Chapter One

The last conversation that changed my life started with the words, “Gaby, we need to talk.”

Exactly four minutes and fifty-five seconds later, I was apparently A) not in a relationship anymore, B) homeless and C) pathetic. Although the whole being “pathetic” part was only known by me… and my best friend… and my parents… and my brothers… and my sister… and my nieces.

Oh hell. Who was I kidding? Everyone knew I was pathetic when my best friend, Laila, told my parents I’d been dumped. She then told everyone else in my family that I had cried my eyes out for a week after my breakup and followed that up by watching My Girl every night for a month straight. The seven pounds and face full of acne I gained from stuffing my face with Spicy Cheetos and glazed donuts didn’t help matters either.

So when Eli, who usually only called me twice a month and was drunk as a skunk each and every single time, called and started our conversation with “Gaby-Gaby” in a sing-song voice, I knew something was up. He never called me by my name unless it had a curse word before it. When he then asked me, “Do you have time to talk?” in a completely sober tone, I was pretty much expecting the apocalypse. Or at the very least, being asked to give up one of my major organs.

I shouldn’t have listened to his offer. I should have known better, but Eli was my weakness in life, and the asshole knew it.

I couldn’t count the number of times he’d wrangled me into doing something for him that I would never, ever do for anyone else. There were the occasions when I had to clean up his puke after he’d drank too much, because if our parents found out they would have flipped. Or when I ate ramen noodles for an entire month because I had to bail him out of jail, and he hadn’t bothered paying me back. Then there was that time when he gave me bronchitis. I’d pretended to have my purse stolen while I was on antibiotics so that I could give him the extra dosage because he didn’t have insurance and was too cheap to go to the doctor. In retrospect, I’m pretty sure that might have been a criminal offense.

I loved my twin brother, even if he was a restless bastard… and the bane of my existence.

“We had to let Zeke go,” Eli explained in that breathless voice so many stupid and oblivious women panted over. “Come on tour with us. Mom said you aren’t doing shit this summer, so I know you don’t have anything better to do—”

Umm… I didn’t have anything better to do, but when someone else said it, it pissed me off.

I was lying down on my childhood bed with my knees to my chest when I rolled my eyes. The ceiling still had the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d glued on them nearly ten years ago; it seemed like they were mocking me, reminding me I wasn’t a kid anymore, and that I needed to get my shit together so that I didn’t have time to stare at them. “I’ve been applying for jobs, thank you very much.”

“Aww, G, you’ve got the rest of your life to work. C’mon. It’ll be fun,” he insisted in that borderline-whiney voice that he used to get me to do his evil bidding.

He had a point; I knew it. I also knew how manipulative Eli was. He was almost as manipulative as he was full of shit, and he was full of a whole bunch of shit.

Go on tour with them, though?

I had a sudden flashback of all the scarring things I’d been through while in their company in the past. If I’d known back in kindergarten what I knew now about these boys, my life might have turned out completely differently. Getting detention at the age of five, right along with Eli, Mason and Gordo should have warned me of what was to come by simply being around them. Because seriously, who got detention in kindergarten? Not surprisingly, they were the three people I’d been with each and every single time I had ever gotten into any sort of trouble.