Page 39 of One Last Encore

"Seriously not cool," Reef chimed in from the couch, his tone as lazy as ever, though there was an edge of discomfort beneath it. "It’s just… a lot."

"A lot," Finn scoffed, grabbing a water bottle from the coffee table. "That’s an understatement. This is like watching someone juggle lit dynamite and just hoping they don’t trip."

"Well," Reef said. "On the bright side, at least we’ve got front-row seats to the shitshow."

Finn shot him a glare. "Yeah? And when it blows up?"

Reef shrugged. "Then I switch bands."

Beck groaned. "You’re an asshole."

"Kidding," Reef said, flashing a small, lazy grin. "Love you fools."

Finn exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

"I’ll talk to him," Beck said, his voice flat. He clapped Finn on the shoulder, but the weight in his chest only deepened.

With a breath he already knew wouldn’t help, he headed down the narrow hallway toward the bathroom. The door was shut, but inside, he could hear movement–hurried, clumsy rustling.

His stomach dropped.Without knocking, he yanked the door open.

Rodney was hunched over the sink, fingers moving too fast as he shoved something into his pocket. The second Beck stepped inside, Rodney straightened, sniffing sharply.

Beck’s pulse quickened. The flickering bathroom light buzzed overhead, casting shadows across his brother’s face, making his already hollow cheeks look sharper.

"What are you doing?" Beck asked, his voice coming out tight.

Rodney smirked, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "Jesus, don’t you knock?" His tone was all mockery, like this was some joke Beck was too uptight to understand.

Beck didn’t move from the doorway. "I know you’re using again."

Rodney scoffed. "That’s cute. But let me guess, you're here to save me?" His voice dripped with sarcasm, but there was something harder beneath it, something that made Beck’s stomach tighten.

"We’re all worried about you," Beck said, forcing himself to stay calm. "You’re spiraling."

Rodney let out a sharp laugh, running a hand over his jaw. "Oh, that’s rich. The prodigal son swooping in with his concerned little speeches." He shook his head, lips curling. "You’re so fucking predictable."

Beck inhaled through his nose. "Rodney, I–"

"No, you don’t get to act like you give a shit," Rodney snapped, his voice razor-sharp. "You left. You went off to Juilliard, getting your fancy degree, your perfect little life–"

"Perfect?" Beck cut in, anger flaring in his chest. "You think my life is perfect?"

Rodney’s jaw clenched. "It sure as hell looks better than mine."

Beck exhaled slowly, trying to keep his grip on his temper. "I wanted better for both of us. You could still–"

"Don’t." Rodney’s voice dropped, lower, more dangerous. "Don’t fucking say I could ‘still fix it’ or ‘get my shit together.’ I don’t need a lecture from you. You think you’re better than me?"

Beck’s hands curled into fists at his sides. "I think you’re throwing your life away."

Rodney let out a short, bitter laugh. "And you think you’re any different? You’re the one covering my ass, holding the band together, playing daddy to a bunch of broke musicians instead of actually living your own damn life. You really think you’re not just as stuck as I am?"

"We don’t have to be stuck. We don’t have to be like Mom." Beck flinched as soon as the words left his mouth, but Rodney was already locking onto them like a predator catching scent.

"Don’t fucking talk to me about Mom," he sneered. "At least I pick up the phone when she calls. At least I don’t pretend she doesn’t exist just because it’s inconvenient."

Beck’s jaw tightened, guilt curling hot in his stomach.

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