Page 43 of Sixty Days Of Summer

“Yeah, but we’ve never had a female member before. I just didn’t want her to feel uncomfortable,” I say, downing the rest of my beer. I glance over at Theo, who’s now surrounded by eight groupies, basking in their attention like the attention-seeking asshole he is.

Off to one side, I see Scarlet talking to three guys. Neil stands beside her, sticking to my orders to throw out anyone who tries anything with her tonight.

“Well, I’ll leave you to it, man,” Xander says, patting my shoulder, his eyes flicking down to the groupie under my arm.

He pushes off the table and makes his way across the room. I wonder what he’ll do now to pass the time. Back in the day, Xander would’ve jumped right into this scene, picking out any girl in the room to help him drown out all the shit in his head. But now, as a happily married family man, he doesn’t even glance at anyone. His whole world is Poppy and Alex.

I never thought Xander would ever be the relationship type, but he’s turned into a mellow version of himself when he’s at home. He’s content with the life he’s built, and I know he’d give up everything he’s worked for in a heartbeat for his family. It’s something I’ll never understand. I’d never give this shit up for anyone. Especially when I can get a meaningless fuck any time I want.

I watch him walk over to Kit and strike up a conversation. Now that Xander’s gone, a few girls come my way. Some of them are the same ones he told to fuck off earlier, so it’s no surprise they’re making their rounds from band member to band member. With only Theo and me left, they know they have to work hard to stand out.

The girl with the big mouth and even bigger tits catches my eye, and I give her a nod to come over. When she steps in front of me, her starry eyes light up, clearly thrilled to be chosen. I know I can ask her to indulge in any of my wild fantasies tonight. As she moves closer, I set my empty beer on the table. I don’t bother with names—this is just a one-night thing.

“You wanna have a good time?” I ask, keeping my tone relaxed. She grins and nods eagerly. I glance back at the girl under my arm, but something across the room catches my attention.

Scarlet’s eyes lock with mine, and a sharp jolt hits me right in the chest. Her gaze shifts to the groupie under my arm, and I catch a fleeting glimpse of hurt that passes over her face. When our eyes meet again, it stings like hell.

I push those thoughts aside, feeling the weight of guilt settle in my chest. That’s what I do—I’m fucked up, and I hurt people. Ignoring the sharp ache in my chest, I make my way across the room, the girls still clinging to me. I need to escape, to find solace away from Scarlet’s piercing stare.

In the back seat on the way to the hotel, with a girl on each side of me. One leans in to suck on my neck while the other rubs my cock through my jeans, eager to get me going. Normally, this would be all I need, but tonight something’s off. I close my eyes, trying to lose myself in the moment, but even as I get hard, all I can think about is the hurt in Scarlet’s eyes. That look. The way it cut deep, hangs heavy. It’s impossible to shake the fact that I made her feel that way.

My mother’s voice echoes in my head, just like it always does when I’m on the edge of losing my shit. Her words—how the world would be better off without me, how fucked up and worthless I am—play on a relentless loop. The memory of her wishing I’d fucking died instead of taking my first breath still stings. It’s hard to shake off the weight of all the shit she used to say; even though they’re just words, they feel like they’ve seeped into my skin. Maybe that’s why everyone ends up leaving. I’m no good for anyone, just a burden dragging people down. Every dark thought gets amplified by her cruel taunts, as if she’s inside my head, pulling me back into the darkness she’s always excelled at creating.

As we pull up to the back of the hotel—a spot hidden from the media's prying eyes—I unbuckle my seatbelt and lean forward.

“Get the girls back to the stadium or drop them off at home,” I say, not even glancing at either of them as I shove past to get out.

“Wait… What the hell?” one of them pipes up as I step out of the car.

“Are you fucking serious?” the one with the big tits yells.

I continue walking, not giving a damn that I ruined their night. Whatever. They only want me for who I am. They do not know how hard it is to breathe sometimes. So fuck them and fuck the entire world that puts me on a pedestal. No way I can let them see the fucked-up version I am.

Despite the chill of the night air, my mind remains cluttered and chaotic.

I hit the elevator button, watching the illuminated numbers slowly count down. When the doors finally slide open, relief washes over me as I step inside, grateful that no one else is around at this hour. I’m too fucked up to fake a smile or pretend everything’s fine. The elevator dings as it reaches thetop floor, and I step out, desperate to reach my room. All that matters right now is raiding the mini-bar, lighting up a joint, and drowning out the chaos in my head. It’s strange how just an hour ago, I was riding high—on top of the world with our new label, the tour, and fans going wild. Now, though, I’m spiraling downward, demons from my childhood rushing back, threatening to drown me in their darkness.

After wiping out the mini-bar and stumbling out of my room, the late hour feels suffocating. The bar downstairs is supposed to stay open all night—at least that’s what the damn sign said. I’ve already finished a joint and ten tiny bottles of alcohol, but it’s still not enough to drown out the chaos in my head. When these dark thoughts take hold, sleep feels impossible. Jabbing the elevator button, I stand, head down, waiting for it to drag its ass up here. Thank fuck it doesn’t take too long.

Stepping back into the elevator, I slump against the back wall, closing my eyes to try to block everything out. When the chime signals I’ve hit the lobby, I head straight to the bar to find it mostly empty—just a few lost souls nursing their own troubles. I slide onto a stool and signal the bartender, who nods and starts pouring. As the first few shots hit the counter, my phone buzzes in my back pocket. Pulling it out, I see Xander’s name flash on the screen. I wonder what the hell he wants at this hour.

“Hey man,” I say, trying to keep it casual.

“Hey, what are you doing?” Xander asks.

“Just grabbing a drink. What about you?”

“Monsters fucking up your head again,” he says, and I can hear the sympathy in his voice.

I crack a smile. No one gets me like Xander does. “Yeah, you could say that.”

“Turn around.”

Spinning in my seat, I spot him in a booth along the back wall. A bottle of whiskey sits on the table, with a half-full glass beside it. I hang up the phone, and down four of the five shots in quick succession, relishing the familiar burn in my throat before grabbing the last one. With the shot in hand, I make my way over to Xander.

He watches me as I approach, and I can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s doing here at this hour. Setting my shot glass down on the table, I slide into the seat across from him.

“What triggered it this time?” he asks. He knows better than anyone how easily I can get pulled back into the shit from my past.

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