Page 19 of Pack Fever

REED

Strumming the strings of the guitar, I tense out the notes of a tune that came to me in my dreams. I remember the beats. Now, I’m trying to patch it together on the stage in a dimly lit room of the rundown building we bought when our first record went gold. We grew up in the town of Haven, and between every gig, every tour, we return home to the place where it all started for us. To the location where we wrote our first album, the stage where we first performed, and the spot where we hid from the world.

“Fuck, yeah, this one is going to sell like crazy,” Seth states, grabbing my attention to him, sprawled out at one of the tables in the empty bar, his eyes glued to the book he’s scribbling in.

He’s been at it all morning, writing the lyrics of our next song. He’s convinced it’s going to shoot us back up the charts and off the front page of every fucking online site about him.

Rock Bottom. Fever’s Lead Singer Collapses. Sparks Concern.

Fever Tour Tragedy. Substance Abuse Rumors Resurface.

Seth Striker: A Star’s Struggle Off the Stage.

It’s never fucking ending. Even two months later, the headlines are relentless.

“Just make sure the lyrics aren’t as dark as your coffee,” I taunt, gaining his middle finger and a ghost of a smile.

“Don’t worry, I’m aiming for more… bittersweet and angry,” he grunts.

Seth has issues, but don’t we all? We’ve been friends for as long as I can remember, since primary school, and even then, we all shared one dream—to start a band. We made our fantasy come true, but reality isn’t always as perfect as dreams.

“We need it to get Kent off our fucking backs,” I murmur, my fingers working the strings.

Our music producer is breathing down our necks since we’re months overdue with new material. The magic that once flowed so easily seems to have dried up while dealing with the band breaking up and coming back together, with Seth’s collapse, and with the constant demand.

The last tour nearly broke him, so we made a deal—no more big international tours for the next couple of years until we calm the hell down. Seth claimed he was better, but the cracks showed on tour. The pressure, his past, the constant fucking starlight is why we’re back in Haven—to ground ourselves.

The strings on my guitar vibrate under the pressure of my fingers, the sound echoing off the walls. In a few hours, this place will be back to its mundane bar self, but during the day, it’s our practise room.

I remind myself we had to be at Seth’s parents’ place tonight, celebrating his grandfather’s ninetieth birthday. The man supported Seth—bought him his first guitar and taught him how to play it.

We avoid family events at any cost, but Seth’s close with his grandfather. Even if his cousins only ask for money and want to benefit from his fame, he can never do well enough in his dad’s eyes.

I clench my teeth at the upcoming night, but we’ll get it done and leave early. I’d rather stay home and order food and invite some fans. I’m in the mood for a good fucking.

“Your tune’s gone off, mate,” Seth calls out, his pen pausing above his notebook.

A growl scratches the back of my throat just as Jasper bursts into the room from the side door, gasping for air like he’s been running. And the guy never runs. Even if he is being chased by a fucking hoard of zombies, he takes his time.

“Um, listen,” he begins.

Seth and I groan, knowing full well that’s his way of saying he’s done something we’re not going to like.

“What’s up?” Seth asks.

Before Jasper, the drummer of our trio band, can answer, there’s a knock on the main entrance door. The bar manager enters before any of us answer. His face is red like it’s obvious he’s been put out, and something’s disgruntled him.

“There’s someone here to speak with you,” he advises, a crease furrowing his brow.

I shrug as Seth stands from his seat, and I’m exchanging glances with Jasper, who’s definitely at the bottom of this.

Then they step inside, two Nexus enforcers in their fucking uniforms, chins high, arrogance painted on their pinched faces.

What the fuck do they want?

Any time I’ve dealt with them, they’ve destroyed families, ripping Omegas away to match them with Alphas who don’t deserve them. Fucking assholes so afraid to allow Omegas and Alphas to find one another. They control people’s lives. I’m not a fan, and I sure as fuck don’t want them snooping around us.

“What’s this?” Seth demands, staring at the two enforcers, large brutes who I doubt have much between their fat ears.

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