Page 10 of Knot Just A Fan

Two decades ago, Alphas without packs were almost as maligned as Omegas without packs. We’re thankfully in an era in history where people are much more outspoken about equality across designations.

It’s just a shame that doesn’t translate in the real world as much as it does for social media lip-service, but you can’t have everything, I guess.

Ash is at least more outgoing than Enzo and Ronan. They’ve historically been quieter and more polite than Ash, in that order. Smiling, waving, saying thanks when I bid them goodnight—well, Ronan doesn’t smile much, but Enzo usually wears an excitable grin.

Not every band gets their own personal photographer to curate their public image, so I know they appreciate the consistency. But then, unmatched Omegas my age aren’t exactly in high demand with anyone else, so they know we’re unlikely to go anywhere, because we depend on the income and protection of the Guild. It’s win-win—at least, on the outside. Some might say it’s a bit more sinister than that, but what’re you going to do?

My mind churns. Echo’s fans are the hardcore types who read into everything like it’s an Easter egg pointing toward some sacred secret. And the fans who’ve been around the longest are the hometown crowds, even though Echo hasn’t been back in the UK for an obscenely long time.

If they play a new song tonight, the crowd will go apeshit. I need to be ready.

“Decided to skip the black tonight, eh?” Ash says as he slots guitar picks onto Grayson’s mic stand. Band managers aren’t usually responsible for such mundane tasks but Ash is the most hands-on I’ve met. He doesn’t look at me when I glance at Ronan and Enzo dropping their duffels on the opposite side of the stage.

“Yeah, I mean, New Year’s Eve,” I say. I clear my throat. “That okay? I don’t want to draw attention away from the band?—”

Ash looks me over, a glimmer flashing in his hazel eyes. “Nah, don’t worry. Not possible.” He laughs and I chuckle like this is truly hilarious, and pray he drops down a drain somewhere.

I kneel to fiddle with my camera bag, doing my ritualistic lens and backup battery counting, when I hear another set of footsteps on the stage.

“Did I just hear you say something shitty to our camera goddess?” Enzo says in a good-natured tone.

I blink and look up.Camera goddess?I haven’t heard that phrase since Grayson said it, that one time, all those years ago.

Before I can stand, Enzo continues, poking Ash in the collarbone. Not hard, but enough to make me wonder.

“Just so you know, she’s welcome to wear whatever she’s comfortable inanynight. Cut the shit, Ash. We don’t behave like that.” Enzo, with his light green eyes, wavy dark hair, thick dark brows, and full lips, looks into my eyes for probably only the fifth timeever, and something clicks over. Something … strange. Not unpleasant. Warm. Comforting. Confusing.

I don’t know what it is. He’s hotter than hell but being hot doesn’t mean I want to bone them. It’s just a fact.

Like it’s a fact that Enzo’s acknowledging me as more than just the Guild’s worker-bee. And it’s more than nice.

Tonight might be a good New Year’s, after all.

I’ve spent these past two months shooting the group in the studio or in rehearsal, but mostly only speaking to Ash. I haven’t been alone with Grayson once. And while we’ve both been warm and cordial, it’s like we’ve silently agreed to ignore what happened just before he went radio-silent, and Ash sent an emailsaying they’d been invited to work with some LA bands and might not be back for “awhile.”

Understatement of the decade. If nothing else, I’d like to ask Gray what happened. Why he never replied to the messages I’d sent.

What I did wrong.

It’s as though Gray knows of all the dreams I’ve dreamed in the years in-between—life-like dreams where he was always just out of reach, and it’s made him stay well away.

Cami’s opinion is on the one hand, he’s never made contact or acted like we had any kind of shared past, so our window is shut and I should leave it. But on the other hand, like last night, she sometimes dares me topull my thumb outand just tell him how I feel. Fucking do it. Life’s short. All that jazz.

“Dude, the fuck’s wrong with you?” Ash’s voice makes me look up, as it’s clear he and Enzo had a whispered exchange while I focused on cleaning my lenses. “I was just messing with her. You know that, Briella? Right?”

I shrug. “I’ve got a dress code, but it’s New Year’s for me, too, and I’m off the clock at 12:30 so I figured I’d stay and party afterwards. If that’s okay?”

“Of course!” says Enzo. He punches Ash in the shoulder. “New year, new leaf, right? Gray’s on to you.”

“Right, whatever. Look, we need to go over the midnight stuff,” Ash says in a mild grumble.

“‘Kay, see you shortly, Briella,” Enzo says, then they born turn and head to the wings opposite me.

What does any of that mean? Ash being borderline-rude is no biggie. Acknowledging me more outside of scheduled meetings is an improvement, I guess.

But Enzo’s behavior was even stranger. Maybehehas turned over a new leaf. Or it’s the party atmosphere at the end of a year, making people do things they normally wouldn’t.

Despite this seeming like an improvement on our collective communications, something twists in my gut. I wish I’d just worn black.

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