Page 4 of Wild Stars

Luciano’s got an amazing observatory, one that puts mine to shame.I figured I could give my speech, slip away to do some stargazing, and no one would miss me.

At least, not with Hailee around.My sister could do the social thing.

Besides, the press likes her better.She’s younger, prettier.More palatable.

If it wasn’t for her, you wouldn’t even have a comeback.

But I couldn’t even salvage a few moments to myself, because Dare stumbled into the observatory, like a newborn lamb, and I didn’t think.I just...reacted.

Which Ineverdo.

Other people and their bad choices aren’t my problem.

Well, not unless we’ve signed an NDA and agreed on safe words, first.

So why did I give a shit about the Jolly Green Giant all of a sudden?

I grit my teeth, trying to ignore the stench of puke as I gather his thick, dark hair in my fist, holding it back to keep from getting in the way of the repercussions of said bad choices.

Dare groans, and I almost feel bad for the kid.

Because at seventeen years my junior, that’s what anyone under the age of twenty-five is to me.A kid.

I let go of him like he’s made of fire.

No.Absolutely not, Mateo.Now is not the time to play hero.He’s fine.

Dare slumps forward, catching his breath, and I take a step back.He doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.

Instead, I just stand there like a lunatic watching him run his tattooed knuckles through his wet, dark, shoulder length hair.

“Fucking hell,” I curse, fighting the overwhelming desire to help the poor bastard up and find him somewhere to sleep off his poor decision-making.

I turn away, because I know nothing good comes from my need tofixpeople.

I couldn’t fix my ex, and I certainly can’t fix Dare Wylde.

I reach the door and turn around to see Dare lying on the floor, staring up at the ceiling.The position makes his black tank top scrunch up the sides, showcasing his pale “love handles” as he calls them.

Just because I’ve been out of the biz for the last five years, doesn’t mean I wasn’t keeping tabs on Casualty Record’s newest talent, or his penchant for giving the worst interviews on the planet.

Seriously, his manager should hire him a coach or something.

I half debate waltzing over to where he lays to fix his shirt.But I don’t.

Instead, I take a deep breath, tell myself he’s fine, and I leave.

I shut the door softly, sighing as I put one foot in front of the other.

He’s fine.

Lost in my thoughts, I nearly run right over Richie, Dare’s less annoying brother andHeart Killer’s bassist.

Though when I say he’s less annoying, I only mean the guy at least has a sliver of a sense of preservation, where Dare is missing that part of his brain, clearly.

Richie is still annoying, with his mop of blond hair, his big blue eyes, and his perpetual “I’m happy to be here” look.

Like they’re well-bred golden retrievers and not rising stars in the music business.

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