Page 141 of Rebel

“Kolton,” I prompt.

“Um, just after eleven,” he answers.

“Shit, we need to be at the arena!”

He leans in, kissing me into silence. “You need to rest. Besides, we aren’t performing tonight.”

“What? Why?” I ask, panicking, dropping the ice pack. “Because of me? No, please, I’m sorry.”

“Beck.” He stops me, taking my hands. “You were hurt, and that is unacceptable. We’ve made that clear, and until they find who did this and the label protects you, we won’t be performing.”

“What? No!” I respond, aghast. “You’ll lose everything we worked for?—”

“It doesn’t matter. You’re the only thing that does.” My heart melts, but I smack his chest, and when Trav and Chase sneak in with food, I swing my pointer finger to them.

“No, fuck this. They don’t get to win. We are performing tonight, and that is final.”

“Baby—” Chase starts.

“No, I won’t let them win. Do you hear me? Let them stare, let them think they cowed me, but I’m going back up on that stage and we are playing. All those fans are coming out to see us, and it’s not fair to punish them. We’ll do the gig while they search for who did it. They’ll eventually find them, and then we’ll move on.”

“And your face?” Trav snaps.

“It will heal.” I soften. “But I refuse to hide. This is too important, this tour, this band.”

“You really care,” Chase murmurs.

“Of course I care. I was there with you, practicing day and night. This might have started as something else, but I’m here now. This is my band and my tour, and one idiot will not ruin it. We’ll go out there, and we’ll show them that. We’ll show them that we love our fans enough to perform, even after what happened. We’ll show them we aren’t afraid. We’ll show them that we are Dead fucking Ringers.”

“I’m turned on right now,” Trav comments, making me grin. “But if you say so.”

“I do.” I put the ice pack on my face. “Now, did you bring me breakfast? And who is helping me wash?” I wiggle my eyebrows despite the pain. “The doctor said it might help.”

The guys have been so caring with me today. Chase helps me wash without even copping a feel, and then he brushed and dried my hair while Trav fed me snacks. Kolton keeps me up to date with my meds and ice packs. I don’t even know where he’s pulling them from at this point, but they help, so I’m not complaining.

When it’s time to do my hair and makeup, I decide to style my hair as normal. I can’t put any makeup on my eye, so I do minimal on my face, just enough to bring me to life. It’s a stark contrast to how I normally look, but I refuse to be ashamed. I wear the bruises proudly.

They won’t stop me.

The screams when we take the stage that night are deafening, and I cry at all the banners and signs made out to me. All day, there has been an outpouring of love online and in real life as fans, celebrities, and even talk shows discuss what happened.

Reign texted me to tell me she would stab a bitch, and Fallon texted me too, discussing what happened and checking in. I’m not alone, and I’ll show this sad fucker that as I perform with my band.

As I look out at the crowd, I know it’s worth it. Whatever happens, this is where I belong.

Nobody can take that from me.

The guys are in the green room, and I promised them I would be right back. I had to fight tooth and nail just for them to let me zip back to the tour bus to grab something, but when I turn around, I find Rachel waiting for me in front of the closed door.

“Rachel, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I just want to see how you’re doing,” she replies, but there’s a slightly manic look in her eye. “The guys said they weren’t performing anymore. I almost lost my job.”

“I’m sorry about that. They overreacted. I’m okay. Sore, but I’ll live.” I smile, heading over. We had a rocky start, but Rachel and I get along now. Her priority is this band, so it’s no wonder she’s upset.

She swallows as she stares at me. “It can’t happen.” I frown, unsure what she’s talking about, and she laughs bitterly. “This band is my entire life. I lost my fiancé because of how much I work. I’ve built it from the ground up. They are mine, and so is this band. We can’t have it threatened. Don’t you see?”

“Have you been drinking?” I can smell it on her. I mean, I don’t blame her at all. I couldn’t imagine doing her job, since it seems so stressful, not to mention the added pressure, but it seems unprofessional, especially since it’s not my fault and she’s ranting at me.

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