Page 46 of Sixty Days Of Summer

“Do you mind if I get a photo with you guys? I’m a huge fan,” he asks as he finishes setting up my mic.

“Yeah, sure,” I reply.

He pulls his phone from his back pocket and holds it out, grinning like a kid on Christmas. Scarlet and I lean in, our faces lining up behind him for the shot.

After he snaps the photo, he turns to us, still beaming. “Thanks for that! My wife is gonna flip when she sees this. I’m definitely framing it and rubbing it in. She’s just as big a fan as I am.”

He heads toward the door but stops right before he leaves. “Someone will come get you in a few minutes,” he says, with aquick nod. “Nice meeting you both.” And just like that, he’s out the door, leaving us alone again.

Scarlet lets out a deep breath, her fingers twisting nervously like they did before we hit the stage yesterday. I can see she’s on edge, and honestly, I am too, but it’s not the usual pre-show jitters. I’ve been through this a thousand times. It’s the thought of what might come up about my mother that’s really messing with my head.

I sink into the chair as I nervously wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. A few seconds later, the door swings open, and a middle-aged lady enters, smiling as she tells us to follow her. After we make our way down the corridor, we pause off to the side while they cut to a commercial break. When they wave us on, we step out onto the set. Scarlet takes the seat at the end, and I settle into the chair between her and one of the hosts.

We exchange quick hellos, but their words barely register. My mind’s elsewhere, as I struggle to steady my breathing. As someone starts the countdown for the show to go live again, I block out all distractions and channel my focus solely on the task at hand.

The primary host next to me looks straight into the camera and introduces us. I catch Scarlet fidgeting out of the corner of my eye, her nervousness still evident despite her attempts to hide it. The host flashes a smile, then turns slightly in his chair to address us, ready to dive into whatever questions they’ve got lined up.

“Well, let me kick things off by saying your fans are absolutely buzzing online about the show you put on last night,” the host says, his tone dripping with that polished enthusiasm that comes with the territory.

I flash a tight smile, just enough to look genuine without going overboard. I know how I can look when I push it too far, and the last thing I need is to come off like a deranged clownauditioning for a horror film. “Yeah, it was a great night,” I reply, keeping it brief.

Then he pivots to Scarlet. “You're the hot topic on social media, stepping in for your brother. Fans are saying it felt like Nate was right there on stage.”

Scarlet smiles, keeping it cool like she’s been in the spotlight forever. “Oh really?” she laughs, the sound light and effortless. “Wow, that’s a compliment in itself.”

The guy in the middle leans in, directing his question at me. “Your album has hit the number one spot worldwide,” he says, a glint in his eyes. “That must be a relief after everything that’s happened.”

I flash a tight, controlled smile, already sensing the ulterior motive behind this idiot’s words. Despite a powerful urge to tell him to fuck off, I keep my answer smooth and casual. “Yeah, the album’s something we’re really proud of. We’ve all worked hard to get back our original sound. Going out on our own, handling our music the way we want, and doing tours on our terms—I think the fans have shown they like where this is headed.”

“How has the camera incident impacted the tour?” he asks, that eager glint in his eye making it obvious he’s just itching for some drama to chew on for his ratings.

My jaw tightens for a second, but I don’t let it show. “The tour’s been going great. Fans are showing up in droves, and that’s what really matters. We’re focused on the music and making sure our fans get the best damn show possible every night.”

“Now that you’re in one of the biggest bands on the planet, how does your family feel about that?” He stares at me, smirking like he’s just unearthed a juicy secret.

I shoot a glance at Scarlet, then back at this jackass, my patience barely holding. "What are we doing here? This is aboutthe band, the tour, and how Scarlet stepped up for Nate, giving the fans exactly what they wanted."

He leans in, his smirk widening. “Yes, but those fans also want to know if there’s any truth to the rumors and accusations made by your mother.”

Is this fucking asshole serious? I shift in my chair, fighting to keep my cool. “As I said, this is about the band and the tour. We’re here to talk music, not about the past.”

He leans in closer, the smugness practically radiating off him. “So, you don’t deny the accusations, then.”

I bite back the urge to punch the fucker in the face. “I’m not here to say anything about that. Let’s focus on the music and the tour—what the fans actually care about.”

“They say...” He glances down at his notes, and all I want to do is jump up, rip them out of his hands, and shove them down his fucking throat. How dare he treat my pain like it’s some spectacle for the masses? “I think your mother called you a ticking bomb. Said she was scared to live with you. It was her husband who had to throw you out—fearing for her life.”

My blood boils as he crosses that line, digging up shit that has nothing to do with why we’re here. The rage bubbling inside me threatens to spill over, but I force myself to breathe, gripping the edges of my chair to stop me from losing it. I’m ten seconds away from walking out of this fucking circus.

“These are serious allegations. Don’t you think your fans deserve to hear your side of the story?”

I’ve had enough. I push my chair back and stand up. “You know what? I’m done with this bullshit. I came here to talk about the band, not to relive my personal hell to boost your ratings.” I tear off my microphone and fling it onto the chair.

As I storm off the set, I can hear the host stumbling over his words, desperately trying to salvage the wreck of an interview. But I couldn’t give a shit. As I push through the door and stepinto the corridor, a sudden realization hits me—I just left Scarlet in there all alone. Great fucking move, Ace.

Leaning against the wall, I can feel the anger boiling inside me as I berate myself for bailing. That prick’s insistence on dragging up the past was eating me alive. I tilt my head back and close my eyes, trying to keep the demons from clawing their way back to the surface.

What the fuck is wrong with me? I can feel the weight of the world pressing down, and it takes everything I have not to lash out at the walls around me.

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