One time in high school, I remember hearing a recording of a solo I had for choir, and being hit with the realization that not only was I stuck with my voice for the rest of my life, but also knowing that I hated what I heard.

I liked screaming vocals because it made me feel like I had more control over what I sounded like. I had to draw it out from somewhere deep in my chest, and whatever it was devoured all the parts of my voice that I didn't like.

Being on stage for that first show in Providence felt more like being in choir in high school all over again.

That same sense of unease and self-consciousness worked its way through me like fungus growing in my veins. I felt the bass shaking the stage underneath me, but it was dull on my bones, and the reverb of my voice in the microphone sounded moldy and stale - like it wasn't me at all. That sound was all I could focus on.

As usual, Evie knew something was up, and she pulled me aside backstage almost immediately after we'd finished, out of the line of fire as Beyond the Pines' crew hurriedly dismantled our set to get ready for theirs. After all, no matter how bad it had gone for us, we were still just the opening act.

"You okay?"

"Fine," I brushed her off, raking a few damp locks of hair off of my forehead. I'd been so tethered to my spot in front of the mic that if it wasn't for the lights, I might not have worked up a sweat at all. 

She took a step in front of me as I went to turn away, and even though I had almost a foot of height on her, there was always something in her eyes that grounded me.

"Really?" she arched an eyebrow at me. "Because I can literally see smoke coming off of you like you're about to combust."

And here I thought that smell was just my arm hair getting singed under the lights.

I was about to muster up another clipped response when my ears perked up at the sound of Jeremy and Kevin in the midst of a conversation. They were laughing about something as they walked by, and envy boiled up inside of me.

As a lead singer, Jeremy had it all - the perfect vocal balance between singing and screaming, the stage presence, and the smile and charm to win over a crowd. It wasn't that I was jealous of him, but maybe of what he had - including the ease and self-assuredness he clearly had going into a show.

When he walked by us, I made inadvertent eye contact with him (because let's face it, I'd been staring), and he gave me a quick nod before walking past me. Not a nod of approval, like you did good, kid, but more of a pity-nod, like maybe next time, kid. I gulped down a thick, tangled knot of bile-coated tension, and it hurt to swallow.

Kevin lingered behind Jeremy as one of the crew handed him his neon blue Gibson. He was carrying on a conversation even though the stage hand had walked away, and it wasn't until he took a step to the side that I realized who he was talking to, and I felt that bile inch up my throat again.

She had a lock of blonde hair wrapped around her finger as she crossed one long, tan, mini-skirt clad leg over the other, nodding as he carried on about god knows what. She was, if nothing else, an intentional listener, like whatever he had to say was the most important thing in the world to her.

My chest tightened as she put a delicate hand to his forearm and laughed at whatever he'd just said. Okay, I knew Kevin, and he wasn't that funny. 

I felt Evie's hand on my forearm, her touch the one thing that kept me tethered to reality. "You know, you can talk to me, Dev."

"I know, I know. Seriously, I'm fine." I shook my head, and I couldn't even manage to look at her, because then she'd know it was far from that. This time when I sidestepped her, she let me pass. "I just need to get some air."

That wasn't really a lie. I stalked through the maze of hallways backstage until I found the exit to the alleyway behind the venue, throwing my shoulder against the thick steel of one of the double doors. Cool autumn air washed over me as I leaned back against the brick exterior of the building, and the ringing in my ears was brutally loud against the sudden silence of the night. It wasn't that unusual when you went from standing beside a bass-thumping mega-speaker to total silence for your ears to ring, but this felt louder than usual. 

"God, what can't you just not be so fucking weird," I muttered to myself with my face in my hands.

Before I could freefall into the oblivion of overthinking, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Half expecting it to be Evie or one of the guys, I fished it out of my pocket, only for my heart to sink like dead weight in my chest when my mother's name flashed on the caller ID.

I had about five seconds to make a decision, and in the moment, I felt like I was back in high school again, and not answering her would somehow be worse.

"Hi Mom." I forced as much cordiality as I could through that knot in my throat. While she was too self-important to notice the strain or exhaustion in my voice, she would have undoubtedly picked up on even the slightest pitch in tone and perceived it as me giving her attitude. Not that she'd be necessarily wrong, but still.

"I'm not interrupting your bedtime routine or anything, am I?" she asked. In her own language, that meant going out of her way to call me was definitely interrupting hers.

I looked down into the lingering puddle of rain water beside my shoe, where a faded receipt from the bar inside the venue floated back and forth. 

"I'm at a show Mom, I just got off stage 10 minutes ago."

She sighed. "You know Devon, you really shouldn't be exerting yourself like this so late. It's bad for your health."

There had always been something haughty and dramatic about the way my mother spoke. She belonged on Real Housewives of the Upper East Side.

"Yeah, I'll be sure to let the venue know to start scheduling doors for 5 PM because it's past my bedtime otherwise."

"Devon..." that warning tone crept up in her voice. "I just mean, aren't you getting a little too old for all of this band stuff? Don't you want to start a real music career? I dread thinking about how much you're letting your talent go to waste."

It was at that moment that I realized I'd made the wrong decision, because somehow, some way, she always found a way to let me know how disapproving she was of everything I did. I guess I just liked to punish myself.

"I didn't realize 26 was so geriatric," I forced past my clenched teeth.

"You know, your sister had already started her residency at your age."

"I do know, because you remind me of it almost every time we talk."

And because in my parent's eyes, I might as well have been unemployed at present.

"Speaking of," she'd perked up, and I dreaded whatever made her perky. "The reason I called you in the first place is to let you know about Joelle's engagement party. Even though I assured her we'd be able to rent out the rooftop at Nobu, she insisted she wanted it at Monaco Court."

A cold breeze tore through the alleyway, and whatever sweat had lingered on my body was starting to freeze over. Either that, or the very thought of being at my family's Hampton house made me shiver. "No way. I'm not hauling ass out to the Hamptons for one day."

"Oh don't be ridiculous, you'll stay overnight, of course."

Translation: come or else. As if being told about my perfect cancer-curing older sister and her perfect brain surgeon fiance wasn't enough - now I had to actually witness it in person at the same house, in the same backyard that her perfect existence tormented me every summer of my life. Who went to the Hamptons in November? My family did, because there was something so understatedly elitist about being the only summer regulars out there hosting a party in the dead of autumn. 

"You know, this could have been a text," I grumbled.

"You mean the ones you never read or respond to?"

I rolled my eyes. She had a point.

"I will, however, text you the details. And I do expect you to wear a suit. If the Armani you wore to Grace's wedding doesn't fit you -"

"It's fine," I cut her off. "I'll figure it out. Look, I gotta go."

I hung up before whatever else she could say metaphorically hung me up.

I slapped my phone against my palm a few times, replaying the conversation over again in my head. I was sure this was some kind of conundrum for my mother - invite your degenerate son to an all-important social gathering where people will undoubtedly talk about how covered in tattoos he is, or exclude him and have to come up with a shitty reason why he isn't there. I guess somewhere deep down, my mother had faith that I would at the very least not embarrass them, and most of my tattoos would be covered by this suit I just had to wear.

The doors squeaked open, and out she came with a gust of warm air, the light from inside casting a faint halo around her. "Hey, there you are."

I just couldn't catch a break, could I?

"Here I am," I heaved out with a sigh.

Sienna twirled her hair around her finger the same way she did when she was talking to Kevin, and when her tight little t-shirt rode up to expose a little sliver of skin on her stomach, I wondered if she was as cold as I was.

"So, before all the adrenaline wears off, do you mind if we do like a quick post-show interview?" She took her phone out for show, and of course she had a sparkly pink phone case. "I want to have something to post for Instagram stories."

I blinked at her, unsure if she'd actually been speaking another language, because there was no way she actually meant what she just said. "What?"

She shrugged, in an unassuming and innocent way. "Well, you guys just did your first show back in like, two years. It's important to commemorate that. Don't you think people would want to hear what you have to say?"

"Not really." I groaned and pinched the bridge of my nose. "And I really would prefer to not be reminded of that."

"What?" It was her turn to look at me like I was speaking backwards. "Why not?"

"Did you not hear what I heard?" I heard my tone pitch upwards in that perceived attitude way, but in response she tilted her head like a confused puppy, so I was forced to elaborate. "I sounded like shit."

"What?" This time the what came out sharper, like maybe she was finally picking up on the situation. "You can't be serious."

I folded my arms over my chest, mostly to keep all my insides wrapped up. "Do I look unserious?"

She scowled in response. "I'm just trying to do my job. You should know that by now."

There were all these things I should have known, like how much of my life I was supposedly missing out on by frolicking around in a band instead of taking my musical talents seriously, and how hard all my "bad" decisions were on my family, and how I should know that everyone is just trying to "help" me. All I really knew was that I didn't know, so how could she? How could she know what was best for me?

"Then at least act like you know how to do your job," I fired back at her.

"That's not..." she recoiled, stepping backwards into the shallow puddle and sending ripples across the pavement. "I do know how to do my job."

"Really? Have you even listened to the new EP?"

I knew she hadn't, and even so, it stung in a way I couldn't really describe.

"I was...getting around to it." She realized she'd stepped in the puddle and scowled as she tip-toed out of it, nearly tripping into me and grasping onto my shirt for support. Without realizing it, I'd held the underside of her forearms and steadied her. After a moment, she pulled away like I'd shocked her. It shocked me, too.

"I asked you the other day why you're here," I said in a low voice. "I'm going to ask you again."

"And I'm going to give you the same answer," she muttered as she looked down to assess the damage done by the puddle to her leather boot. "Look Devon, it's been hectic for everyone since we left New York. I'm sorry, okay?"

"Right," I snorted. "Because doing 'fit check' videos and posting on Instagram stories is more important. Is that really all you're here for?"

"Well, whether you like it or not, it's part of what you're paying me for," she replied pointedly. "That's what social media marketing is."

"I'm paying you to do what's best for us,"  I groaned, feeling my jaw tick. "And knowing what our music sounds like might be a good place to start."

When she looked back up at me, I expected some kind of sad veil over her eyes, like she was disappointed in the revelation that I was exactly what everyone thought I was. Instead, it was the kind of blue that burned the hottest on a fire. "Well, I know what I heard in there, and it sounded better than you think it did."

She didn't even give me the opportunity of having the last word, storming inside and leaving me alone in the cold night to replay and second guess everything I said again.

⋆ ★

i know he's still kind of mean, but i'm hoping his POV chapters shed a little bit of light on *why* devon is the way he is. not that i'm gonna give *everything* away, but just some little crumbs. i also am such a sucker for the asshole character that grows and develops to show his soft side. <3