Page 121 of Forbidden Lyrics

Gibson glares at Phoenix, then looks down at Stoker’s hand in the center of his chest.

“You need to back the hell up––”

“And you need to understand that your brother needs some space right now.”

“Come on, Stokes––”

“He’s right,” Phoenix interjects. “The internet exploded during the show about the new faces of Broken Vows.”

“So?” Gibson asks, as confused as I am.

Stoker mutters, “Fen wasn’t in the article.”

“Shit.” With a sigh, Gibson pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes.

I bite my lip and fight off my guilt for hurting Fender, even if it wasn’t intentional, but it’s impossible. He must be miserable right now, and I feel like it’s all my fault.

This sucks.

I can’t even imagine what he’s going through after hearing Josh’s offhand comment. Now, this?

“Fender’s the heart of the band,” I argue. “He has to know that, right?”

The guys stay quiet. Heck, they don’t even acknowledge me. They simply stare at each other, having a silent conversation no one else is privy to.

“He has to know that,” I repeat, though my confidence waivers with each passing second.

“Thanks for the heads up,” Gibson concedes after another few tense seconds.

Stoker nods. “Don’t mention it.”

He steps aside, and Gibson heads into the mansion in search of Fen while I trail behind. There aren’t as many red solo cups as the last party I attended, but plenty of glass bottles are scattered around. Most of the ornate furniture has been pushed along the walls to create space for a makeshift dance floor in the center of the front room, but everywhere is littered with shadowed bodies in various positions and more gyrating bodies than I can even comprehend.

This is a small get-together?

A headache threatens to bloom at the base of my skull as I squint my eyes and look for Gibson’s little brother, but I can’t find him anywhere. There are too many people. Too many hallways. Too many secluded spots where anyone can blend in and disappear, which is exactly what I’m afraid Fender wants right now. Especially when he’s mad at his brother. And me.

Where are you, Fen?

My heart is pounding as I pray to whatever god might be listening to give Fen the strength to fight his addiction and to trust Gibson when he apologizes for stealing the show tonight, even though it was far from intentional. Unfortunately, I have no idea if it’ll be enough to talk Fen down from the edge. Or maybe I’m wrong––maybe we’re all wrong––and he’s okay. Maybe he isn’t holding a grudge against us for stealing the spotlight. Maybe he’s happy that Broken Vows made it into an article in the first place.

Yeah. And maybe pigs can fly.

The lighting is dim, probably to help set the mood and give the allure of privacy to hide everyone’s debauchery, but it doesn’t stop me from dissecting every single shadow and profile that comes into view.

“He has to be here somewhere,” Gibson grumbles under his breath, his desperation matching my own.

The question is, where?

I squint my eyes and continue my search before my gaze lands on a familiar face in the sea of people.

Squeezing Gibson’s hand, I lift my chin toward the large family room. “Is that him?”

Alone on a dark leather couch sits a familiar silhouette. One that I’m almost positive belongs to a certain singer and guitarist, though the female companion Stoker mentioned is missing.

And I’m not sure that’s a good thing.

Gibson and I exchange worried glances before he pulls me toward Fen.

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