"His breathing was very shallow so we had to intubate to help him breathe. We pumped his stomach contents and put him on IV fluids so he should be conscious very soon." The ER doctor explains slowly but my mind doesn't process the words. I stare at Beau, tubes taped to his face, all bruised and raw, in the hospital bed.

"Now, once he does wake, we want to perform some tests - with the broken nose and heavy bleeding in the face, we just want to eliminate the possibility of concussion." I nod wordlessly, making my way to the side of Beau's bed. Gripping his hand in mine, I lean my head against his forearm, silently cursing him for doing this to himself.

"Thanks, Doctor." Zach shakes the mans hand before taking a place at the foot of the bed. "Don't worry, Emma. He's gonna be fine. And we'll talk to Rocco and Fiona," Again I nod without speaking, focused on Beau's swollen face. "Hey, we can stay here, if you want?"

"I've got it," Val speaks up and I offer an appreciative smile as she settles into an uncomfortable chair beside mine.

After a few more minutes, the guys leave and the only sound is the soft beeping of the machines all plugged into Beau. "Did you know?" I whisper, tracing the outline of his skull tattoo with my finger.

Val places a hand on my arm, "Emma, no, of course not. Fiona never mentioned taking things this far, I think she was worried I'd tell you," Her round eyes seem sincere and even I had figured as such.

"Would you have?" I ask anyway.

She nods, "I'm so sorry."

Shaking my head and brushing hair from Beau's eyes, I shrug. "You have nothing to be sorry for."

We resume our silence, the drip, drip, drip of the IV nearly lulling me to sleep as time passes slowly. Nurses pop in to check Beau's vitals a few times before he finally stirs beneath my fingers. "Beau?" I stand, hovering over him as he slowly opens his eyes, grimacing at the bright lights of the hospital room.

Val stands, too. "I'm going to get us some coffee," She excuses herself and quietly leaves us, sending a doctor in on her way out.

Patiently, I wait as the older man with a shiny bald head removes Beau's breathing tube and conducts the concussion tests. Refusing to meet my eye, Beau slurs through the verbal assessment and misses a month when asked to recite them. I notice his jaw clenched in frustration and resume tracing slow circles on his arm. "Okay, follow my finger," the doctor instructs, shining a light into his eyes. Beau squints, eyes nearly swollen shut already.

"Okay," the old man straightens up. "You're definitely concussed. You really need to take time off, rest as much as you can with someone supervising. Stay away from phone screens, TV, those type of things. Avoid bright lights, in fact, try to spend the first few days in a dimly lit room." As the words leave his mouth, Beau's brows knit closer together above his eyes.

"I can't," his voice is coarse, "On tour."

"Beau," I sigh, grabbing his hand tightly. He doesn't look at me, eyes focused on the doctor.

"Well." The doctor looks up from his clipboard and clicks his pen, tucking it safely in the pocket of his white coat. "If you don't follow these steps, you can elongate the healing process and the symptoms can last much longer." He lets us know that Beau will be staying overnight for observation and then heads out to check on another patient.

"Beau?" I repeat, willing him to just look at me. "Talk to me," I plead, a million questions running through my mind.

"About what Emma? About how you think we should go back to 'pretending?'" His tone is sharp as he glares at me, but his words come slowly, each one taking concentration in his concussed state. "Or how about how I just got dumped from my fucking band? What would you like to talk about first?"

Stunned, I take a minute to collect my thoughts before I respond. "How about how you were found bloody and unconscious after running off this afternoon?"

Taking his hand from mine, Beau stares straight up at the ceiling. "Don't you get it, Emma? Everyone else does. This is just who I am." His voice is flat and my heart races at his lack of emotion. I can't have him go cold on me now, I just can't.

"That's not true and you know it." I protest, "You have people who care about you - the guys, your fans. Do you know how worried we've been? How worried I've been?"

Beau hardly flinches. "You'd be better off not worrying about me at all." He says the words matter-of-factly, like it's just something he's come to accept.

"Stop." I grab his hand tightly in mine and use my other hand to turn his face towards me. "I love you and you're not going to push me away. Maybe that works for everyone else, but not me." Emotion flashes in his green eyes suddenly and his face softens.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Em. With those other girls, I just got caught up in the whole Beau Lewis person. But I swear I didn't do anything with any of them, I promise." He searches my face intently, worry in his eyes as the last few words jumble together slightly.

"Don't do it again," I warn him, "I'm serious. You might be Beau Lewis, but you're my boyfriend." I smile playfully, finally feeling a little bit more at ease. I'll be better when I know what mess he got himself into, but for now, him not pushing me away is enough.

Beau cracks a smile, his already swollen eye closing completely. He winces, letting out a deep breath. "Fuck, what am I gonna do?"

Not having the slightest clue yet, I kiss his hand gently. "We're gonna figure this out."

***

The hotel door slams and I jump in bed, dropping the book I was reading. The decision regarding Beau's status in the band had been put on hold for a few days after he was discharged from the hospital, but the band also had to push a couple of shows back, rearranging a lot of their schedule. Beau stalks into the room, angry energy following him like a dark cloud.

"What happened?" I ask softly, sitting up on the edge of the mattress.

Pacing back and forth, Beau runs his hand through his hair, leaving is in a crazy mess around his head. "They want me to go on TV and 'admit I have a problem,'" he seethes. Finally, he stops to look at me, "A drinking problem! The guys told the label they would quit if they fired me, so the label agreed to keep me, on the condition that I tell everyone I'm getting help and that I'm sorry for what I've done."

"Are you actually getting help?" I ask quietly, picking at the hotel quilt.

"What? No, because it's bullshit. They just want me to say I'm seeing a therapist or something," He slumps into a chair, his legs bouncing furiously. "What do you mean am I getting help? I don't need help," Beau blinks at me expectantly and I bite my lip.

"It's just that last time really worried me, that's all. I don't want you to get hurt." I approach him and lay my hands on his cheeks, bruises now a yellow-ish green color.

"You sound like you're on their side," Beau rolls his eyes and I raise my brows at him.

"I'm only ever on your side, Beau. You should know that by now." Looking up to my face, he closes his eyes and leans his head against my belly, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. I run my fingers through his messy hair, my heart breaking seeing him like this. Sure, Beau is not perfect - far from it, but he's not the only person to make a mistake. The only difference is, he has to answer for his to millions of viewers all over the world.

Standing backstage of a morning talk show, I tap my heel nervously. Beside me, Val makes notes on her legal pad , checking items off her to-do list frantically.

"There you are, are you ready?" I exhale in relief when Beau approaches, the rest of MisFits behind him. Noticing the sour expressions on Zach and Tyler's faces, my stomach drops. "Beau, what did you do?" I whisper, pulling him away from Val.

"Jace and I had a couple shots, to take the edge off." He winks, a goofy grin spreading on his lips.

"A couple shots? Beau, you're almost drunk. You're supposed to be telling everyone you're getting help," My mind races as I glance at Val to make sure she hasn't caught on yet. Shit, this is bad. His silly grin grows as my scowl deepens.

"Sh, sh, it'll be fine, don't worry." He presses a long, calloused finger to my lips and rejoins the rest of the band waiting to be introduced on stage.

"You can't go out there!" I whisper-shout at his back but he waves me off casually. "Fuck," I exhale harshly, pulling my hair into a low bun and fanning my face. "Okay," I take a deep breath and approach Val calmly. "He can't go on stage," I whisper once I'm beside her.

Her eyes widen suspiciously, "What?"

"He's drunk." I admit, my own cheeks flushing at the admission. Her eyes flash from me to Beau and before she can make a decision, MisFits is called on stage and the audience bursts into applause.

Clutching her clipboard to her chest, Val barely breathes, "Oh, shit."

One hand over my mouth, I take my place backstage in front of the large screen broadcasting the live show. The guys take their seats as the female talk show host greets them all warmly as if they're old friends.

The audience quiets down and finally the host, called Sydney, asks fun questions like how recent shows have been, the guys favorite country so far, and tour bus escapades. Tugging at Beau's necklace, I grow more and more nervous each time Beau and Jace crack up at a secret joke between them, their cheeks obviously flushed with drunkenness.

Sydney grows serious after awhile of small talk. "Obviously, we have to ask, because Beau, you were recently hospitalized, isn't that right? How are you doing?" She focuses on Beau who squirms in his chair, eyes hidden behind his hair.

"I'm feeling good," he answers lightheartedly and Sydney falters slightly, confusion briefly crossing her face.

"Oh, good. We're glad to hear that. Can you share with us what happened? You're still a little bruised, I can see that," Sydney points to her own eye, indicating the remaining shadow around Beau's.

Beau nods lazily. "I just had one too many and ran into the wrong guy," He shrugs and I close my eyes tightly. Sydney tries to guide him to an apology like had been arranged prior to the interview, but Beau evades her questions each time. Looking hopeless, Zach and Tyler give up trying to help and stare into their hands with disappointed frowns.

"Okay," Sydney raises her brows and tucks her shiny brown hair behind her ears. "Why don't we take some questions from the audience?" The transition is awkward but Beau hardly seems to notice. "You there, what's your name?" Sydney points into the rows of audience members.

A young girl, probably fourteen or fifteen, stands excitedly and waves to the band. "Casey! Hi Beau," she waves again, her cheeks turning bright red. Please let him be nice, I think, my heart beating rapidly. He waves and smiles pleasantly, waiting for the question. "My question is, when are you and Emma getting married?"

I nearly choke but my heart warms at the innocent smile on her face. Beau chuckles and for a second, I almost think the alcohol was a good thing - who knows what his reaction would have been if he was sober? "We've only been dating for a few months," He shrugs, a shy smile on his face.

"Oh, come on!" Sydney grins widely, probably glad for an easier conversation topic, and maybe even some drama to save her ratings after Beau's less than forthcoming testimonial. "Are you two getting serious?" She offers a dainty wave off camera, as if she's saying hi to me.

I roll my eyes but find myself holding my breath as I wait for his answer. When he finally speaks, the air is crushed out of my lungs and my chest tightens painfully. "No, it's nothing serious," Beau grins stupidly. "We're just having fun, Emma's a really cool girl."

Stunned again, Sydney sputters before quickly composing herself and moving on to another fan question. "Emma?" Val touches my shoulder but I can't respond, too shocked and frankly embarrassed to talk about it.

"I'm going to go," I mutter, staring intently at my feet, squished into painful pointed heels. "I'll see you back at the hotel."

Val calls after me, but I grab my things and rush out to the fresh air without looking back. Once outside, I take a deep breath and blink back tears before hopping into one of the black SUV's waiting for us. "Can you take me back to the hotel? I'm not feeling well." I lean my head against the cool window as the driver pulls out of the parking spot.

Careful not to let my sadness suffocate me, I remind myself what this whole thing was about in the first place - saving up money for school. Well I guess I got what I wanted, I wipe furiously at the tears on my cheeks, glancing up at the mirrors to make sure the driver can't see me. Silly me for thinking it wouldn't come at a price.