AS SOON AS Charlie idled up the driveway to Liam's house, a wannabe-rockstar mansion that he'd purchased not only several months prior, he felt a sensational wave of regret.
It was the painful, bleeding regret of having even acknowledged Liam's text in the first place. No matter how long Charlie continued to know Liam, he'd never quite understand his stupid antics. Like the current one he coped with then, for example. Liam had called for practice when they'd already been up at the crack of dawn rehearsing hours worth of their music.
What pissed Charlie off even more was Liam's insistence that they all gather at his house when they'd been perfectly fine to use the studio earlier that day. The shitty acoustics of Liam's living room versus a nice, clean studio?
Charlie knew which one he'd rather pick.
His nostrils flared as he sat back in the driver's seat of his car, hesitating to shut the vehicle off and make the rest of his body work. It should have been easy, getting out of the car and putting one foot in front of the other to walk inside of the house. His band was waiting for him. It was the kind of bullshit that people in bands dealt with all the time.
But it was becoming harder and harder to go through those usual motions when he felt like damning it all to hell. He was beginning to feel a bubbling hatred for The Finks and all the weight it had brought down on his shoulders.
Well . . . maybe not all of it.
He would always love playing, especially on stages that looked out to sprawling audiences, the same ones he'd dreamed would flock to see him one day. And the thought of an upcoming nationwide tour left him feeling thrilled rather than anxious. Charlie loved his job because it wasn't a job. It was a privilege.
Maybe Liam was the only one who was deserving of his loathing. It was Liam who blew up his phone with demanding phone calls and texts. It was Liam who bossed him around constantly, snapping instructions like Charlie was a dog and he was the trainer. And it was Liam who only seemed to care about Charlie's songwriting if it was by chance impacted with creative input from Kurt.
And then there was the new matter of Billie.
Charlie clenched his teeth together when her name echoed in his head, a response that normally did not accompany any thought process involving her.
From the moment he'd first revealed to his band mates that he had stronger-than-normal feelings for Billie, Liam had found a multitude of ways to divert Charlie's attention from Billie and back towards the band.
Charlie knew it wasn't jealously that served as the primary drive behind Liam's malice. He was good looking enough to get any girl he pleased and always reminded Charlie of that when he'd take home a groupie or two after their shows.
Liam's frequent tendency to be an asshole, now principally concerning Billie, was just a result of his fear of losing Charlie's talent to someone or something else. Charlie wasn't coy — he knew how much Liam valued him.
He just wasn't sure if he valued him for the right reasons.
After all, Liam still couldn't manage to get a grip on himself when standing in the same room with Kurt. That alone had been a red flag that had blurred Charlie's line of sight for months.
Ceasing the internal debate that he was battling with himself, Charlie got out of his car and walked up to Liam's front door. He allowed himself in and predictably found the other members of the band gathered in Liam's living room.
"I'm shocked you're not late," Liam called out sourly as Charlie came into view.
Charlie walked into the middle of their circle but did not sit down on the couch, choosing instead to take on a similar stance to the one Liam stood in. He crossed his arms to his chest, staring directly into Liam's shrewd face.
