’s good stuff! It’s not dangerous like street shit is. It’s just for fun. It’s safe.”

“There’s nothing safe about heroin! Or coke for that matter! It doesn’t matter how pure it is.”

Puffing up, his brows drawing together, Tyson tugged his arm free. Familiar righteous indignation took over. “You’re such a killjoy. You’re supposed to be my brother, not my father. Fuck off.”

“Are you seriously bringing up Dad right now? If he was here, he’d have been first in line for the smack. He’s the fucking reason you can’t go near this shit.” He glared at Savannah. “Either of you.”

“God, she’s having fun.” Ty waved dismissively. “She’s sick of you being so fucking boring.”

It shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. Troy’s breath came hard and fast, an iron band around his lungs. He shot his gaze to wide-eyed Savannah. “Is she? Good to know.”

I’ve been bored of her for months, a little voice hissed.

She was Next Up’s opening act, and as the endless tour ground on, they had fewer and fewer things to say to each other.

He knew they weren’t right together, so why was he coasting along?

Sure, she was beautiful—twenty-three and gorgeous with small tits and a huge voice. But he wanted more.

“Of course I’m not!” Savannah’s voice rose several octaves, her words tripping out as she reached for him. “Troy, you know I love you.”

As he stood there in a crazy expensive hotel room on the other side of the world from home, Troy didn’t know anything anymore. Fury left pinpricks as it faded, leaving the cold truth behind. “You don’t, actually. And I don’t love you either.”

Jerking, Savannah blinked. Her eyes filled with tears, and guilt slithered through him. He tried to soften his voice. “I’m not saying that to hurt you. It’s just the truth.”

“Jesus, Troy. Why are you such an asshole?” Tyson’s face twisted. “Don’t be mean to her because you’re pissed at me.”

“Is there more blow?”

They all looked to the redhead, who stretched her legs over Nick’s lap and snapped a piece of gum.

She shrugged blearily. “If you want him to make it to the show, you’d better get some.”

Pointedly not looking at Troy, Savannah cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s just handle Nick. We can deal with the rest of it later. We have a show to do.”

“No.” It was a simple word—no—but Troy couldn’t remember the last time he’d said it to Tyson and meant it.

Jesus, it had probably been five years ago at Troy’s twenty-first birthday party in Vegas when he’d refused a lap dance and Ty had bought him one anyway, not caring that people were taking video on their phones.

Not caring that he was too young to be in a strip club in the first place.

They’d just won video of the year at the MTV Awards, and Ty had been let in everywhere.

Because no one said no to him.

“No,” Troy repeated, testing the word on his tongue.

All eyes but Nick’s swiveled to him, since the asshole was still passed out and snoring now.

Tyson’s bravado faltered. He tried to smile. “Look, we’ll work this out, BT. Like Savannah said, we have a show to do. This is our last night in Sydney.”

“No.” Troy inhaled deeply, purpose and determination filling him. “No,” he repeated. “You have a show to do. I’m not going to enable you or Nick another minute. I quit.”

“Whoa.” The other groupie hanging off one of the couches who’d been watching and giggling, high as a kite, stopped smiling.

“You can’t quit!” Savannah sputtered. “Next Up can’t do the show without you. There are thousands of fans coming. You can’t just leave with no notice!”

“I gave my notice that night in Perth.” He addressed Tyson, whose eyes went wide, the whites bright in contrast to his dilated pupils.

“I told you! Mess with drugs again and I’m done.

” A memory of hauling their father’s dead weight up the stairs filled his mind.

All those nights he’d taken care of him, protecting Ty and Mom from the worst of it.

All those nights he should have said no.

“I won’t watch you piss your life away, Ty. I won’t help you do it. Won’t stick around and play my part like the good little soldier while you lie to me.”

Tyson’s lips flattened into a thin line, and he lifted his chin. “Fine. Go. We won’t miss you. We don’t need you. Greg can sing your parts.” Shaking, he spat, “You were only in the band because you’re my brother!”

Troy flinched. It was the truth—when their father had orchestrated the five-guy band and pitched them to the label, Tyson was the star and Troy was part of a package deal. He inhaled and exhaled, struggling to keep steady. “I know. I love you, Ty. Call me when you’re ready to get help.”

“I don’t need you!” Tyson screamed. Whirling, he picked up a chair and threw it into a mirrored piece of art on the wall.

As the glass shattered, Troy wanted to stay and pick up the pieces. But it would only make things worse. Another flash of their father hijacked his mind—bleary and slurring, making promises, telling lies, lies, lies.