Page 55 of Ticket to the Stars: Part Two

No, my brother needed to work on himself. He needed to put in the effort and try. He needed to show us, and himself, that he could be a better person all around and maybe, just maybe, he could be in our lives again.

He’d never return to Black Sacrament, but that didn’t mean he had to be a stranger.

Pope turned his back on the group, setting his forearms down on the bar’s counter. “I wasn’t exactly a nice guy to your girl over there,” he whispered with a frown. “And I still don’t really want to see her. Seeing her, it just makes it all feel worse. It makes me feel like shit.”

“Maybe you should feel like shit.”

That got him to look at me with his eyebrows raised. “Excuse the fuck out of me?”

Normally I’d sit back and let Pope take the lead, let him do whatever he wanted, and when things inevitably blew upin our faces—which they had time and time again—I let myself get down. No more. Not again.

Never again.

And that’s why I looked my brother in the eye and repeated, “Maybe you should. You’ve done some bad things. You know that. You know it and you still don’t seem like you’re sorry about any of it.”

“I’m not someone who apologizes—”

“Yeah, and maybe that’s your problem. You’re an asshole. You always have been, and up until recently, it’s worked out well for you—but obviously it’s not working anymore. Maybe you need to go work on yourself.”

Wow. I’d never stood up to him like this before. What had gotten into me?

As Pope seethed, I threw a glance at the table where Angel and the guys sat. Their side of the table faced me, so I could see her face as she was trying not to laugh at something Priest was saying. Bishop was busy rolling his eyes and shaking his head.

Why had I ever thought to leave them? Why had quitting the band in unity with Pope even crossed my mind? Pope might’ve been my brother by blood, but Priest and Bishop were my brothers, too. They were just as much family to me as Pope was, and Angel completed us.

What an idiot I’d been.

When I looked back at Pope, I found he’d angled his head toward the countertop, digging his fingernails into thewood. His mouth was drawn tight, the sneer on his face not geared toward anyone in particular.

My brother had a lot of problems. He needed to work on himself. I think he’d gotten so caught up in the chase of his dream, so enamored with the life we could have that he never stopped to think about what was right and what was wrong. He thought he could do whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. He needed to take a step back and figure out what else he had to live for, because now that reason couldn’t be Black Sacrament.

The bartender slid three beer glasses my way, the glasses clinking together, before moving down the counter to see what the patrons sitting on the barstools a few feet away wanted.

Pope snatched one of the beers for himself, practically burying his face in the drink. He chugged it down, sip by huge sip until it was gone, and then he used the back of his hand to wipe away the foam from his upper lip.

I was going to comment on the beer and how it wasn’t for him, but he spoke first, “I think, maybe, I need to leave the big city.”

That wasn’t what I thought he’d say, and for a moment, I stood there, confused. “What?” It was about all I could say, mostly because I was speechless at the possibility that he would leave. He loved city life.

“I’ve been thinking about everything since getting dragged out of that room in handcuffs.” Pope ran a hand down the side of his face. “I think it’s time I go home for abit. See Mom and Dad. Figure out what the fuck I want to do with my life now that I’m… now that Black Sacrament doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

A part of me instinctively wanted to tell him not to go, but as I studied his face, I could tell just how serious he was, how much he’d thought about this. Going home wasn’t something he’d say lightly.

Maybe going home would be good for him. Maybe he’d go back to his roots and be the person he used to be, before fame fucked him up. He wasn’t always such an asshole. Once upon a time, he’d been a good brother, a good role model—obviously things he hadn’t been in a long, long time.

“I’m sure Mom and Dad will love to have you back,” I said dryly. I loved our parents, but they’d never understood this whole band thing. They thought it was a waste of time and that we’d never really get far. We’d beat the odds coming as far as we did, and now Pope would go back to them with his tail tucked between his legs.

But what other choice did he have? He didn’t have anything to keep him in the city.

Pope let out a chuckle, although it came out wrong. More like a sneer than a chuckle. “I’m sure they will. I’m sure it won’t be miserable at all.” He glanced at the table, where the others sat. “Listen, I know I said I’d meet with them, but… I can’t.”

“Dude, they’re right there. They won’t bite.”

“I know, but… I just can’t. Tell your girl I’m sorry and that she won’t have to worry about me stalking her anymore. I’ll be out of the city in the morning.” He turned to go, to really, truly leave, and I thought about stopping him. I thought about telling him he should apologize to Angel himself—it was true. He wasn’t good at apologizing.

But I didn’t. I let him go, knowing he had to. If my brother had any hope of returning from the deep end, he would leave and try his best to change his ways, his habits, even his way of thinking.

Could people change? I liked to think so, if they genuinely put in the work. Whether or not my brother would actually change was up for debate. I guess we’d have to wait and see. Only time would tell.

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