Page 26 of Knot Just A Fan

But she knows the truth. That if anyone on this planet is my scent-match, it’s Grayson. And it only stands to reason that it’s also Ronan and Enzo as well.

My hands and wrists are covered in slick as my brain completely shuts off the logical side that has all of our interactions stored in its memory. All I want now is to cum again, and again, and again, pretending my fingers are all three of them.

I’ve never been one for sex toys—that’s Cami’s department. But I know she left me a present on my bedside table. I drag myself over to it in a frenzy, and rip open the packaging of an outlandishly huge dildo, complete with an enormous knot at the base.

And I get to work, my mind full of nothing but pure and simple Omega urges—and one thought. One that takes shape over the course of the next three days.

I will be the siren you seem to think I am. I will be the muse you have to write about. I will make everyone pale in comparison until you want only me.

And then I will make you feel as humiliated and disposed of as I feel right now.

You will want me but you will never have me.

You had your chance, Grayson. Eight years of it. Now look what you’ve done.

CHAPTER 12

Grayson

The house has been uncharacteristicallysilent for over twenty-four hours. At any given time, Enzo is swearing and/or laughing at whatever video game he’s getting thrashed at in the living room, volume cranked.I like to feel the game surrounds me.And once he’s done, he usually goes right into his room and writes out the most mind-twisting melodies I’ve ever heard. It’s like his brain does double-duty when he’s playing his games and then it’s ready to dump it all out on a track.

And Ronan, he never stops practicing. In these new digs we have a small studio space at the back of the house which doubles as our rehearsal room. He’s taken to dicking around with delay peddles and coming up with new methods to jazz up our gigs. He leaves the majority of songwriting to Enzo and I, but Ronan’s time spent setting up loops and effects to add to our shows never goes unappreciated.

Right now, it’s silent. The kind that cushions the city in a snowfall. And actually, I really want the noise to fill me, to tell me everything it’s normal.

I stand on the doorstep, and while it’s cold enough to snow, the sky is just white with no promise that anything’s coming down soon. New year, day two.

Yesterday I slept until ten, went for a run which I do most mornings fairly religiously, then spent two hours at the kitchen table with my phone. Finger hovering oversendon a message to Briella.

What must she be thinking? That she collapsed because of the heat of the lights, tiredness, overwhelm, drink? That I was going to kiss her in front of the entire homecoming crowd just as our first European tour kicks off? Because thatiswhat I was going for, dammit. I wasn’t thinking. I wasn’t thinking at all, and now social media is no doubt swarming with fan questions and theories and musings on how our photographer ended up inches from my lips.

And so I wait for the call from Willow.

If I was a smoker, this would be my moment, standing out here in the cold, letting the smoke rise from my lips. I’m no tee-totaler like Enzo because man, do I love a good bottle of red or glass of whiskey. But drugs aren’t my thing. Though right now, I can see the appeal.

I don’t have it in me. That’s the truth. I’m too afraid to be out of control in that way. And yet, there I was, out of control on stage, essentially in front of the world. And Briella has no idea why.

I sigh, zip my coat shut, and start walking. It’s not the first time my finger has nearly pressedsendon a message to Briella Phillips. But I always felt doing so would breach that line. And if I upheld the line, I was fine.

Ronan has no wheels, but Enzo’s Vespa isn’t parked in its usual spot. But unless the entire road was up in flames, Enzo would never take a passenger. I can only hope they’ve gone out separately, and that I’m safe as can be.

I pull on a black knit hat and take a left out of our posh estate. Forty-five minutes later, I’m outside Briella and Cami’s flat. The one I’ve visited only once. Eight years ago, I walked home fromhere in the dark with a shit-eating grin I couldn’t erase. And then once three months ago, before we told the Guild we were back in the UK. Before Ash called her.

I wanted her to know from me.

But I walked to their door, then turned right around and walked back.

What would the world think if Arcadia Echo’s leader was revealed to be a coward?

As I approach the two-story mid-terrace house, my ears perk up, but it’s silent here. As if the world has taken the day off. The blinds are drawn on the upstairs windows, which are sure to be the bedrooms. Though I don’t know if Cami’s or Briella’s is in the front.

In the downstairs front bay window in their sitting room, where we played boardgames all those years ago, the blinds are pulled aside but it’s dark.

Either they’re still sleeping, at noon, or there’s no one home.

Still, I climb the steps to the door. I promised Cami I would take care of this, and when she called me yesterday and left a voicemail saying nothing more thanSpeak to your fucking mates and sort this out,I started to feel ill. I tried calling her but she never answered.

Somehow, telling Briella to her face what happened, why, and what needs to happen next seems best. Telling her how sorry I am, and that what I think of sometimes simply can’tbe—maybe that’s enough, to admit that I think of it? Because now I know for certain, from Cami, that Briella does, too.

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