Before I knew it, it was February, and I still hadn’t heard anything from Harold. I didn’t know what that meant, and a trace amount of doubt started to dull the shiny hope surrounding my new dream. I couldn’t imagine no one wanted the pilot though, so there must be a bidding war for it. Yeah, that had to be what was happening. He would call me anytime to tell me the good news, I just had to be patient. Luckily, I had something time-consuming to take my mind off it.

The D-Bags were ready to start promoting the first single off the new album. It was some romantic, fluffy piece of crap that I could have played with my eyes closed. The beat was infectious though, and I had a feeling it would go viral soon. We were debuting it live in Seattle at a local radio station that frequently promoted us. Then we were doing a media blast, hitting every major metropolis in every time zone, all in the span of a few weeks. It was short, fun, and frantic, and just the four of us. The fiancées stayed behind at their jobs, and the wives stayed home with the kids, since they wouldn’t handle the hustle well.

Our last stop on the tour was in New York City. Aside from Seattle and L.A., I think New York was my favorite place on earth. There was just so much going on here. The constant commotion, the hustle and bustle, the always having somewhere to go, no matter the time of day—it was a dream come true for an overactive type like me. I didn’t even need coffee in this town. The chaotic surge of life was enough to keep me energized.

As our car took us to our hotel, Matt laid out the plans for the day. “Okay, we’ve got two radio gigs today, then Live with Johnny tonight.” I puffed out an irritated breath at hearing that last one and Matt tossed me a glare. “Get over it, Griffin. It’s a big show with a big audience, and we need to be on it.”

“Dude’s an asshole. I don’t see why we need to do anything for him,” I muttered.

Matt ran a hand through his short hair. I swear he had less of it now. The stress of running the band and planning his wedding was getting to him. I might have felt sorry, but he was the one who’d had Denny line up this gig, so I didn’t. I hoped all his hair fell out. He should have known better than to go back to Johnny’s. The guy was famous for being an ass to his “guests.” He was like the evil love child of Ricky Gervais and Simon Cowell. Nobody who went on that show came out unscathed, but we were all supposed to be okay with being insulted. It was “part of the act” as Denny frequently told me. Whatever. Guy was a douche; the last time we’d gone on the show, he’d basically ignored the rest of the guys and ragged on me the entire time, insulting me in odd ways that I weren’t even sure were insults, but I was sure I didn’t like it. Smart-ass, pansy-loving jerkwad.

“I know he’s not the nicest host…but we’re not doing the show for him, we’re doing it for us. He has a very loyal, almost cultlike following, and if he says, ‘Buy their album,’ then that’s what they’ll do.”

Rolling my eyes, I countered with “And if he says, ‘These guys are tools, don’t give them the time of day,’ that’s what they’ll do. We should just ignore him. There are plenty of other late-night talk shows out there.”

Matt leaned back in his seat. “You don’t have to talk to him. Just sit back and let us do the work. You’re good at that.” The last part was really quiet, but I still heard it. Matt was starting to sound just like Johnny. Assholes.

After a brief rest at the hotel, we headed out for radio gigs. Like always, Kellan stole the show. All the questions were directed at him, and all the answers came from him. Occasionally, I would try to interject something, but more often than not, I was ignored. Or given a polite, dismissive laugh that clearly said, Cute, but please be quiet and let us talk to the real star. After the second gig, I was sick of interviews. Interviews about Kellan, that was. I was more than ready to talk about me and my still-secret upcoming project. Nobody asked though, and I couldn’t volunteer the information yet. God, I hoped Harold had good news soon.

Anna called me that night while we were driving to Johnny’s studio. “So, how’s it going?”

“Same old, same old,” I said. “All Kellan, all the time…” Kellan was talking on the phone too, probably to Kiera, so he didn’t hear me. He was smiling, laughing, and looking genuinely pleased with every aspect of his life. Maybe he got a high from keeping me under his thumb.

Anna sighed. She hated it when I said stuff like that. “You’re a star too, babe. The brightest in my sky.” She sighed again. “Hurry home. The girls and I miss you.”

The thought of my three girls at home, all missing me, made a brightness flare up inside me. Even if Kellan stole the show at work, I was the center of their world, and that was really comforting. “Yeah, I miss you guys too. Make sure you all watch Johnny’s show tonight, especially Gibson. I want her to see her dad rock the house.”

Anna laughed. “We wouldn’t miss it. But if he spends the entire interview slamming you again, I might have to reach through the TV and strangle him.”

My wife was so fucking awesome. “Please do. I hate that cocksucker.” After Anna agreed with my sentiment, I told her to give the girls a kiss for me. She said she would, then we hung up. With Anna having my back, I felt a little better about this upcoming performance and interview. Let that fucker try and make me look stupid. I dared him to.

When we got to the studio, we were led in through the back and politely hidden away from the world by a girl with headphones and a clipboard. She stared at Kellan the entire time she explained what amenities were available for us.