Their table in the bar was crowded. It had been just him and Heath when they first started the round of shots, but by the end of the third round, Marshall, Grant, and four others had drifted to what could have been the center of the universe and he wouldn’t have known.

He stumbled his way through the throng of drinkers. His sight was bleary. The beer sloshed over the top of his cup and he sat it down on the table that was pushed against the wall in the doorway before the bathrooms. All thoughts were a maze and a blur that he had to wade his way through. His hands were already undoing his pants before he got past the door.

It was amazing enough that he could do that himself without somehow tripping over his feet.

The swung open and he fell through the doorway with a lot less grace than he should have been worried about. But he lost sight of whatever he was thinking. He bumped against the wall beside the door. The stink of the bathroom hit him as he stumbled his way to the blurry image of the urinals.

He rubbed his eyes, trying to get the burning to go away. A bitter taste came up from the back of his throat. He coughed, dick in hand as he tried to aim toward the urinal in front of him.

It was then that he caught the figure out of the corner of his eye.

“What the—“

Jamie jerked back, but it was too late. He bumped into the guy next to him. He missed the urinal completely and ended up pissing over the wall. He was only glad that he hadn’t managed to get it all over himself or the guy he’d bumped into.

“Fuck.” He almost ripped his dick off as he turned toward the opening of the urinal. He tried to salvage the moment and save the floor from the mess.

A soft chuckle came from beside him.

He raised a brow, irritation making his brows furrow. His ears burned. He couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment or the alcohol. It might have been both.

The guy standing before him couldn’t have been older than eighteen. If he was, then Jamie would have felt bad about it. His boyish face was made younger by the small smile stretched across his lips. The corners of his lips twitched as he tried to suppress it. His curly dirty blond hair was pulled back in a stretchy hairband.

The gray t-shirt hung loosely over his tight stained jeans. There was a frayed hole above his knee. Jamie stared at the hole. He forced down the urge to stick his finger in.

Yeah. He was really drunk.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine.”

Jamie cocked his head. “Are you old enough to be here?”

The bar he meant to clarify. Not the bathroom, but he couldn’t get his mouth to work.

The guy jerked his thumb to a soap bucket behind him. “Cleaning duty. I work here.”

Jamie let out a low ‘oh’, lips forming the letter as it sunk in. He turned to the mess. His dick was still out.

“And that…”

He slowly tucked himself back into his pants.

“I’m gonna have to clean it up.”

After that, he wasn’t sure what to do. His thoughts were still a blur and there wasn’t much he could think of to say that would convey how sorry he was that the guy had to clean after his accident. Embarrassment and shame flew over his head.

He threw an arm around the guy’s shoulder.

“Let me make it up to you.” He hiccuped.

The guy went to pull his arm off of him. He laughed at least.

“I think you should go back to your table. You know, before you slip in it.”

Jamie hummed in agreement though he didn’t make a move to leave as he should have.

“I’ll buy you a drink,” he blurted.

The guy tilted his head in confusion. “I’m underage.”

Jamie put a finger to his lips. “Sh. I’ll sneak it to you.”

The look on the guy’s face was that of a mixture of shock and amusement. Jamie’s stomach flipped. He thought he was going to be sick, but it was a quite different feeling than he was used to when he was drunk. The fluttering was getting more intense the longer he looked at the guy.

He had to get out of there before he threw up on his feet next.

He backed up to the door, but as he put his hand on the hand, he glanced back.

“What was your name again?” he scratched the back of his head.

The guy grabbed the mop in the bucket. “Sam. My name’s Sam.”

***

The contract was nothing more than a formality. They had long ago sold their souls. They were only taking the last of their abilities to retrieve them.

As Jamie put the pen to the paper, he tried to understand why Sam was doing this. Music had always flowed through his veins. He understood the need to breathe it, live it, and be consumed by it. Some days, he would lock himself in his room with nothing more than his Lucky Strikes, beer or whiskey, and his records. It was all he needed to live. Some days it was the only thing that could bring him back from the edge.

He was always a few feet away from ending it all.

What he didn’t understand was why Sam needed to drag them all along with him. Sure, he couldn’t release an album. But there were other ways to get what he wanted. Sam was Sam for fucking christ’s sake. He was the golden boy of the band and always would be. Everyone loved him.

His hand tightened on the pen. The tip dug into the paper until it ripped through. He signed his first and last name is large loopy letters, then slid the contract and pen down to the woman.

She looked at him with a deep frown on her face.

God, she was so fucking ugly.

“Let’s go.” Marshall stood up, buttoning his suit jacket.

Jamie pushed back from the table. He smirked at Marshall’s put out face.

Grant followed them out into the hall. Sam stayed back to talk to Eddie and the woman.

“Where are you guys going?” Grant bounced on the balls of his feet. He tried to keep up with Marshall’s long strides, but he was too short.

“I’m taking Jamie to the hotel and then I’m going to the gym. I need to burn off steam.”

That was as close to Marshall telling someone to ‘fuck off’.

Grant’s face fell like a puppy’s ears.

Jamie looped his arm around his shoulders. “Wanna hang with me for a bit?”

Marshall slowed down. “Absolutely not. You’re staying in your hotel.”

Jamie rolled his eyes. “We can hang in the hotel. I don’t need a hundred fucking strangers to party.”

Grant perked up. His whole body language changed in a split second. He tried to give Jamie a hug, but Jamie shrugged him off.

“I’m not arguing with you on this.”

“It’s too late for that.”

Marshall sent him a look that could kill. It did nothing to Jamie except make him want to piss Marshall off even more.

“I said no.”

Grant was back to moping, dragging his feet along the floor. That was the end of it then. Marshall was always set in his ways and there would be no getting through to him now. Jamie had an inclination to grab him by the throat and see if he could change his mind that way. No doubt he would get locked up for another two years, maybe get jail time like he deserved.

But the label protected him. If what they were doing could be called protecting him. They were out to protect their own and the company’s image. Even if he wasn’t out there working for them now, they still had a big advancement placed over his head. He swore the only reason they were forcing Sam to jump through hoops, pulling the rest of the band into the mess, was because they wanted to drain all the money they could from what used to be their biggest moneymaker.

He guessed they never got the memo that Live Warnings had died years ago.