Page 2 of Never Been Worse

“Remember when you told us he yelled at a little girl on Halloween for getting glitter on his walkway with her butterfly wings?” Jules asks. “Hell, if someone was a dick like that to Sophie,I’dglitter his lawn.”

I look her way, blinking in confusion. “Uh, you’re actively doing it, Jules.”

“I’m in charge of theforks,” she says, lifting a white plastic fork into the air and waving it around like I’m not picking up on thefactsof the matter at hand. “I justbroughtthe glitter and a seed spreader.”

I don’t remind her that this was entirely her idea a few nights ago. How we’d drank a little too much and started to make the most unhinged list of ways to get back at my no-good, dirty, cheating son-of-a-bitch ex.

Forking and glittering came after I remembered how meticulous he was with his lawn, not that he ever did the work to maintain it. He mostly just bullied the yard guy he hired until he eventually quit, and Jeremy would have to find a new one once more. I’m surprised he hasn’t been blacklisted in Evergreen Park at this point.

We decided on glitter because even when he getsmostof it out, it would be a long, long time before all of the glitter was completely gone. If he wanted to make it glitter-free quickly, he’d have to completely rip up and reseed the yard.

We make quick work of our sweet, sweet revenge, finishing with the glitter and moving on to the forks in the dark night. We’re almost done and home-free when it happens.

My back is to the street, my eyes on the ground when tires crunch behind me, but that isn’t what has my heart dropping into the glittering lawn.

No, it’s the red, white, and blue lights reflecting merrily in the grass and the short, quick beep of a siren.

We are so totally fucked.

TWO

WES

“We’ve got some great news,” Riggins says, his wife next to him, face aglow with happiness.

“Let me guess, you finally knocked up Stella?” Reed asks with a laugh, but when they don’t laugh along, instead smiling wider, the room goes quiet, each of us looking from Stella to Riggins, to each other.

“No fucking way,” Beckett says low, a wide smile spreading on his lips.

“I want to make sure I told Evie first, of course, but you guys were our—” Stella starts.

“Uncles!” Reed interrupts, moving over to Stella and kneeling before her stomach. “I’m going to be your favorite, of course?—”

“Stop being a creep, Reed,” I say, but I can’t fight the smile as he turns and glares at me over his shoulder.

“Yeah, dude, get off my wife,” Riggs says, pushing Reed in the shoulder gently, though Reed makes a show out of falling dramatically.

We all roll our eyes at him.

We’re at Riggins and Stella’s house in our hometown of Ashford. They called all of us here for an announcement of some kind, so everyone is here: Beckett and Reed, Jaime, our bodyguard but more importantly, a friend, and Leo, the band’s publicist. I knew it must be something that would impacteveryonewhen even the ever-busy Leo was here.

“She’s just about twelve weeks, and her due date’s in August. Which means we need to postpone the upcoming tour.”

Our band, Atlas Oaks, was supposed to go on a worldwide tour to celebrate our new album that comes out in four months. Stella, who helps our lead singer and guitarist, Riggins, write songs, was planning to come with us, but with this new update, that won’t be feasible. We’ve been a band since we were in high school, Riggins playing guitar and singing, Beckett on drums, Reed on bass, and myself on lead guitar. We’ve seen each other through some of the darkest days and highest highs and are more of a family than a band at this point. At the end of the day, we will always put one another above the fame.

“Of course we do,” Reed says, the answer obvious to everyone in the room except, it seems, Riggins, who looks distraught as he runs a hand through his hair.

“The tour isn’t a huge deal, Riggs,” I say, my brow furrowed as I take him in, and I can see Stella biting her lip, a hand to her lower stomach, already protective of their baby.

Ababy. Fuck.

It’s strange to think about, considering we’ve been a group since before most of us even graduated high school, and now Riggs and Stella are…havingkids. Jesus. “We can push it off a year or three for all I care. Or…” I start, my brow furrowing. “Or do you guys want to stop touring altogether once the baby arrives?”

Maybe that’s the reason for the formal meeting and the panic on their faces from the moment we all stepped foot in their home. Maybe they want to stay here and focus on their family. Both can easily continue their careers as songwriters without Atlas Oaks.

My gut twists at the mere idea of not having a band to tour with, of not seeing the world and playing music with my best friends.

“God, no, we want to keep touring,” Stella says with a quick shake of her head. My confusion simmers more as I try to understand why this great news is anything but.

---