Page 71 of Rocked: The Price of Dreams

While I loved living with the guys, I missed my own space. After growing up basically on my own, I needed somewhere to call home—and it was time to buy our own condos. I couldn’t believe I had earned enough money to afford a place in Manhattan. In fact, I’d earned more money than I’d ever know what to do with.

After real estate agents showed me condo after condo, I found the perfect one in Tribeca. A brand-new, three-bedroom, two-story apartment overlooking Tribeca Park. It was home from the moment I walked in the front door. And if the universe didn’t conspire enough to bring Hunter and Kyle into my life all those years ago, it truly played another hand when the guys found a fabulous five-bedroom penthouse to buy together in the building down the laneway, five hundred yards from my place. We were meant to be together forever. No question about it.

Christmas time was chaos. We had a ton of events to attend and perform at. We were about to go on stage for a charity concert at Madison Square Garden when Bec walked into the dressing room with a police officer. My heart stilled at the sight of her teary eyes and trembling chin. But the blow the officer delivered was one I’d never forget. Kyle’s parents had been killed in a car accident. They had been on their way to see our show.

Kyle buckled, fell to the ground, and sobbed. Hunter and I collapsed beside him.

No. No. No. Not Claire. Why? She was an angel. My heart had never hurt so much.

Claire had been a mom to all of us. After we’d finished school, Claire and William had moved to the beach house at Amagansett. Leaving the stressful police force behind, William had worked for a home security company, monitoring rich Hamptons homes, and Claire had found a love of painting and sang twice a week at the Amagansett Tavern. William had remained sober since rehab and had never raised a hand to Kyle or his mom again after that afternoon with Laura. They’d finally seemed to be over their past nightmares only to have their lives stolen away.

Was being in the music business a curse? We’d been through drugs, injuries, scandals...and now death. How many more blows could we take?

Too devastated to perform and unable to comprehend our loss, we canceled a month of events and shows. Losing his folks hit Kyle hard. He spiraled downwards, drinking and partying hard, and slipping into awful bouts of depression. Some days he couldn’t get out of bed. It took weeks for Hunter and me to help him find the strength to move on. But after four weeks off, SureHaven pushed us back on stage, out to attend events and into the studio to record another album.

Each time we recorded, the three of us grew more agitated and annoyed at not having more of our own music on the album, but then again, we never took our situation for granted. We were extremely lucky to be in this position. Who knew that three hopeless kids from Montgomery could have reached such great heights? SureHaven had made us stars, but we hated not showing off our own songwriting talent. We never stopped writing lyrics. We never stopped composing music. It was who we were.

Two more albums, then things would change.

We’d have control.

In February, we hit the studio at full throttle to finalize our fourth album. We’d had more control in selecting the songs for this release—they just weren’t our own. During award season we won a ton more accolades. New Grammys, AMAs, BRITs, and other mind-blowing statues lined our shelves. We were now one of the top-selling rock bands on the planet.

But it was far from all roses. The more popular we grew, the less privacy we had. We could rarely leave our homes without security. Sam, Mick, and Chester, our security guards, became our shadows. The paparazzi tracked our every move. The gossip bordered on ludicrous. I’d grown paranoid after “the Ben” incident. I didn’t hook up with anyone for months after he betrayed me. Then, when I did, I enforced a strict no-phone rule, no-dating rule, and no-more-than-one-night rule. God. I’d turned into Hunter. It wasn’t just that I never wanted my heart broken again; I didn’t trust anyone. My circle of friends grew smaller and smaller.

People inundated us at every opportunity, asking us to endorse products, appear at events, support politicians, and state our views on current trending topics.

We ignored the majority of the requests.

We chose who we’d work with and when. We loved our sponsors—Fender, Pearl, Marshall, and designers like Conrad’s Fashion House, and Dolce and Gabbana. But away from the public eye, we devoted our time and care to supporting The McIntyre Leukemia Foundation that Kyle had set up in honor of his sister, and the Collins Foundation, Hunter’s group housing project and support network for young adults with autism and their families. They were the causes closest to our hearts.

With our fourth album cut and singles released, we hit promo, traveling to several countries across the globe and announcing our third world tour that would start in the fall.

The three of us were in a good place. We were happy. Content. We loved playing, meeting fans, and touring. We treasured everything we’d achieved. We protected and cherished the friendships we’d developed with Lexi, Hayden, Kara, and Conrad.

But we never forgot our roots. We were still just kids from Montgomery.

The hype around our third tour broke records around the world. It was the fastest series of concerts to sell out in seconds.

Walking onto the massive stage setup in our rehearsal space in an airplane hangar in Newark made my heart soar. Spinning around and picturing what we were about to do brought tears to my eyes. The LED projection screens were huge. Our choreography was phenomenal. The lighting and sound would be spectacular.

“You ready to do it all again?” Hunter’s eyes lit with awe as he scanned the stage.

“Absolutely.” Kyle hooked his arm around my shoulders. “There is nothing else I’d rather be doing.”

“Got that right.” I cuddled into Kyle’s side. “This tour is going to kick ass.”

Kyle, Hunter, and I had become true performers and crowd entertainers. We only played our instruments for a few songs during our shows; the rest of the time we sang, strutting around the stage and runways, loving every second of interaction with the audience.

Long days at rehearsals morphed into kicking off the tour in Australia.

Over the next nine months we’d visit twenty-four countries, fifty-three cities, and perform eighty-seven shows.

On the road, every day was set on repeat. There was a mix of interviews, meeting and greeting the fans, soundchecks, performances, travel, and hanging out for a couple of hours after our shows backstage or at hotel bars. Sex was on tap. We ate like kings and rarely drank alcohol on tour to protect our voices. Navigating the crowds waiting outside our hotels and finding ways to get in and out of places unnoticed had become a skill we’d now refined.

But nothing filled my heart as much as music. Every show, I was on fire. The moment I came off stage, I couldn’t wait to get back out there. As we traveled from country to country, mile after mile, once the crowds left and the after-parties died, the guys and I sat up till all hours of the morning in our hotel rooms, writing music, laughing, and just living in our own little bubble.

On rare days off in our hectic schedule, we had crazy fun. We went skiing, hung out at the beach, and went sightseeing. We loved any adrenaline-fueled activity like ziplining and jet skiing; they gave us a rush. SureHaven freaked when they found out. Something about insurance if we got injured. But we ignored them.

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