Epilogue
Nobody starts life thinking they’re going to ruin everything they touch.That they’ll get addicted to drugs.Sacrifice the success of the band they’ve worked their ass off for.Kill one of the few people who was trying to help them.
But that’s what my life has turned into.
I may not have killed Robbie directly, but no one can deny I’m partially to blame.
If I hadn’t fucked up, Robbie might not have been so stressed out, and maybe he wouldn’t have had the heart attack that took him from us way too soon.
But I did, and he did, and now I have to live with my sins, my regret, and worst of all, my fucking conscience.
Life was never supposed to turn out like this.
There are parts of life that were easier when I was high—I never had to feel any pain, I was the life of the party with more friends than I could count, and I could ignore the emptiness that sometimes weighed me down so much I thought I was going to drown.But none of those things were worth what I nearly lost—my band, my found family, my life.
I’ve been sober for 625 days.Some days have been easy, while others have been fucking brutal.But none have been as scary as the days coming up.We’re leaving for tour in two weeks, and I’m fucking terrified.
Unfortunately, I’m not the only one.Trent, Miles, and Tristan aren’t being as subtle as they think they are with their constant attempts to hang out with me the closer we get to tour.They’ve turned into goddamn helicopter parents, and I both love and hate them for it.
They’re acting like I’m going to break, and I hate that I can’t guarantee I won’t.But I miss the way they used to look at me, and I’m getting desperate to find a way to convince them I’m doing fine.I’ve come up with a plan that will hopefully get them to ease up so I don’t feel like such a burden and will give me a sober buddy on tour.Two birds, one stone.
But my plan relies on me calling on an old friend to do what she promised all those years ago.
I knock on Mel’s door—I got her address from Decker Cross, the producer on our last album—and wait for her to answer.When she does, it’s a gut punch.I’ve seen Melrose Fletcher a handful of times the last few months while we’ve prepared for the tour since she’s our new tour manager, and each time it’s the same reaction.Seeing her feels like coming home but getting the shit kicked out of me at the same time.It’s bittersweet.
Melly used to be my best friend once upon a time.But life fucked her over and she moved away, which caused the first tear in our friendship.It’s not easy to be long-distance friends when you’re thirteen.For months, we wrote letters to each other like old-school pen pals.Every day I checked the mail like it would offer me salvation, and every time there was a letter from her, my spirits were high for days.
But then the letters stopped.I continued to send mine until they started getting sent back.Return to Senderbecame my least favorite phrase.After the fourth returned letter, I stopped sending them.It took three more years before I stopped writing them and stuffing them in a shoebox in my closet.
Getting the band off the ground is what finally made me quit altogether.If she didn’t want to follow her promise, then I wasn’t going to abide by mine.
So it feels a little ironic that the woman who drove me to dive head-first into my band is now the one I need to help me convince them—and myself—that I can handle this tour.
“Kasen?What are you doing here?”
I hate the distrust in her eyes and the way she keeps her guard up around me.It was never like that with us before.We hid from everyone else, but never each other.It’s another reminder we aren’t the kids we used to be.
“I’m calling it in.”I don’t bother pussyfooting around why I’m here.
She doesn’t question what I’m talking about—she knows.
“You promised me, Melly,” I remind her.
She takes an exasperated breath and then steps aside, signaling for me to come in.I walk through the door and take a quick perusal of her house.A small smile tugs at my lips, and there’s a comforting warmth spreading in my chest at the chaotic mess of her living room.I remember her room was always a disaster, but she was emphatic it was organized chaos.It’s nice to see not everything has changed about her.
“So what exactly do you need?”she asks.
I spin around and take in her crossed arms, the slight pucker of her lips, and the narrowing of her eyes.She looks slightly pissed, more than a little annoyed, and more beautiful than I even remembered.
“I need you to fake date me.”