Page 14 of Knot Just A Fan

I need a breather.

We have one more song on the setlist before the band who would normally be an opener is the closer—for the after-midnight crowd, before the after-after midnight DJ starts up. But I stop. Hand my guitar to our guitar tech Mick, wave at the crowd, and head for the wings. One song short.

As soon as I’m out of sight of the audience, I rake a hand through my drenched hair, grab a water bottle from Alejandro, our old security guard and now tour manager for the European leg, and look around for Briella. Hands grab me from behind and someone shouts so exuberantly in my ear I feel their spittle hit my neck.

“Dude, what in the blazing fuck are you doing? We have one more song!” Ronan is continuing to yell at me and Enzo’s there, raising his hands to calm Ronan.

“Chill, chill, Charlie and the others are ready to go out anyhow. It’s fine, man!” Enzo says. I clock the five members of the next band leisurely flooding the stage with their crew, getting set up. Their lead singer grabs the mic and tells everybody to introduce themselves to one stranger to keep them all busy during the interlude.

“I want to know what the fuck he was doing trying to stick his tongue down Briella’s throat! What the fuck! Willow? Hello! You said you were finally going to bring her home. What the hell is going on? I’m sick of this shit, Grayson!”

Everything in my mouth feels like a betrayal. But I manage to hiss, “Willow isn’t coming home any time soon, I told you. Her business is in its prime and she’s giving it more time to see it through. And fuck this gig tonight, man. I want to make sure Briella is okay. She’s family, Ronan.”

Ronan snorts. “She might be to you but I’ve got enough family and they’ve done fuck all for me. This is supposed to be our homecoming—can you explain what was going on in your fucking head?”

I’ve had enough of his screaming in my ear. I wheel around to face him, raising my fist and rearing back. But I don’t release it. I’m only an inch shorter than Ronan’s wiry frame, but a cock fight’s not going to solve anything.

“They crowd ate up the new song. What more do you want? Briella’s collapsed, not just at our show, but on ourstage.”

“Who’s fault is it she was standing in the goddamned middle of it?” Ronan snarls.

“Mine, and so I’m out here to make sure she’s okay. Ash!” I yell our manager’s name but no reply. They’ve probably taken her to a dressing room. I grab my rucksack and storm off to the back hallway, Ronan and Enzo trailing me, arguing in hisses and growls like zoo animals.

But I’ve got one thing—no, two—on my mind.

Maybe three.

I open the first dressing room but it’s empty. I hurry to the next but the door is locked.

Bingo.

“Briella? Ash?” I yell, but a different female voice comes back.

“Just a sec!” comes Cami’s reply. I turn and spy Ash babbling into his phone at the end of the corridor, shooting me a look, jerking a thumb at the door I’m standing at, and pacing furiously. The stagehands who brought Briella offstage are nowhere to be seen. Presumably they’re focusing on the band that’s actually performing currently.

Ronan approaches me, ostensibly calmed by Enzo somewhat.

“Gray, man, we need to sort this out. Now I’m going to ask, and I want a straight answer at last. Willow is our match. You’ve been making excuses for her for years now. ‘She’s not ready, she’s taking care of her sick mum, her dying aunt, her seventy-two siblings, her neighbor’s fucking cat, and her business is nowflourishing.’ So what is it? When are you going to haul her ass to our house so we can finally be a complete pack? You’ve had your fill of her for years but we’ve been waiting for her to be the Omega she’s supposed to be. And I speak for both of us when I say we’re done waiting, man!”

Enzo holds a hand up, his dark waves falling across his brow. Always so perfect even when he’s sweaty, tired, and trying to keep us all cool. Fucking bastard. But I’m glad he’s here.

“You need to back off a bit,” Enzo says to Ronan, his accent thickening as it does when he’s tired or agitated. “Let’s see how Briella’s doing, okay? We can talk all this shit through tomorrow, please. And no, you do not speak for both of us. Yes, I want our Omega too. I’m sick of never knowing how long I can be invested in any relationship, never knowing when it’s time to start a family. But we trust Grayson, and we wait. Right? We can’t drag Willow down from Edinburgh against her will. Don’t you want her to be willing? And be able to give us her full attention?”

Enzo raises one thick, dark brow almost maniacally at our bassist, and after a stare-off in the middle of the dark corridor that lasts at least ten full seconds, Ronan’s shoulders droop, caving in to the Italian who’s at least four inches shorter than both of us.

“I think it’s all bullshit, and she’s never planned to join us. She’s just got you by the balls, Gray. We’ve only ever met her, what, fucking twice?”

Enzo nods, mouth a flat line.

“I think a family is out at this point. Let’s be real,” Ronan snaps.

Willow is the same age as me, thirty-seven, this May. Two days after my birthday, which, back when we first got together, we thought was some kind of sign.

The only kind of sign that matters, it turns out, is the one you feel throughout your core, your body, your every cell. The feelingyou each have when you’re seeing into one another’s souls. Like coming home.

The feeling I had when I looked into Briella’s eyes minutes ago.

I’ve promised my life and my pack to another woman. A woman who never goes into heat when I’m around. Only when I’m on tour. A woman I’ve told myself was the one since meeting in childhood. The woman I’ve lived with whenever I’m not on the road, whenever I’ve had a break from recording or touring, or my life down in England.

---