BEAU

"Let's go." I snap at Emma, letting my anger at Beck get the better of me. My fists are shaking as my eyes nearly burn holes into the ground at Zoey's feet. I shouldn't have come - I knew I shouldn't have.

How fucking dare they?

Emma's eyes are wide as she looks from Zoey to me and back again, unmoving from her chair. Why is she always so stubborn?

"Beau, just hear us out." Beck comes around the table to place a hand on Zoey's elbow and I grit my teeth together so hard that my jaw begins to hurt.

"Fuck you, both of you. I don't want to hear anything either of you have to say." People at the table beside us drop their forks at my shouting, jaws falling open as they take in the scene in front of them. Jackson, a newer member of my security detail, stands at the bar, squinting his eyes in concentration, trying to decide if the situation calls for intervention, I'm sure. I shoot a glare his way, hoping he takes the hint.

If anyone gets to take down my piece of shit brother, it's going to fucking be me.

Zoey covers her mouth with her hand, having the nerve to look hurt by my tone. Her eyes are the same deep brown that I remember and I can't make myself look at them directly, the memory of the last time I ever saw her too close to the surface just being back in the city at all.

"Beau," Emma stands now, tugging my shoulder to try and get me to sit again. "Let's just be calm, okay?"

"No," I jerk my arm away from her, shaking my head and taking a couple of steps away. "For once, can you just trust that I know what the fuck I'm talking about?" I rush my fingers through my hair, nearly pulling it from my head.

Fuck, I hate this place. My mom, Beck, Zoey. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Emma's full mouth pops open in surprise, the hurt in her expression deeper than in Zoey's. For Emma's sake, I wrestle with my anger - the bitter bile that's risen in my throat - and turn my attention to the happy, golden couple in front of me.

As Zoey's hand flutters to her full belly, I notice the thin, gold band on her finger, and before I can stop it, my temper flares out of my control.

"You're fucking marrying her, too?" I'm shouting again and Beck stares up at the ceiling as if I'm the one exhausting him. "That fucking figures," I growl, shoving my chair into the table and grabbing my phone. "Emma, are you coming?"

I try to soften my expression but fail miserably, feeling the tightness in my jaw and hearing the hostility in my tone.

Her brows pull together over her coffee-brown eyes and I pull my gaze away from her face, unable to deny the resemblance between the two women. Fuck me.

"I..." Emma stammers, "Yes, I'm coming." She places her napkin on the table politely, blushing as everyone else in the restaurant looks on, some holding their phones up blatantly to capture the drama. The fire at the back of my throat scorches red hot and every breath is painful. As she stands, she ducks her head at Zoey and Beck, "I'm sorry."

Her apology is what sends me over the edge. I feel my brows shoot up and can't hold back the sarcastic laugh that escapes me. Feeling the last bit of my control fading, I say nothing and turn away, stalking out of the restaurant without checking to see if Emma is following.

It's not until I'm out of the restaurant and a group of paparazzi surrounds me that I stop in my tracks. The flashes from their cameras is obnoxious, even in the daylight, and I cover my face angrily with my hand. "Fuck off," I snap at anyone who tries to talk to me. Shoving my way through their bodies and ignoring their pestering, I make my way into the black SUV and slam the door closed.

Once I'm inside, my eyes search the sidewalk for Emma. Her blonde head appears then, escorted by Jackson through the throng of human pests. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I answer when I see Rocco's name.

"We have a situation with Rey." He says as Jackson opens the door and Emma slides into the leather seat beside me, keeping the seat between us empty. I almost reach for her, her touch being the one thing that normally takes the edge off my mood, but stop myself and clench my fist against my thigh.

"What kind of situation?" I snap. Can anything go right for once? For fuck's sake.

"Were you with her last night?" Rocco avoids my question.

"What the fuck does it matter?" I growl, trying to remember seeing Rey at all. I know we were with her, but Emma looked so good in her skirt and I didn't focus on much else. "What's the problem?"

Rocco sighs deeply, taking a moment to turn the speaker phone on. In the background, Rey is whining out the lyrics to her set list, most words running together incoherently, interrupted only by bubbly burps. Scott, I think, shouts at her then about how he knew she shouldn't spend so much time with me, and I finally make the connection.

"Is she drunk?" I spit through gritted teeth, feeling Emma's intense stare on my face.

"Sound familiar?" Rocco asks, making my nostrils flare. "Can you come by? Maybe you can get through to her. She's... She's not listening to anyone else."

"To the hotel." I tell our driver, hanging up with Rocco even more irritated than when I answered just minutes ago. "I'll drop you off." I tell Emma without looking in her direction.

"You're leaving?" Her voice is firm. I look at her finally, seeing the tight set of her lips and the defiant raise of her chin.

"I have to deal with Rey." I explain simply, shrugging casually even as the anger rips through me.

A moment passes in silence before Emma sets her gaze on me again. "I don't like how that was handled."

I scoff, shaking my head and glaring out the window. "Yeah? Me neither."

"Are you going to look at me when we talk?" She asks patiently but I ignore her. She continues anyways. "You can't talk to me like that just because you're upset. I'm not just there for you to snap at when you're mad. I'm a person, too."

I don't respond immediately, trying to keep Dr. William's advice in mind. Don't respond in anger.

"Why don't you ever just believe me? I have reasons to be pissed. I don't always need to explain myself to you." I finally turn from the window to face her, my brows knitted together tightly over my eyes.

"I just want to understand, Beau!" She throws her hands up as if in defeat. "I still barely know anything about your past - sorry if I don't get why seeing a girl you dated when you were sixteen is so upsetting to you." She drops her head in her hands, her blonde hair creating a wall between our bodies so that I can't see her face.

There's a lump in my throat, my irritation mixing with sadness at seeing her so done with my shit. I know what I should say to make this whole argument go away, but the nasty fury inside me just won't let it go.

"Is that what they told you? That she's just a girl I dated?" I nod my head, getting angrier with each nod. "I'm glad that their word is enough for you."

The SUV pulls in front of the hotel now, the extravagant entrance gleaming under the bright sun. Why does seeing Zoey with Beck bother me so much? I have Emma and she's more than I could have ever hoped for. But the image of their hands resting on her pregnant belly turn my stomach over and over, making me sick. I pick furiously at the nail polish on my left hand, my thighs bouncing nonstop in the seat.

Welcome home, Beau Lewis: your mom is dead and your brother knocked up your ex. Have a great birthday!

Emma steps out of the SUV, pausing before she closes the door. "No, it's not enough for me. That's why I wanted to hear it from you, but I guess we just aren't where I thought we were."

The comment is like a smack in the face, stinging me sharply. I don't respond, feeling my face pull into a faux-careless expression, and let her close the door without so much as a goodbye.

"To the stadium," I instruct the driver, trying to focus on the other problem at hand. As if I don't have enough of my own shit to deal with, Rey is smearing her shit all over the place for me to clean up after her. Putting in my headphones, I turn the volume up so loud it hurts my ears and play the angriest 80's rock music that I have on my phone.

Staring at Dex's contact information, I reluctantly send him a quick text message, asking for an emergency session. I don't have time for it tonight but I definitely need to speak to him tomorrow, feeling the temptation to drink getting stronger with each low blow Boston throws at me.

***

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I pull Rey off stage and in the direction of the dressing rooms, noticing how she stumbles behind unsteadily. I ignore the glares from her band mates, stopping only to approach Scott when he shouts after us.

"I told you, you were a bad influence! You couldn't just keep your fucked up world away from her, could you?" He jabs his finger at me and I resist the urge to snap it in my hand, his accusation piling atop my own guilt.

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," I spit, staring down at him as the adrenaline begins pumping through my veins. "And if you don't want to be unemployed, I'd keep your fucking mouth shut."

Rey giggles, wobbly on her feet, and places her hands on our chests. "Guys, guys, everybody just relax."

Rocco comes between Scott and me, pulling Scott to the side of the stage and out of swinging distance. After a second of staring after him, fighting the urge to tackle him to the ground and start punching, I grab Rey and pull her into a dressing room.

"Well?" I cross my arms and fix my stare on her face, seeing the glassy glint in her eyes. How didn't I notice how bad she's gotten?

"Nothing is wrong with me." She bats her eye lashes at me, leaning just so, so that her cleavage is in my direct line of vision. "What's wrong with you?" Her breath smells like vodka - not my first choice, but a favorite of hers. "You look sad, birthday boy."

I roll my eyes, straightening her shoulders and pinning her hands to her sides. "Stop that shit. Are you trying to fuck everything up or just not even thinking about what you're really doing? You're drunk, Rey." She rolls her eyes playfully, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth. "The guys, they're depending on you to get it together tonight. I'm depending on you." I lean away as she reaches to me with outstretched hands, reaching for my neck.

The scent of vodka is almost too much. Taking a few steps back, I take a deep breath, the burn in my throat matching the hot anger flowing through the rest of me.

"Aw, look at you, admitting that you need me," Rey laughs, tipping her shaved head back happily. "Why are you so worried, hm?" She taps my chest with her finger. "Have I let you down before?"

I squint at her but shake my head truthfully. "Don't start now, okay? I'm serious. If you need help, I'll get you help." I also know she'll ever ask for it, and make a mental note to look into a rehab program after tonight's show. Better to be premature than too late.

"I don't need help, Beau. I'm serious, too. I'm just having fun." She licks her lips, smiling softly. "You can appreciate having a little fun, can't you?" She blinks up at me lazily, standing too close for comfort, especially in her drunken state. "I miss the Beau that had fun. Emma doesn't let you have fun,"

Her name tears my thoughts away from the way Rey's breath smells. "Emma?" I take a few large steps back again. "Rey, cut the shit. I'm with Emma. Whether you like it or not, I don't care."

Her face falls momentarily before she reaches into a large bin of ice and grabs a water bottle. Making a show of taking a big sip, she mumbles, "I'll be good for the show. I know that's all you care about, anyways."

Before I can even try to understand what she means by that, she's storming through the dressing room door, leaving me confused where I stand. Sinking into the leather sofa, I shove my hand through my hair and close my eyes.

I can't wait for this fucking birthday to be over.

Uh oh, Beau is struggling right now. Predictions? Was Emma right to question Beau? Is Zoey just an ex?