Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Mikey
Fleabag
YUNGBLUD
Tuesday comes way too quickly after our last show on Sunday. And being back in Oak Park in the heat of summer is surreal after being on the road for so long. It’s normal, in that rich, catered way only a rockstar’s life could be.
Luc’s backyard looks like a magazine spread; the big pool with sharp blue water, clean stone patio, tidy landscaping, string lights draped like its always golden hour.
There’s a bar setup near the outdoor kitchen with a bartender who definitely doesn’t work for free, and two long buffet tables under a canopy where the food is more than hamburgers and hotdogs.
Its brisket carved to order and chicken with some fancy glaze, and salads with ingredients that cost more than my first drum set.
My big brother doesn’t do simple and has always been the kind of guy who lands on his feet even when the world tries to pull the ground out from under him. And he loves to prove it by throwing events like this. He claims he’s trying to keep it simple, but it’s anything but.
I walk through the side gate with a bottle of tequila in hand, because of course I do, and nod at our parents already posted near the patio furniture.
Mom is wearing sunglasses the size of satellite dishes, sipping something pink from a little straw.
Dads got a beer and the posture of a man who still can’t believe his sons grew up to sell out stadiums.
“Michael,” Mom calls out, yelling my name like I’m seven in a grocery store and she’s about two seconds away from ending my life for knocking over a cereal display.
“It’s Mikey,” I try not to whine as I remind her, giving her a hug as she presses a kiss against my cheek.
She smiles like she’s humoring me. “Mikey,” she corrects, and then eyes the bottle. “Starting early?”
“Never stopped,” I shrug, and she makes a sound that could be a laugh or a gasp.
Dad claps me on the shoulder. “You hungover?”
“Still drunk,” I answer on a grin.
“Let’s see if you can reel it in a little bit now that the tour is over?” He suggests, like I’m a problem that needs handling.
“Yeah, sure Dad.” And just to make a point, I take a swig from the bottle as I stroll away toward the back of the yard where Hayden and Dean are already posted near the pool, drinks in hand.
Hayden looks exactly like he always does. He’s relaxed and in complete control, like he’s immune to chaos and temptation. He wears a plain black t-shirt and sunglasses and looks like he could be shooting a Ray Ban ad. The fact that he can look like that and not even be trying is honestly offensive.
Dean is next to him, sleeves rolled up, a plate of food in one hand. Sadie hovers close, camera strap across her body even though she’s technically “off duty.” She’s laughing at something Dean says, her head tipped back, and he’s watching her like the rest of us aren’t even here.
I catch Quinn near them and almost walk straight into the pool.
She’s in denim short-shorts and a white fitted crop top that makes her tan look like she stores sunlight under her skin.
Her sunglasses are pushed up into her hair, and freckles decorate her cheeks like bright stars on a dark night.
She’s holding a drink, something pale and bubbly that is definitely not tequila, and she’s smiling at Sadie like she belongs here.
My chest tightens in that familiar, stupid way it’s been doing since New York. I can’t seem to get past how she shut me down with a firm no and a look that made my confidence feel like a cheap costume.
Since then, I’ve been running the same loop in my head: She said no. Somehow that’s stuck with me more than anything else. And not because I’m owed anything. I’m not. But because women don’t usually say no to me.
And Quinn didn’t just say no. She looked like she could see why I asked in the first place. And yeah, it makes me want her more. I keep walking like I don’t notice her. Like she isn’t a gravitational field I can pretend doesn’t exist.
“Look who crawled out of the bottle long enough to join us,” Dean jokes when I reach them.
“Still crawling.” I lift the tequila.
Hayden’s mouth twitches. “Shocking.”
“Mikey.” Sadie smiles as she brushes a light kiss against my cheek. “We were just talking about how strange it is not being on a bus right now.”
“Give it a week,” I warn. “We’ll all be crawling up the walls.”
“Not me.” Hayden states without a moment of hesitation.
“That’s because you prefer living in the dark with all your secrets,” I shoot back.
He shrugs, unbothered. “Fair point.”
Quinn’s gaze flicks to me over the rim of her glass. Calm and curious. That psychologist stare that makes me want to put on a show and also rip my skin off. “You look,” she pauses, a slight frown displaying, “well, a little better than roadkill.”
I bark out a laugh. “That’s one way to describe me.”
“No,” she muses. “When you played Sunday, you looked like you were exactly where you’re supposed to be. You were so alive.”
My throat goes tight. I can handle thousands of people screaming my name, but one sentence from Quinn? It hits different. “Don’t try to save me, Doc,” I warn with a smirk. “I can’t be cured.”
Her lips curve. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”
The words are soft, almost teasing, but I feel them land deep. I hold her cool blue stare and keep my face smooth. “I’m not afraid of anything.” I advise with a short sneer.
She gives me a look that says she doesn’t believe me for a second. Sadie, thank God, interrupts. “Quinn, come help me with something.” She hooks her arm through her sister’s, tugging her away. “Dean’s busy.”
“I’m literally standing right here,” Dean’s brow furrowing as he misses what Sadie’s intention is.
“You’re busy,” Sadie emphasizes sweetly, and they disappear toward the house, Quinn throwing one last glance over her shoulder like she’s filing my reaction away for later.
Hayden watches them go, then looks at me. “You’re spiraling.”
“I am not,” I defend, too fast.
“You are,” Dean agrees immediately. “You get this twitchy thing in your jaw.”
“I don’t have a twitchy jaw.”
Dean points at my face. “It’s doing it right now.”
I flip him off, then tip the tequila bottle back and take a long pull. The burn hits my throat and settles warm in my stomach. It’s familiar in a way I don’t mind.
“Okay,” Hayden chuffs, looking away like he’s bored. “We’re not doing this.”
“Doing what?” I demand.
He shrugs. “The thing where you act like you don’t give a shit about anything and everyone has to watch you pretend.”
I stare at him, because Hayden doesn’t talk unless he means it. “Fuck you,” I growl.
He lifts his glass in a half salute. “Fuck you back.”
Dean snorts. “I’m gonna get more food. Try not to drown in your feelings, Mikey.”
“You can fuck off too,” I snarl.
He flips me off as he walks away, and Hayden drifts away a second later, leaving me alone with the pool and the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses and my big brother’s perfect life.
I turn toward the house because I need a distraction, and watch as Luc comes out the back doors with Lily, Larkin in her arms. Larkin squeals at the sight of the pool like she’s about to sprint and cannonball herself into it.
Lily laughs, setting her down carefully near Marie, who instantly swoops in like a professional grandma and takes over.
Luc’s eyes scan the yard, landing on me. He grins and walks over like he’s the kind of guy who can carry a baby and a crowd at the same time. “Hey.” He claps a hand on my shoulder. “You survive Sunday?”
“Feels like a dream.” I admit. “I’ll be haunted by Soldier Field forever.”
He laughs. “It was insane.”
“Yeah,” I nod. “You were insane.”
He hums like he’s trying not to accept the compliment because he’s my brother and we don’t do that too openly. But he knows. He knows he’s the best. He’s always been first. And I’ve never needed to compete with that.
Even when we were kids, he was the one the teachers liked, the one the girls liked, the one that coaches liked. The one who would get hit and get back up with a grin like he enjoyed it. The one who took punches and turned them into fuel. The one who never looked small.
I’ve spent my entire life in his shadow, and I’ve never been bothered by it. Not really. Except well, sometimes…
He glances toward Lily and Larkin, and something soft moves through his expression.
It’s like watching a man who used to be nothing but sharp edges suddenly become a shelter.
I remember the two years Lily was gone from his life, and him pretending he was fine when he was anything but.
And then I remember this past June when Lily came back into his orbit like gravity remembered her name.
Like the universe corrected itself because even amnesia couldn’t erase what they were.
Luc fought for her. He got her back. He got the whole damn life. I’m happy for him. For this better, more content version of him. He looks over at me, and there’s something in his eyes I don’t recognize at first. Nervous energy? Like he’s waiting for a cue.
“Everything good?” I ask, because Luc is never nervous.
He smiles, but it’s not his stage smile. It’s real. Almost shaky. “Yeah,” he nods as he shifts his gaze to Lily. “Yeah, it will be. Just give me ten minutes.”
Before I can question that, he steps away and heads toward the bar. I watch him exchange a few words with the bartender, then nod like they have a plan. My stomach drops. Oh, shit. He wouldn’t. Or would he?
I take another drink straight from the bottle, scanning the yard as I try to locate Quinn because I suddenly need to distract myself with something else, anything else. She’s near the outdoor kitchen, holding a plate and talking to my mom. That’s not the picture I expected.