Page 122 of Forbidden Lyrics

His eyes are bloodshot, and his usual smirk is absent as he stares in front of him, looking at nothing at all. It’s obvious he’s too lost in his thoughts and regrets to focus on anything, which makes him look numb and almost dead inside. Like the shell of a human being. One that’s usually full of life and enthusiasm for the world around him. But not right now.

No.

This isn’t Fender Hayes at all.

It’s a stranger.

And the realization kills me.

Gibson clears his throat, but Fen doesn’t move a muscle.

Is it too late? Has he already taken something? I want to ask, but I keep my lips pressed into a thin line. I’ve already done enough damage for one day.

“Hey, man––” Gibson starts.

“Leave me alone, Sonny.”

“You weren’t answering my texts.”

“I don’t need a babysitter––”

“I know. But if I need to reach you––”

“Look. I forgot my fucking phone. Add it to the list of shit I’ve screwed up in the last twenty-four hours, all right?” He finally looks up at Gibson, giving his older brother a front-row seat to the turmoil tearing him apart with each passing second. The betrayal clings to his defeated soul like a second skin and acts like a sucker punch to my gut as my attention shifts from one brother to the next.

This is all my fault.

Fender welcomed us on stage with open arms earlier tonight. And now, he feels like we stabbed him in the back because of it.

I drop my chin to my chest as shame fills every inch of my body. I should’ve never asked Gibson to join me on stage. I should’ve sucked it up and stuck with the original plan.

“I’m sorry,” I start.

Gibbs shakes his head and digs into his dark jeans for his cell. “Take my phone. The code is 3-2-6-6-5-0.”

“Why?”

“So I can reach you.”

Fen scoffs but takes Gibson’s offered phone anyway. “What? You’re not gonna babysit me?”

“No, I’m not going to babysit you. You’re a big boy, Fen. You know what you want, and it’s bullshit that Hawthorne thinks I have any control over what you do.”

“Good. Glad you’re able to finally get that through your thick skull,” Fender spits.

Gibson bristles but doesn’t defend himself. “Keep my phone on you, okay? I want to be able to get a hold of you when it’s time to go. We’ll talk later tonight.”

Fen’s eyes narrow into thin slits as he studies him carefully. “Did you mean to do it, Sonny?”

With a slow exhale, Gibson shakes his head. “You know I didn’t, Fen––”

“You sure about that?”

“Fen––”

“Why did you invite her on stage at SeaBird that first time?”

Gibson sighs, scrubbing at his clenched jaw as he fights for patience when I’m afraid it’s a losing battle.

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