Adam looked incredibly happy when he came off the stage that night. He had been really nervous before the show that started off Shooting Star's sixty-seven day European tour. It had been years since I'd seen Mike and Fitzy and Liz, but I could tell from the way they greeted Adam the night we got in that things weren't going well between them. He'd reached for a cigarette several times, but much to his chagrin, his wanting hand was met by an empty pocket. So when he came off that stage with a smile on his face and the glint in his eye that I hadn't seen since I moshed at the club on Halloween night back before everything changed, I thought that he might have changed his mind about leaving the band.

Saturday, August 21 • London, England

"You guys were great up there!" I yell, wrapping my arms around him.

"That was incredible," he smiles at me.

"So you were nervous for no reason?"

"No, I had every reason to be nervous," his hands are shaking a little, but he still smiles.

"Are you still considering..."

"Adam, you gotta get cleaned up," Aldous interrupts. "M&G in 10."

"Meet and greet," Adam clarifies when he sees my questioning brow.

"Okay, well we can talk when you're done," I try to encourage him. "It'll be fine."

"At least sit in the dressing room with me," he hesitates.

"Okay. Yeah, of course."

He takes a quick shower and gets dressed just as Aldous is pounding on the door, his signal to Adam that it's time. The rest of the band were all sharing the room next door, and I could hear them talking loudly as they waited for Adam. He came over and hugged me, and it took everything in me not to run my hands through his wet hair.

"Here," I give him a small smile as I hand him the tiny pill that I know he's been desperate for.

"Thank you," he sighs and then gives me a small kiss.

"It'll be over before you know it."

Hours passed by. I waited in the dressing room reading a book on the small couch. I planned to meet him at the door so I could judge which pep talk I needed to give: the "the fans are so excited to see you they probably didn't notice your shaking hands" talk - a fear of his which we talked about on the plane - or the "they're your friends and they just need to understand that this isn't your fault" talk that I assumed I'd have to give after many of the fans flocked to Adam instead of everyone else. Suddenly, the door opened.

"Come with me," Aldous already had me by the arm.

"Where are we going?"

"Just come," he insisted.

"Where's Adam?"

"Just come," he repeated.

"Aldous. Where is Adam?"

"He's having a small disagreement with the band," he grimaced.

"A small disagreement? About what?"

"Just Shooting Star things," he blew me off. "Just wait here."

I was now standing in a garage that housed the van that we would be taking back to the hotel.

"Aldous!" I yelled as he came back the way we came.

Several minutes later, 20 if you want me to be precise, Adam came storming through a side door.

"What're you doing in here?" He asked sarcastically.

"Aldous dragged me here."

"I've been looking for you everywhere."

"Sorry," I shrug. "It wasn't my choice."

He kicked the wall.

"What happened?" I gripped his arm tightly.

"Didn't go well," he mumbled.

"The meet and greet?"

"Yes, Mia, the meet and greet," he rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, just trying to clarify," I folded my arms over my chest. "Well?"

"Everyone wanted me to sign something or to take a picture with me."

"And why is that a problem?"

"Just me. They barely acknowledged the band," he tried to reach for his bottle of pills that we left in the dressing room.

"No," I grabbed his hand. "That's not your fault, Adam."

"I don't want it," he groaned. "I didn't ask for it."

"I know," I nod. "But I can't blame them."

"The band?" He said incredulously.

"The fans," I laughed. "You're pretty sexy when you're onstage. And when you get off stage. And when you get out of the shower. It's no wonder they go crazy for you."

"Mia," his jaw tightened.

"I'm serious," I pressed up against him. "It's primal."

I kissed his ear and the side of his neck and his cheek and then his lips. I could feel his body becoming less tense.

"How about we forget about them and go back to the hotel? I'll be your groupie tonight," I grinned.

"Mia Hall, you don't have what it takes to be my groupie," he joked.

I knew it was a joke, but it stung a little. Thinking about the girls that had been his groupies at one time. At least he was in a better mood.

"I guess I'll have to prove you wrong."

At the beginning of that night, I was sure that Adam would change his mind about leaving the band. But by the end of it, as I laid with my head on his chest, with the shaking of his hands stopping only when they touched me, I knew that this night would solidify his decision.

"This is horrible," he frowned staring down at his plate.

We had only been on the road for a few hours when we decided to stop to get lunch. He didn't want to go to any popular restaurants in case someone recognized him, so we pulled off the road at a small diner that, truth be told, looks like it's been a primary location for several horror movies. The food tasted worse than the place looked.

"It really is," I frowned as well. "I don't think this can be considered coffee."

"That's it," he shook his head and threw some money on the table. "Let's just get some stuff at a convenience store. Even that will be better than this."

There was a gas station just across the road. We got more junk food than anyone should ever have and then we hit the road again.

"Mi," Adam says after a while. "I can't do it anymore."

"Oh, come on, it's only been a few minutes," I roll my eyes.

"It's been an hour and a half."

"Fine," I sigh.

I switch the station from the classical music station to some others, trying to find a station that will come in. I finally get something other than static, but my victory doesn't last long.

"This next song is what got me through my last breakup," the DJ on the station is saying. "This is from Collateral Damage, it's Shooting Star!"

"I'll take the classical," Adam mutters turning the station quickly.

"It doesn't matter the circumstances surrounding it, ya know," I comment.

"What are you talking about?" He continues to stare straight ahead.

"It's a great album," I go on. "Therapeutic."

"I don't want to talk about it, Mia."

"There's no reason for you to igmore it," I press further. "It helped you through a hard time, it really put you guys on the map..."

"And look where that got me, Mia," he yells. "Look where I am right now."

"Where you're at doesn't seem so bad to me," I say coldly.

"I didn't mean..."

"Classical it is," I cut him off and find the classical station again.