Page 79 of Synced to Us

My answer comes out low. Dangerous. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

At the tone in my voice, Mason shuts off the TV and gives me his full attention. “Tell you what?”

“Nocturne Court. Reunion tour.”

Mason’s face splits into a grin. “Are you stoked? I wanted to surprise you! It’s not official yet, so I was keeping it on the DL. Who spilled the beans? Actually, never mind—who cares. Congrats, man! We’re back!”

My arms fall to my sides as my jaw works overtime at Mason’s unintended confirmation of my suspicions. Pietro hadn’t been bluffing.

I’m doing everything I can not to leap over the back of the couch and strangle my friend. “You didn’t think I deserved the head’s up?”

Mason’s smile falters. “It’s not like that. I didn’t want to get your hopes up. If it wasn’t going to work out…if it fell through with Rex or East…I couldn’t give you something only to take it away on a technicality.”

“I see. So I’m a charity case who you didn’t want to give too much hope to.”

“Did you hear me say that?” Mason pushes to his feet. “What’s going on with you? I thought you’d be happy.”

“I would’ve been fucking over the moon if you included me in the first place!”

Mason’s gaze whips down the hallway, and then back. “Shh! You’ll wake her.”

“What do you take me for?” I step into the main room, blasting closer to him. “With the press, I always assumed, fine, treat me like the dumb one, the fun one, the one who doesn’t contribute as much to the band like Rex the lead singer or you, the bass. Even the fans, sure, push your face against mine and match my goofy grin. ‘Cause that’s my brand, right? The comedic relief. The guy with less of a say in how we do things because he’s in the back. But you guys? My band? My best friends? I never once thought you’d be the first to toss me aside or treat me like I’m some sort of ride-along.”

“I wasn’t thinking any of those things. I was trying to protect you!”

“Because why? I’m a loser idiot who can’t keep his life together? Who’s blown his budget on booze, women, whatever the fuck, and now lives on your couch? That may be the image the label and the media makes sure everyone else sees, but I expected better from you. You know what my family life’s like, how much I’ve tried to keep them above water. My ma and her rehabs. Taking care of Brad’s kids and their future because he sure as hell isn’t. I’m not the guy who can’t be trusted, and yet you’ve made me feel like I’m not worth the effort.”

“Buddy, calm down.” Mason rounds the couch. “That’s not—”

I bare my teeth, and he halts. “I deserved a say. To be involved. I damn well deserved to be in that room while you guys talked logistics about a reunion tour. Do you guys all need the money, too? Or is this just one giant pity party for the one band member who couldn’t keep up?”

“You’re right.” Mason holds up his hands. “I read it wrong. I’m sorry, man. I was looking toward the future, so you wouldn’t have to worry about your ma anymore or your niece and nephew. It’s all taken care of. This world tour, it’s paying us top salary. You can get back on your feet. Move your ma—”

“You know she won’t move. That’s half the battle with keeping up with the fucking upkeep of that house.”

“Okay, well, then top dollar renovations. Wyn, this is huge for you. For us. Everything I did, it was with you in mind and to better your life. I swear.”

I let out a mirthless laugh, staring off into the kitchen rather than at him. “What’s the most fucked-up is that you didn’t consider I’d have the gonads to get myself out of it. My writing. My music. You never once thought it would be enough, did you? Was working with me that one night just to appease me or make me feel good? Did you even believe it was decent?”

Mason’s mouth works. “Dude…I did this for you.”

“You know what? You’re right. This is epic and will solve all my problems. I’ll get on the tour, do all the things, get the cash, and go back to being the goof on the keys like everyone wants and expects. I play my part, be the brand the label wants, everybody gets paid, and satisfaction abounds.”

“What happened tonight? What went wrong?” Mason takes a closer look at me.

I throw my jacket over the back of couch before I head down the hallway to the bathroom. “It’s too bad you didn’t let me be my own solution.”

* * *

Three Weeks Later

I wanted this.

The sound stage, the rehearsals, the frenetic activity of staffers and agents and managers as we banged out our greatest hits for the trillionth time.

It was nostalgic, at first. My muscle memory entwined with the band as soon as we put in our ears and I tucked the battery pack into my back pocket, then funneled into our rehearsal space, stepping onto the low platform and taking my place adjacent to East on drums. All of our new instruments were provided by the label, and I called up my previous multi-track patches and synth data through the software loaded on my board.

It took me a while to come around to it, but being with the boys again was cool. When we took the stage, all four of us dove into our songs, meshing and synchronizing like we’d never taken time off. My personal problems and anger with Mason couldn’t compete with the high of our music, and by the time our first set was finished, we bro-hugged, caught up, and I fell into a heart emoji hole of looking at pictures of Rex and East’s kids on their phones.

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