FINN
I f****d up real bad last night. This black eye is proof of it. Well-deserved. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.
Tonight’s gig is at the Understay Hotel. When I arrived at the assigned waiting room for us, Shae and Zander were already there. Zander is pacing back and forth in front of a wide vanity mirror while holding sheets of paper. I take a peek. Lyrics?
“What the f**k?” I exclaim, making him jump. “We’ve been playing these songs for almost a year. You wrote the newest one. What are you doing?”
He looks at me sharply and rolls his eyes. Which, okay, Zander’s attitude is an everyday coin-tossing game, but that is harsher than usual.
“I’m hungover, so get off my back. Nice black eye, by the way. You probably deserve it,” he answers, turning his back on me.
I do.
“That’s not just it,” S
