Chapter 3
Cal
The room smelled like stale smoke, expensive perfume, and the kind of regret that hits you before your eyes even open.
My head was a war zone, throbbing temples, dry mouth, that metallic tang on my tongue from whatever pills we'd chased with tequila last night.
I groaned, rolled over, and felt warm skin against my side. Soft. Curvy. Naked.
Fuck.
I cracked one eye. Blonde. Fake lashes still glued on. Lips smudged with last night's red. She was curled on her stomach, face half-buried in the pillow, breathing slow like she belonged here.
She didn't.
I sat up too fast. The room spun. Hotel suite, Caesars Palace, top floor, all gold trim and floor-to-ceiling windows staring down at the Strip like it was mocking me. Empty bottles on every surface. My jacket slung over a chair. Her dress, some tiny silver thing, crumpled on the floor like trash.
"Hey." I nudged her shoulder with my knuckles. Hard enough to wake her, not hard enough to bruise. "Time to go."
She stirred. Moaned something soft. Turned her head, blinked up at me with mascara-streaked eyes. "Morning, baby..."
"Not your baby." I swung my legs off the bed, stood, didn't bother covering up. Grabbed boxers from the floor, yanked them on. "Get dressed. I got shit to do."
She sat up slow, sheet slipping down. Tried a pout. "You were so sweet last night."
.
"Last night's over." I walked to the minibar, empty, of course, then to the bathroom. Splashed cold water on my face. Looked in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot. Jaw tight. Same old Cal. "You got five minutes before security walks you out."
She laughed, like I was joking. "Come on, Cal. Don't be like that."
I dried my face with a towel, tossed it on the counter. "I'm exactly like that. Move."
She huffed, climbed out of bed, started hunting for her clothes. Panties first. Then bra. Dress. Shoes. All while shooting me these little glances like she was waiting for me to change my mind.
I didn't.
When she was mostly dressed, heels in hand, hair a mess, she stopped by the door. "You're really gonna kick me out like this?"
"Yeah." I opened the door for her. Hallway light spilled in, harsh. "Bye."
Her lip trembled. Eyes filled. "You're an asshole."
"Old news." I didn't shut the door yet. Just waited.
She stormed past me, barefoot, clutching her bag. Halfway down the hall she started crying, quiet at first, then louder, like she wanted someone to hear.
Perfect timing.
The elevator dinged. Doors opened. Jake, Holland, and Kei stepped out, freezing when they saw her.
Jake raised an eyebrow. "Morning entertainment?"
The girl shoved past them, sobbing harder now. "Fuck all of you."
Holland watched her go, then looked at me. "Classy."
Kei sighed...long…tired, and jogged after her. "Hey, wait...let me get you a car."
I didn't watch. Just leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed.
The three of them filed in. Jake kicked the door shut behind him. Holland dropped onto the couch, grabbed a half-empty water bottle off the table, took a swig. Jake stayed standing, arms folded, staring at me like I was a problem he had to solve.
"Nice," Jake said. "Real nice."
"Save it."
Holland shook his head. "She crying all the way to the lobby?"
"Probably."
Kei came back a minute later. Alone. Face blank. "Sent her down with security. Gave her cab money."
I shrugged. "She'll live."
Kei didn't answer. Just walked to the window, stared out at the city.
Jake broke the silence. "We gotta talk about this, man."
"No, we don't."
"Yeah, we do." He stepped closer. "You're spiraling again. Same shit every tour stop. Party till you black out, fuck someone random, kick 'em out crying. Rinse. Repeat. You think we don't see it?"
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine," Holland cut in. "You were supposed to be clean six months. You promised."
"I am clean. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Jake laughed, bitter. "You snorted something last night. I saw the baggie."
"Relax. It was one night."
"One night turns into two. Two turns into a bender. Then we're back in rehab pulling you out of a hotel bathtub. Again."
I rubbed my face. "I got this."
"You don't," Kei said quietly. First words since he got back. "You never do."
I shot him a look. He didn't flinch.
Holland leaned forward, elbows on knees. "Look, tonight's huge. Vegas. Home crowd. Sold out. We can't have you half-dead on stage."
"I won't be."
"You will if you don't sleep," Jake said. "You look like shit."
"Thanks."
"Get your head straight, Cal," Holland said. "Or we're gonna have to make decisions. For the band."
Threat hung there. Quiet. Real.
I stared at the floor. Carpet pattern blurred. "Fine. I'll sleep."
Jake exhaled. "Thank fuck."
They talked setlist for a minute, same as last show, maybe swap the encore track. Soundcheck at four. No press. No after-party bullshit. Straight to stage.
Then they started filing out.
Jake clapped my shoulder. "Nap. For real."
Holland nodded. "We got you, man. Just... don't fuck it up."
Kei stayed last. Door open, hand on the frame.
"Call your mom," he said. "She's blown up my phone too. Worried."
I rolled my eyes, fell back onto the bed. Sheets still warm from the girl. "She's always worried."
"She's your mom."
"She's a nag."
"She's scared you're gonna die before thirty."
I stared at the ceiling. "Tell her I'm alive."
"Tell her yourself."
He waited. I didn't move.
Kei sighed again. "You're impossible."
"Love you too."
He left. The door clicked shut.
The phone buzzed on the nightstand. I didn't look. Knew who it was.
It rang again. And again.
I grabbed it. Mom's name on the screen. Picture of her from last Christmas, smiling, perfect hair, pearls. The woman who raised three lawyers and one fuck-up.
I answered. Speaker.
"Calvin."
"Hey, Mom."
"Don't 'hey Mom' me. Your father's been asking about you."
I laughed once. Short. "He can ask me himself."
"You know he won't. You know how he is."
"Yeah. Stubborn. Runs in the family."
She sighed. Same sigh Kei used. "Your sister's closing a big case next week. Your brother just made partner. We're proud of them."
"Good for them."
"And you? When are you coming home? When are you going to stop this... phase?"
"It's not a phase. It's my life."
"You're wasting your talent. Your brain. You could be..."
"A lawyer? Like Dad? Pass."
Silence. Long.
"I miss you," she said finally. Soft.
My chest tightened. I hated that.
"I'm fine, Mom."
"You don't sound fine."
"I'm tired."
"Then sleep. And call your father. Please."
"No."
"Calvin...."
"Gotta go. Show tonight."
I hung up before she could say more.
Tossed the phone. Buried my face in the pillow. Smelled her perfume still. Citrus. Sweet. Wrong.
I slept. Fitful. Dreams of courtrooms and spotlights and my dad's disappointed face.
Woke up at four-thirty. Shower. Black coffee. Jeans. White tee. Leather jacket. Hair still damp, pushed back.
Backstage at the amphitheater was chaos, runners, techs, lights being tested. I found the dressing room. Mirror. Fixed my hair. Ran product through it. Looked at myself. Looked away.
Then arms wrapped around me from behind. Tight. Familiar.
Citrus.
I relaxed instantly.
"Syd."
She laughed against my back. "Miss me, rockstar?"
I turned. Sydney. Dark hair in a messy bun, oversized hoodie, jeans, sneakers. Same girl from elementary school who used to punch boys who teased us. Still tiny. Still fierce.
"Flight delayed?" I asked.
"Two hours. LAX hates me." She hugged me again. "You smell like hotel soap and bad choices."
"Accurate."
She pulled back, studied my face. "You okay?"
"Always."
"Liar." She poked my chest. "Heard about the crying girl in the hallway."
"News travels."
"Kei told me." She rolled her eyes. "You're such a dick sometimes."
"Love you too."
She grinned. "I'm your PR manager tonight. No scandals. No throwing girls out crying. Behave."
"No promises."
She smacked my arm. "Behave."
The others piled in. Holland hugged her. Jake ruffled her hair. Kei kissed her cheek.
"Finally," Holland said. "Our good luck charm."
"Damn right." She hopped onto the makeup counter. "Setlist good?"
"Same as last night," Jake said.
"Encore swap?"
"Maybe."
She nodded. "Crowd's insane already. Girls screaming your names like you're gods."
"We are gods," I said.
She snorted. "Keep telling yourself that."
We talked logistics, sound levels, cue times, what to do if the pyrotechnics fucked up. Normal shit. Family shit.
Then it was time.
We walked to the stage wings. Crowd roar already shaking the floor.
Sydney squeezed my hand quick. "Kill it."
"Always do."
Lights dropped. Intro track hit.
We walked out.
Spotlights blind. Screams deafening.
I stepped to the mic. "Vegas."
They lost it.
First song. Voice raw. Guitar heavy. Adrenaline hit like a drug.
Halfway through the set I scanned the front row, habit. Faces blurred. Phones up. Signs. Glitter.
One girl caught my eye. Wavy hair. Wide eyes. Not screaming like the rest. Just... watching. Like she was actually listening.
Pretty. In a quiet way.
I didn't think much of it.
Just sang.
.