Then his comment about prison hits me again and I shudder at the thought of who else might want my back if I was to be convicted. Fuck me.

I blow out a frustrated breath and close my eyes, knowing I’m going to piss somebody off regardless of the decision I make. It sucks when doing what’s right and what is required of you are two completely different things.

So let’s add a few more people to disappoint to my list. Save Hunter and then possibly my mom and keep my promise, or let him sink, lose my integrity, but make everyone else happy?

But what makes me happy? None of the fucking above.

“True, but a judge would just love to make an example of that pretty face and your public status. The women screaming they want to have your babies may boost that ego of yours but they aren’t going to do you an ounce of good influencing a judge on the length of your sentence.”

Vince snorts beside me. “I wouldn’t put it past his fangirls…. I’m sure a few would offer the judge their blow job services in order to save this asshole. Gives a whole new meaning to the phrase ‘Meet me in my chambers,’ right?”

I roll my head against the back of the chair to glare at him but he ignores me. And I know he’s pissed, know he’s fed up with Hunter’s bullshit affecting me and in turn the band.

So I stare back at the ceiling, head and heart in conflict but only because I know this is wrong, that I’m just as guilty for enabling Hunter. Know that when I tell myself this is the last time I’m going to save his ass at the expense of mine that I have to really follow through.

Blood is thicker than water but you can still drown in it all the same.

I lift my head up and look at Ben again. “What are my options?” I refuse to talk about whether it was really me or not again for the umpteenth time. Subject’s dead.

Ben twists his lips as he looks at me with confused disbelief over why I’m standing my ground but he shouldn’t be, he knows my history. “Man …” He sighs in resignation. “I wish you’d reconsider, but I knew you weren’t going to, so I spoke to some associates of mine who know the judge on your case and well … and there is a possibility …”

“A possibility? Dude, I need something concrete here,” I tell him, glancing over at Vince, who’s staring at Ben in anticipation of how he’s going to fix the impossible situation.

“Well, the judge is an alumnus of USC and likes to make his status and success known by giving back to the school in unique ways.”

He’s fucking lost me here. What does this have to do with me? “And …?”

“Well, my associates suggested that maybe if you agree to do a seminar about public media and the pressures on the modern-day public persona—”

“A seminar?” I swear to God Ben’s lost his mind. Does he not remember that school was not my strong suit? Shit, I was so busy daydreaming about song lyrics and escaping into their notes, I never paid attention. Well, unless she had a short skirt, a tight top, and an appreciation for the backseat of my car. I sure as fuck paid attention then. “Like teach, lecture, whatever one class?”

“More like twelve classes,” he deadpans and pushes the jar of chocolate across his desk, using my notorious sweet tooth to try to soften the blow.

“Hell no!” I say the same time Vince bursts out laughing hysterically like a goddamn hyena. Did Ben take the blow from evidence and get high? Because hell if he doesn’t sound like it with that suggestion. School was a sour note played on an out-of-tune guitar to me, and now he wants me to teach?

Clearly Ben doesn’t think our laughter is very funny, because he just sits and stares at me until our laughter dies down. He’s just about to speak when the intercom on the desk beeps. “Yes, Jennifer?”

“Mr. Levine’s here to hand deliver the contracts and wants a quick word with you if possible?”

“Tell him I’ll be right there but I only have a minute because I’m with a client,” Ben says as he rises from his chair, holding a hand up to me. “I’ll be right back. It’ll give you time to think this over … and you do need to, Hawke. You’re in some serious shit here. Twelve lectures and you’re in the judge’s good graces, meaning the possibility of a lighter sentence if any at all.” He buttons his suit jacket as he moves from behind the desk toward the door to his office. “Your options are limited: no band and jail time or teach the seminar and finish up the album.”

He puts his hand on the door and turns to meet my eyes again. “Don’t toss the idea. You need this, Hawke. If you’re protecting Hunter to help your mom, what do you really think will happen to her if you’re gone? The one person who’s really looking out for her?” And with that he opens the door and leaves the room as I bite back the expletives I want to hurl at him.

“Fuck man!” I exhale the words once the door is shut, put my hands behind my head, and slouch back in the chair, his low blow hitting its mark dead on.

“Dude … you teaching? That’s hilarious,” Vince says, words interspersed with laughter. “Professor Play. Sounds like a bad stage name for a porno.”

“Shut it, Vince.” Even if I had any intention of saying yes, what the fuck would I talk about? I mean I’m sure the judge isn’t looking for someone to lecture about the women who ask me to sign their tits or who hand me their panties as a proposition. I shove up out of the chair, needing to move, to chew over all of this.

“Well, if you’re not sure what to do, man, I’d say you should just tell the truth and quit cleaning up Hunter’s shit.”

“I am telling the truth!” I grit the words out with my jaw clenched, hands fisted momentarily as I control my urge to punch the wall beside me. They need to stop making me repeat myself.

“Yeah. Uh-huh.”

“Vince.” It’s the only warning I can give him because he’s right, and I don’t have anything else to convince him otherwise. He’s my best friend for Christ’s sake, knows me better than I know myself, and yet here I am, spinning a web of lies, hoping he can’t see right through them.

“Look, do what you’ve gotta do, man. I’ll stand behind you whatever you decide and for whatever your reasons but …” His voice trails off as my shoulders droop under the weight of the guilt I carry around with me like a second skin.

“But what?” I ask even though I already know the answer. “You’re siding with Ben on this?” Fuck, if that’s the case, I know he’s serious.

“No, man, just siding with simple logic. We’ve all worked so damn hard for this…. It’s all we’ve eaten, slept, or drank for the last ten years. To have Hunter almost lose it for us once and now possibly fuck it up when we’re finally making a name for ourselves?” His voice breaks for a moment and I know there’s more coming, know he has something else he wants to say and in typical Vince fashion is taking his sweet ass time getting to it. “I get and don’t get all at the same time your loyalty to your brother, but fuck, man, what about your loyalty to us? To everything we have riding on you? What about letting us down?”

And of course he went in for the kill with that line.

“Yeah, no pressure or anything. Thanks,” I say quietly, having no one to blame but myself for the drama swirling around me. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the window and hate the person I see because once again, Hunter is getting exactly what he wants at my expense: big brother protecting little brother at all costs.

I just happen to think that this cost might break the bank in all senses of the meaning.

We’re both quiet as I try to figure out my next step, my next chord, the next lyric in my life’s song.

“Well, the bright side is that you’ll be on a college campus, which means tons of fresh-faced college coeds for you to take your pick from, lure in with your pretty-boy smile, and then corrupt with your fucked-up ways.” He turns to look at me for the first time and I see the plea in his eyes for me to do this, to take the offer to lecture. Throw the band a fucking bone when they’ve put their money on me while I’m busy trying to use mine to save my brother. “We missed this rite of passage being on the road so much, might as well take advantage of it while you can, right?”

When I run a hand through my hair, I catch a glimpse of the tattoo on the inside of my wrist. A treble clef and an okodee. My ever-present reminder of where I came from and what I need to do to get where I want to go.

If I’m honest with myself, I already know what I’m going to do despite the reluctance and my irritation at having a decision to even make.

If I thought it would fool him, I’d put on my stage face to convince him of my absolute certainty about going forward with this but we’ve been friends for way too long and have been through way too much shit together for me to pull one over on him. I infuse enthusiasm in my voice anyway.

Fake it until you make it. Sounds about fucking par for the course to me.

“I do love the classy, intelligent type,” I murmur.

“Who the fuck are you kidding?” Vince says, relief in his voice since he knows my comment is my way of telling him I’m going to do it. Sell myself to save everyone else. “If they have a pussy, they’re your type.”

I can’t fight the smile on my face. “True but dude, give me some credit here. You make me sound like I’ll play with any kitty that wants to be petted.”

He raises an eyebrow, a smirk of amusement on his lips. “This being said from the ringmaster of his own three-ring Cirque du Pussy.”

“You’re so wrong.” I laugh at our long-running joke about lead singers and their inherent draw for female fans. And thank fuck I’m on the lucky end of that deal. I’d best be happy that doing this seminar will keep me on the other end of the microphone instead of the wrong end of a jail cell. I roll my shoulders and feel the weight of the decision I’ve made begin to lessen some as the idea settles. Shaking my head, I walk back to the chair beside him and just stand there as I meet his eyes. I never doubt my decisions so I’m not quite sure why I’m doing it now.