Jamie had just slipped into his jean jacket when the doorbell rang. He paused, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.

There was only one person who knew this place had a doorbell. It was the man who had installed it: Marshall.

Jamie plucked the cigarette from his lips and walked from the living room to the entry hall. He swung the door open and didn’t even try to hide the grimace on his face as he took in the stake of his ex-bandmate.

He’d grown his hair out until it was falling to his shoulders it loose curls and had started growing a beard. He wore skinny jeans and a button-up shirt that made him look five years older.

“You look like a prick,” Jamie sneered as he looked Marshall up and down with a narrowed gaze.

Marshall snatched the cigarette from Jamie’s hand, rolling his eyes as he pushed through the doorway and past Jamie. “I told you to quit.”

“Fuck you.” Jamie grabbed the cigarette back. He didn’t like people touching his things.

“No thanks.” Marshall scanned the living room. Jamie didn’t have to see his face to know that he disapproved of the mess. “I see you’ve settled in well.”

He was confined to this house for the past two years. Of fucking course he’d settled in.

Jamie grabbed the bag on the couch. He’d stashed a bottle of his favorite brandy and a box of Lucky Strikes. Marshall wasn’t going to let him buy any of it while they were in LA.

“Did you pack?”

Jamie held up his bag. “I got it, Mom.”

“Just trying to be help—“

“Got it. Let’s go. You know how I feel about flying.”

If he thought about it too long, it only made the fidgets worse.

Marshall gave a sigh. “Charming as ever.”

“Anal as ever.”

Marshall snorted. Jamie let it go as he exited the house.

And that was the first time he really stepped out in the yard since he was put under house arrest. He didn’t have to stay cooped up in the large mansion, but he couldn’t stand to tease himself. The wind against his skin, breathing it into his lungs, it brought back emotions that he’d tried to cut off.

The sun shining through the trees caught his eyes. It filled him with warmth. The beauty was a striking difference to the world he created inside the tall glass mansion.

He hiked the bag further up his shoulder. His hand naturally found its way into his jean pockets. The heat had hiked up to at least 80 degrees, but he could barely feel it. A buddy of his had made a round last night to his place. He’d paid for as much as he could afford with his money being tied up at the moment. Hopefully, Eddie could do something about that.

It was bullshit that he had to ask permission from Marshall to get anything.

Marshall placed a hand on Jamie’s shoulder. He shrugged it off and sent Marshall a glare.

Marshall didn’t touch him after that.

There was a black car waiting for them at the end of the driveway. There was a gate, but it was for show. No one knew that he lived here, but if they did, no one cared about Jamie Stephens anymore to go to the trouble of breaking in.

He threw his bag into the back seat and climbed in after it. Marshall walked around to the other side. They sat as far away from each other as possible.

The drugs started to kick in then. It was a good thing Marshall didn’t have the guts to talk to him after that because he would have been so out of his mind. He would have been surprised if he would have been able to say anything that wasn’t an insult.

He had to be like this if he wanted to get on a place. A jet, actually. Marshall still had loads of fucking money since he wasn’t an outcast like Jamie was. He was doing commercials, reality TV, and shit like that. Jamie hadn’t kept up with what the band was doing. It didn’t matter if they were doing well or if they were homeless somewhere. They weren’t friends.

They never were.

They boarded Marshall’s private jet and while Marshall went to business talking to who-fucking-cares, he clunked out.

He didn’t wake until they’d landed ten minutes before and Marshall was getting irritated that he wasn’t waking up. Jamie pushed Marshall away from his face, planting his open palm into Marshall’s face which Marshall didn’t like. At all.

“Get the fuck away from me,” he grumbled out. He gagged. “Ew. You smell like a fucking granny.”

“It’s Chanel’s new line.” Marshall actually looked hurt. He lifted the collar of his shirt to smell it.

Served the asshole right.

“Still smells like shit.” He had to focus really hard to not slur his words. “Hand me my bag.”

Marshall glared at the side of Jamie’s face, but he ended up reaching into the next seat to grab the duffel bag. He shoved it into Jamie’s hands as he stood up from his seat. They met eyes.

“Thanks,” Jamie bit out. Somehow he was able to make it sound like an insult. He had a way with words when he wanted to.

Marshall let out a huff and then turned on his heels. Jamie smirked as he watched him walk away. It was kinda nice to see that Marshall hadn’t changed that much since they’d last seen each other. Though he looked like a dad more than a singer, he was still the old ass-kissing Marshall that didn’t like trouble.

He was always the one that was hauling their asses up at the crack of dawn—not their manager Eddie. And though they had bodyguards that reprimanded them when they did something out of line, Marshall was there too to tell them off. He’d taken up the big brother role almost too easily.