Page 1 of All Stars Fall
PROLOGUE
Trevor, May 2007
Adrenaline World Tour
Staples Center
“We sold out three nights ina row.” Our manager Dick, who I often called Dick for other reasons, did a little jig in his cowboy boots. He was probably dreaming of dollar signs and prostitutes.
I gripped my drumsticks in my hands and waited for the crowd to die down. My only job was to keep the beat, sing, and look sexy with my shirt off.
Literally.
It was in my contract.
The same one Dick had been convinced was the best contract he’d ever seen. We were offered a ridiculous amount of money to do something we loved. We were living the teen dream.
Except it was getting really old.
We’d been on and off tour for eight years. I was pulled from middle school, never went to high school, and my first experience with drugs was at twelve.
Good times.
“Listen up, boys—”
Oh good, another speech. Because that was what a rowdy group of twenty-one-year-olds wanted. Lectures.
“I didn’t want to say this before, but the record company wants another album.”
I suppressed my groan, locking eyes with my bandmates; each of them paled a bit.
We just wanted to go home.
The problem was, we’d never really had one.
A tour bus.
That’s what we called home.
We had enough money to buy shit. We just didn’t have enough time to spend it or lay down roots.
Hell, staying home on a Saturday night sounded like gold.
“By your excited expressions I can tell we’ll need to talk more.” His voice was grim. He rubbed his hands together. “Get out there and kick some ass. And, Trevor?”
I stopped in my tracks and waited.
“We have a few groupies hanging backstage tonight—you need to be there, none of this ‘I have a headache’ bullshit. You’re in this now, you know what your contract says. Play nice or don’t play at all.”
I’d heard it a million times.
I gave him a firm nod while flipping him off in my head and made my way on stage.
I was first. Always first. I played drums for half the time then swapped with Ty so that the girls could see my six pack and watch me croon into the microphone while sweat dripped off my chin.
Goals, right?
The screams were deafening, the lights so hot I was already sweating.
