They call me the villain. The screw up. The rock cliche that broke up the band. My nights are whiskey, women, repeat. My days are tabloid headlines. I'm on a crash course to nowhere. Now my best friend's little sister is standing on my doorstep, begging for my spare bed and my secrecy. But the Hannah staring back at me is far from the little girl I remember. She's got ghosts. I've got demons. We both know her big sister's the reason I'm sitting at rock bottom. Letting Hannah stay is a terrible idea. But aren't those my specialty?