Subconsciously, my fingers began reaching up to touch the section of my head directly above my right ear, until my brain reminded them that there wasn't hair there anymore. There was fuzz. There was fucking fuzz where my long hair used to be. Twenty-four hours ago, my merch buddy had taken clippers to part of my head.

Carter had become the chosen one because I trusted that he wouldn't have an "accident" that would lead the clippers across my eyebrows. Also, obviously, because he had experience shaving the back of his own head like a boss every week. In the time since the haircut, I'd rationalized that there were worse things in the world than having a third of your head shaved. Like root canals. Cancer. Charley horses in the middle of the night.

I'd gotten off easy.

The words that had come out of Julian's mouth once we'd all piled back into the tour bus after my near facial reconstruction went along the lines of, "We decided you don't have to shave all of your head since... you know," he pointed in my direction, tracing the shape of a circle with his index finger.

He said it as if I should have gotten down on my knees and kissed their feet for making such an accommodation.

Then he added, "Are you sure you don't need to go to the hospital?"

Realistically, I wasn't surprised. If anything, I was surprised they weren't going to make me V For Vendetta my scalp. Fortunately, Eli wasn't on the opposing team, otherwise I'm sure he would have petitioned for them to shave off my eyebrows too... maybe even said something about shaving my upper lip to be a smart-ass. When they buzzed off all of Carter's beautiful, long black hair without him batting an eyelash, I tried to calm myself down. Eli grumbled through his entire cut but did it. Then the rest of the guys went through with their shaves with only minor complaints.

Was I going to be the one to pitch a fit when everyone else went through with it? Nope.

All I heard when I sat down in the chair they'd set up outside the venue, the clippers connected to an extension cable, was Mason asking Carter, "Can you do this?"

To which Carter answered, "Yup." Then he paused before asking, "Gaby, do you want a mirror so you can see what I'm doing?"

"No." Absolutely not. "Just remember how much I like you, okay? Remember."

And that was how I ended up with what they jokingly called the 'Viking Girl' haircut. One-third of my hair was shaved off above one ear, from my forehead to all the way to the back of my neck. All in all, it could have been worse but still. I wasn't that vain but a girl's hair-whether it's short or if it's long-is her hair. I hadn't suffered through those painful hair ties with balls at the ends as a kid for nothing. Plus, it wasn't as if I had fine cheekbones and a long face. On a good day, someone might say it was heart-shaped.

"I'm really-" Sacha started again, bringing me out of my memory of the day before.

"It's fine," I assured him, watching his face as his eyes went over the big reddish-purple spot that reached from my chin to halfway up my jawline on the way to my ear.

He frowned but plopped his butt onto the corner of the white table, hands on his lap. "I feel like shit." Those gray eyes drifted down to my chin, the wince on his face was more than noticeable.

"I promise it's okay. I know it was an accident." I smiled at him that was all lips, ignoring the twinge of pain coming from my jaw. "You aren't on my hit-list."

Sacha blinked very seriously. "Who's on it?"

Wiping my hands on my shorts, I tore a piece of cinnamon bun off. "Mason-"

He nodded, understanding off the bat why I'd put Mase on the list. He'd been way too eager about making sure my head got shaved.

"I'm still on the fence with Freddy for missing his shot-"

That time, Sacha shrugged.

"And my brother." Definitely my brother.

He bit the inside of his cheek. "I thought he was going to try and fight me after I kicked the ball at you."

Yeah, that made me laugh. "I'm surprised he didn't high-five you or try to give you a hug."

He paused.

And the pause said it all.

I opened my mouth. "He did, didn't he?"

To give him credit, he nodded, a sheepish expression on his face. "He gave me a hug and said he owed me a drink."

I would call my brother a traitor-ass-bitch if I didn't know Eli any better than I did. But I did, and if he'd gotten all bent out of shape in my honor, I would have asked him if he was dying or something.

On the other hand, it wasn't as if Sacha knew how ruthless he was. "I should have smothered him with a pillow when I had the chance, I swear."

Sacha cracked a big smile as I tore off another piece of cinnamon roll and ate it. "You said he's only a little older than you?" I nodded. "You're the youngest?" I nodded again. "I'm the youngest of five by a lot. It's a baby thing. They still call me Sasquatch."

My mouth gaped for a second before I remembered there was bread inside of it. "Sasquatch?"

"Sasquatch," he confirmed. "They've called me Sacha maybe twice in my entire life. The rest of the time is 'that damn Sasquatch' or just 'Sasquatch.'"

"Girls or boys?"

"Four sisters." He shook his head as if having a flashback of going through something traumatizing with them. "They were the same way with me as Eli is with you."

"They used to take craps and purposely not flush the toilet?" I asked with a snort.

Sacha grinned, raking a hand through the longer hair at the top of his head. His tattoos popped against the pale skin beneath the wide bands of ink striping the length of his arm. "Just as bad; they'd leave their tampons all over the place. When I was really young-my oldest sister is almost fourteen years older than me-they'd put dresses on me and tell me that our parents named me Sacha because I was really a girl."

Somehow I managed to hold back the snort rising through my nose and keep my features even and serious as I asked, "What you're trying to tell me is that you're not a girl?"

He stared at me. "Remember when I told you I thought you were funny? I changed my mind. You're not."

All I could do was just smile despite the pain that shot through the lower half of my face.

The effort he was putting into not laughing was completely obvious, especially as he raised his dark eyebrows. "Don't think I didn't hear you call me Sassy either before you pushed me on the ground."

What was I going to do? Deny it? "Ask me how many regrets I have?" I didn't wait for him to answer. I made a circle with my thumb and index finger and held it up for him to see. "Sassy Sacha."

Before he could reply, a voice I was way too familiar with filled the empty Dallas venue. "GABRIELA!"

"It's my mom, run," I whispered under my breath as I leaned to the side to spy the woman who never let me forget how hard it had been to carry twins for almost nine months. On one side of her were my dad, Rafe and two nieces. On the other side of my mom was Eli with his arm around her, our oldest brother Gil and my other niece.

I put my hand up and waved, mentally bracing myself for the shit storm that usually went hand in hand when the entire Barreto family was together. Insults, wedgies and yelling were essential parts of a family that was half Brazilian and half Italian.

"You don't remember you have a mom?" my mother yelled over at me as the whole family kept walking across the venue in my direction.

"Like I could forget!" I hollered back at her with a weak smile.

She visibly shook her head at the same time my dad flashed me a grin and a silent wave. While my parents were great and you could tell that they loved each other, a lot of times, I wondered how they made things work for them the last thirty-eight years. Mom and Dad were polar opposites who frequently disagreed on everything from what car they should take to church, to whether the lawn could go another week before it needed to get mowed or not.

Rafe's two daughters screamed, "Aunt Gaby!" a second before they took off running. I made sure that Eli saw my smirk at our niece's reactions since we were always arguing over whom they loved more.

Izabella and Heidi, four and six-years-old, shrieked until they were five feet away when they suddenly stopped... and gawked.

It wasn't either one of them who verbally reacted to my makeover.

It was Gil. "What the-," he glanced down at his daughter, "you-know-what happened to you, Demi?"

My siblings, Gordo and Mason really brought out the worst in me. I stuck my tongue out at him. "The important question here is: why do you even know who that is?"

He tilted his head over at the reserved nine-year-old by his side. "Disney Channel all day every day."

It was the loud smack of a palm meeting flesh that had me glancing over at Eli, who was holding the back of his head with both hands, scowling at Rafaela. "What the hell was that for?"

The second oldest Barreto kid, when in reality she had always seemed to be the most mature, scowled at her little brother. "Why would you do that to her?"

"I didn't do that!" Eli frowned, edging closer to our mom who was fussing at Rafe for hurting her baby boy.

"Did you fall again?" That was our dad that asked.

"Again?" Sacha whispered under his breath, and I couldn't help but poke him in the side.

What really got me about the question was that they either expected Eli to be the culprit or my own clumsiness to be the cause of blame.

"We had our Soccer Death Match yesterday," I explained, walking around the table so I could hug the entire clan, wincing every time one of them touched the side of my body that had taken the brunt of the impact when Sacha had tackled me playing.

The "ahhh" that came out of them was on the spot. They'd all heard about it, even the little girls, whom I went to hug first.

Izabella, Rafe's youngest, pulled away from me after I kneeled down to hug her. Her little eyes, the same shade of green as my dad's and mine, focused on the bruise on my face. She put up her little hand as if she wanted to touch it but was too scared to. "Did it hurt?" Iza whispered, her fingers curling in the air hesitantly.

"Yes." Why pretend like it hadn't? It had, and I'd be a damn liar if I tried to play it off. Either way, I had a feeling Iza knew me too well. She'd call me out on my lies and it wouldn't be the first time.

She then looked into my eyes. "Did you cry?" Testing me. She was testing me and I was fully aware of it.

I heard Sacha make a noise behind me but kept my focus on my niece. "A little bit."

Then she did it. The little girl I'd spent countless hours with, my mini-partner in crime, threw my ass under the bus. "Like when your boyfriend broke up with you? Or not like that?"

Chapter Eight.

The moment the bus rolled to a stop, I elbowed Gordo out of the way with a "Move it, sucker," spat with the single intent that I be the first one out of there. Laila had texted me to let me know she was already waiting at the venue in San Antonio, and sure enough, I spotted her making her way across the parking lot.

After the Houston date with our soccer match and my head shaving, then Dallas with my family, and another stop in Austin-I was ready to get away from the guys that drove me nuts and see my best friend.

At four-foot-eleven and with a smile that took up her entire face, Laila was like a breath of fresh air after being surrounded by so much testosterone. The second we were close enough, she wrapped her arms around my middle as I hugged her above her shoulders where she could fit perfectly under my chin. The pedals on her wheelchair dug into my shins, but I didn't give a single crap.

There was something about Laila's hugs and warmth that always radiated understanding and comfort. There was also the fact that she didn't judge me when I laughed at things I shouldn't. Even though I would never ask for another sibling to replace the three I already had, I loved Laila fiercely.

We'd survived high school together. Stayed friends even after she and her mom moved to San Antonio for her to go to school, and I'd gone on tour with Ghost Orchid. Then she'd let me live with them when I'd had to move out of my ex's place.

She was still hugging the hell out of my middle when she finally spoke. "I'm so happy to see you!"

"I'm so happy to see you too, you lazy broad." I gestured to her wheelchair before giving her another bone-crushing hug.

"I didn't feel like dealing with my braces all day," she explained.

I made a face at her just to give her a hard time, but really, I knew how hard it would be for her to be on her feet for such a long period. Someone just needed to bust her chops so she'd keep walking around as much as she could handle. Pulling away from her, I took a step back and looked her over. Slim, with dark hair and a unique light caramel color to her skin that she'd inherited from her Cuban mom and Caiman dad, I'd always thought she had the face and personality that belonged to a princess in a cartoon movie.

It took me all of a second to realize that her hair had been cut to her shoulders. "When did you get your hair cut?"

Laila blinked back at me. "When did you get your hair cut?"

"That was the surprise I was telling you about," I explained, touching that shaved section with gentle fingers. The rest of my hair was in a low-side ponytail but it still couldn't hide the obvious buzz cut. "Surprise!" I muttered, wiggling my fingers in the most unenthusiastic way possible.

She just stared at me before slowly asking, "Holy bologna, Gabba. Was this Soccer Death Match loser crap?"

I nodded. I'd already told her about the ball to the jaw I'd taken. In person, the huge bruise confirmed the story.

She tilted her head to look at me and finally nodded, almost sagely. "You got lucky they didn't do your whole head at least. You look cute like that, but if it was everything..." She let out a little whistle and flared her nostrils. Sure, she was sweet, but the honesty that came out of her mouth at times was candy-coated brutality at its finest.

Laila opened her mouth for a split second before shutting it at the same time she went bug-eyed. I turned my head just a little to see who she had her eye on. Sacha, Freddy and Julian had all gotten off the bus and were looking in our direction intently from their spots twenty feet away.

"Those guys are on the tour?" she whispered.

"Yes and stop drooling, you horny biatch."

"I'm not drooling." Laila shifted in her wheelchair, her small hands gripping the arm rests. "I changed my mind, I need to call my mom and tell her to bring me my braces after all."

I snorted and went to pop the strap of her bra peeking out from under her tank top.

She didn't even make a face when the material snapped back against her skin; she was so focused on the three men standing around. Her brown eyes flicked up to mine. "Which one of them is the Sacha-guy you've been telling me about?"

"How do you know it's one of them?"

"Because if I remember correctly, your text message said, 'I just kicked the hottest guy I've probably ever seen in the ass.' And I asked you what he looked like and you texted me back, 'Like a double bacon cheeseburger I'd take a bite out of.'"

Apparently, she had gobbled up the information like a hooker would a penis. Because okay, that sounded about right. I gave her a look. "He's the one in the middle with the sleeve tattoo," I muttered.

Laila let out another little low whistle. "That's the same guy that kicked the ball at your face?"

"Yep."

"Introduce me," she demanded with a smile, looking up at me.

The little slut.