Westbound Sign ➵ Billie Joe Armstrong

Even If It Ends

smut warning - skip ahead if uncomfortable.

Collin

The air smelled like smoke and hot asphalt. My heart was still pounding from the conversation with Erin. What she said about not knowing what happens next, but not needing to. I was still chewing on that, still trying to swallow it whole, when it happened.

Something hit Erin in the back.

It wasn't hard - just a crumpled cup or some other trash - but the sound snapped through the quiet like a gunshot.

Erin turned fast. "The hell is your problem?" she yelled, half laughing, half daring.

And then we heard it.

"Groupies."

Loud. Slurred. Cruel.

"Do the groupies take turns with the crowd too?"

I went cold. My hands trembled around the cigarette I hadn't even finished. Erin's smile had disappeared like smoke in the wind.

She looked at me.

"Alright, pitcher. You're up."

My heart was already sprinting before my body moved. I stared at the car, at the dumb smirk of the guy in the backseat who clearly thought he was funny, who didn't know we were built of sharper things.

"Fastball or my splitter?" I muttered.

Erin nodded. "Fastball, baby."

I didn't hesitate.

There was a rock near the curb. Nothing huge, but solid enough. I gripped it and wound back like it was 1991 and I was pitching for our dusty high school team again. The throw was clean. Straight. Explosive.

The back window of the car shattered like it had been waiting for an excuse.

And suddenly, everything was chaos.

"WHAT THE F-?"

One of the guys jumped out of the car, stumbling over his own feet. A girl got out from the passenger side, high ponytail and acrylic nails, shouting something about fighting.

"Oh, you wanna fight?" Erin called, stepping forward, arms already coming out of her jacket sleeves. "We're not the ones throwing trash, sweetheart."

The voices inside the venue started to shift, someone from the staff peeking out the side door.

Then more.

And more.

Mike came barreling out first, eyes wild, jaw already tight. "What the hell is going on?"

Tre wasn't far behind, holding a chicken tender in one hand and a beer in the other. "Did someone say fight night?"

The yelling didn't stop. The guy from the car kept saying something about pressing charges while Erin was trying to climb out of her own skin. I was breathing heavy, too steady. Like the rock hadn't just left my hand and taken my restraint with it.

And then I felt it.

That familiar electricity.

Billie.

He pushed through the side door, chest heaving from the sprint, taking in the scene - broken glass, raised voices, Erin radiating pure murder. His eyes landed on me, then the car.

"Collin," he said, low. Cautious.

I said nothing. Just stared at the wreckage. At the reality that had caught up with us all.