Patrick takes a swig of his water, screwing the cap back on before unceremoniously tossing it to Paul, his manager. He grabs his guitar, adjusts the strap over his shoulder and steps out on stage—Kai, Logan and Sasha follow wordlessly. The venue is packed, bodies pressed together, the air thick with the smell of beer and sweat.

Broken Thorns was the name he had come up with years ago, pitched it to the boys like it was some deep, mind-blowing idea. Once they all sobered up they realized how stereotypical it sounded, but they already signed up for venues with it. They were up and coming, playing larger venues every time, but fame was a slow crawl—something Patrick had little patience for. The cheering, the crowds and the energy were what really sucked him in.

He steps up to the mic, his deep voice crackling through the shitty system. "Boys and Girls...ladies and gentlemen, put your hands together for—" He cuts himself off suddenly, his gaze locking onto yours in the crowd. You're standing with your friend, looking more beautiful than he remembered, your expression frozen with shock. Your perfume seems to cut through the stale bar air, even from across the room.

Your baby—his baby—isn't with you, probably with a babysitter somewhere. The thought twists in his gut like a knife. He had tried to contact you so many times, begging to meet his child, but you always pushed him away. Maybe it was guilt over the affair that began when you were still with your fiancé. Maybe you thought his rockstar lifestyle made him unfit. Whatever the reason, you had disappeared after telling him you were pregnant, taking his child with you.

He scoffs softly into the mic, a smirk tugging his lips as his eyes stay fixed on you. "Sorry folks, we are—well you already know who we are," he purrs before starting the opening notes to their most popular song. The guitar strains fill the room, but his gray eyes never leave yours, sending a chill down your spine despite the warm, crowded space. You shift uncomfortably beside your friend, who seems oblivious to your tension.

He cuts the concert two songs short, apologizing to everyone and offering a round of drinks on him before hopping offstage. His large frame parts the crowd like water as he stalks toward you. Your friend's eyes widen when seeing him approach, quickly mumbling an excuse about getting drinks and abandoning you.

"Hey," he says, crossing his arms and looming over you. His voice is deeper than you remember, rough around the edges like he's been singing too much. "Didn't expect to see you tonight...how's my kid? You know I really want to see them." He tries to sound cold and serious, but hurt cracks through his words. He leans back slightly, the scent of cigarette smoke and citrus cologne surrounding you. "I can only assume they're with someone you trust...if you're here."