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before bending and kissing her on the cheek. “I love you, Lou. You’ve done everything for me. I know that. But I’m done. I’m done.” He turned and walked away.
    “Paolo, wait.”
    He stopped at the door. “I’m not like you, Lou. I can’t just live on music and the occasional one night stand.” He took Banshee’s hand in his, and Lou swallowed hard when she saw how tightly they held on to each other. “Maybe you should think about what else is important in life.”   He and Banshee walked out the door without looking back.
    Lou turned back to the band. “Am I really that bad?”
    “Well, you don’t take too kindly to input,” said Bluto.
    “Or feedback,” Chiz added.
    “Or even suggestions.” Alasdair had finally broken his sulk.
    Lou took a deep breath. “I’ll apologize to Banshee. And I’ll do better. I promise.”
    Bluto propped his guitar against a speaker, then came and sat down next to her.
    Lou rested her head on his shoulder for a brief moment. “I’ll book a practice for this evening. But first I’ll go back to the hotel and make things right with Paolo.”
    Bluto took her hand. “I think it’s too late for that, Lou.”
    She stared at him. “Och, don’t be silly. He’s just throwing a strop. I’ll take care of it. He wouldn’t leave the band. Not on the eve of our big breakthrough.”
    Chiz pulled up a chair and took a swig from his vodka bottle. “He’s been talking about it for a while, Lou.”
    “What? He never said anything to me.”
    Alasdair pulled up a chair. “Aye, well, it was hard for him. Letting ye down, like.”
    “Letting me down? What do you mean?”
    Chiz took her other hand. “We all know how important this band is to you, Lou. After your mother died and you had to leave Uni and come home. Well, this was all ye had.”
    Lou shook her head. “No, no. It wisnae like that.” She thought, taking herself back to that time. “Paolo was sixteen. I wanted something to keep him out of trouble. And you lot, too. You were all into music. The band was just a way to keep you on track. It was never about me.”
    “Aye, lass.” Bluto patted her hand. “That’s the way it started. That was eight years ago.” He sighed. “But along the way…it wasn’t about us anymore.”
    “It was. It was too!”
    Chiz snorted. “Remember that song ye made us do?”
    “The Bloody Rag!” they all intoned in unison.
    Lou ducked her head. Not the best decision she’d ever made, to have the boys do a song about the challenges of being on your period. “I’m sorry. That was a terrible song.”
    “It was a brilliant song,” said Alasdair. “That catchy melody. When you played the recording for us, we thought it was clever and funny.”
    “But it wasn’t when we did it,” said Chiz. “I couldn’t show my face in the pub for months.”
    “But we were all much nicer to our girlfriends after that,” Bluto added, with an encouraging smile.
    Lou squeezed Chiz and Bluto’s hands. “I’ll do better in future.”
    Alasdair grabbed the vodka bottle and took a swig. Then another. “Lou. It’s over.”
    She shook her head.
    Alasdair handed her the bottle. “It is, lass. The way Paolo sees it, you gave up Uni and your dreams to move home and get a job and take care of him. And then you poured everything into the band. He’s being cruel to be kind by breaking up the band. Then you’re forced to get a life of your own and pursue your dreams.”
    Lou took a swig off the vodka. “Pursue my dreams? I dream of the band. How does breaking it up—”
    “Louisa Marzaroli!” Bluto turned her face to look at him, not gently. “When you went away to Uni what was your plan?”
    Lou looked at him, confused. “Study music. See if I could get a career out of my songs.” She shrugged. “Teach if I couldn’t. Your point?”
    “And then your ma got sick. You came home to take care of her. You buried her. You took a shit job and took care of your wee brother and his pals.” He