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Chapter 1
Earlier

The five men shifted around the recording studio that had been set up for them on the island. Brian and Howie were leaning over the soundboard, talking quietly. Kevin was by the window, nodding in time with the music filling the room. Nick sat on a couch, strumming the same three chords on guitar, humming the same phrase over and over.

“Will you cut it out already?” AJ snapped, spinning on the blonde.

AJ was jittery. His eyes itched and his fingers were incessantly rubbing his shirt. The headache boring a hole in his skull felt like a power drill on high. He hadn’t had a drink in... too fucking long. Fucking Kevin, clearing the island. It was always fucking Kevin-

“I don’t see you offering anything to the table.” Nick retorted.

“Cuz this is bullshit. Who are we kidding, anyway? This is a waste of time. We’ve been here a week and have three lousy songs and 3 measures of Nick’s endless repeat. Fucking ridiculous.” He stood up.

“Hey!” Howie called, spinning from his spot by the mixer. AJ felt a small stab of guilt. Howie had written most of the lyrics for those three lousy songs. But really. They were pretty lousy. He was just stating the facts.

“If it’s so ridiculous, why don’t you quit?”

The question caught AJ by surprise. It seemed to catch the others by surprise too. They all turned toward the window. Nick even stopped playing his fucking song. There had always been an unwritten Backstreet Rule: No calling quitsies. Not unless you meant it. Not unless it was serious.

“What?”

“I said,” Kevin turned slowly into the room, his eyes icy. “If it’s all so ridiculous and lousy, why don’t you get the fuck out? We’ll get more accomplished without your negative attitude and bullshit.”

“You can’t fire me. You’re not our manager.”

“Well, you aren’t exactly performing at expected standards, are you, AJ?”

The two men stared at each other. The tension in the room was high. Hell, it had been high all week. All year. Probably longer than that.

“Fuck you, Kevin.” AJ snarled. His eyes slowly landed on each member of the group. As no one spoke, he felt his resentment grow. “Fuck you, Nick.” The young man lowered his eyes toward his guitar. AJ turned toward the soundboard. Howie’s face showed concern, but the air remained silent and strained. “Fuck you, Howie.” As his gaze slid toward Brian, he felt the malice snake through his veins. “And you.” He pointed at Brian. He hoped no one could see his hand shaking. “Fuck you. Fuck you, Brian.”

He turned and began to walk out. He kept his head up, shoulders back. Yet with each step, he hoped for just one word from any of them. Anything. Some sign that all was not lost.

But they let him leave.

***
AJ sat in his cabin, staring at the empty bottle in front of him. He didn’t know what disgusted him more: that he had broke into Nick’s cabin and stolen the bottle of Jim Beam, or the fact that he had successfully polished the entire thing. The guys were right, he was a fuck-up.

Maybe he could change. They had kicked him out of the studio earlier that day - fuck, who was he kidding? They practically kicked him out of the fucking band. No. Kevin kicked him out of the band. But maybe if he went back, he could change their minds. Maybe he could convince them he wasn’t a shit-head and a fuck-up and terrible friend. Admit that he had a problem. Ask for help.

Maybe he could change.

He stood, swaying a little as his body adjusted to the gravitational pull of vertical motion. He headed out of the cabin, taking the shortcut through the small wooded grove in the middle of the island. They would accept him back. They would help him change. They would forgive him. Brian would forgive him. Brian always forgave him.

He stopped when he reached the edge of the woods on the other side. Kevin was standing at the ocean, his back to the woods, his cell pressed to his ear. AJ could hear every word the older man spoke into his phone.

“-grounds for breaking the contract would be, ‘Failure to Perform at Expected Standards.’ That is legitimate?” A pause. “How much would we lose in the lawsuit?” Kevin let out a low whistle, running his hands through his hair. “But you are certain we could win?” Another pause, this one fairly lengthy. “No, it’s not official yet. But put the pieces in motion. It will be soon enough.” Kevin hung up the phone, looking out toward the ocean.

AJ turned away silently. Who was he kidding? They didn’t care about him. He had failed them all.

***
Brian knocked on the door of his cousin’s cabin, positioned about 300 feet away from his own. When the tall, dark man opened the door, it was impossible to miss the large bags under his eyes. This had effected him as well. A small twinge played at Brian’s heart. A sympathetic smile brushed his face, and Kevin studied him, carefully.

“You and D kept going in the studio.”

It was a statement, not a question. Brian didn’t respond.

“Anything good?”

Brian shrugged, unsure of what to say. He knew how Kevin felt. He opted for a simple answer. As vague as possible.

“We got some stuff down. It’s missing some parts.”

Kevin snorted a little. “Give it up, Rok. Just give it up.”

Brian felt his temper flare. They’d had this argument a hundred times by now. Why had he even bothered to come to Kev’s door again? He took a deep breath and held up his hands. “I’m not here to argue. Just wondering what your plan was for the night.”

“Nick and I might hit the beach bar on the other side of the island. You want in?”

It made Brian nauseous that they were so willing to go out, given the circumstances, but again he held his tongue. “Nah. Just thought I’d check.”

Kevin watched his cousin carefully. “Brian, we can’t stop living just because of the choices he is making. If you need it, I can spot you some ca-”

“Stop it.” Brian snapped. “Just fucking stop it.”

He walked away from the cabin as quickly as he could. He could feel the molten lava of anger that was forever bubbling right below the surface slowly seeping upwards. He closed his eyes again, remembering his wife’s words before he left.

“What is important to you, love? The band? The money, your friend, yourself? Where is God in your heart right now? You need to figure out who you are. We can do without the money. We will adjust. Figure out who you are, and we will work from there.”

He looked at her, pain in his eyes. “What do you want, Leigh?”

“I want my husband back.”

“With or without the Backstreet Boys?”

Leigh was silent for a minute. “You need to figure out who you are,” she repeated.