Page 53 of Knot Just A Fan

I nod. This is true. In that moment, something clicked over in me, hearing my name smeared across the crowd who was already disgruntled about the band’s stuttered performance. One loudmouth guy, trying to get under Grayson’s skin with my name, as if I’m just a bit of shrapnel and nothing more.

But I didn’t expect twenty-eight responses in twelve hours.

“So what’s the next step?” she says. “We’re here for three more days.”

“Three? I thought it wastwo.”

Cami booked the flights in and out of Nice, and said a “few” extra days would be a nice holiday and we both needed to get out of it for awhile. I didn’t pry into details.

My mind flips back to the message from Grayson that made me silence and turn my phone over last night. I didn’t tell Cami this. I didn’t read it.

He stood up for me, and even though their stilted performance and no encore was likely all due to Willow and the band’s growing tension, I can’t help but feel I am partly the cause. Willow will have seen the videos circulating of Grayson inviting me to the mic, moving in to kiss me, and me fainting.

Has she put two and two together? That I was in heat? I never would have. Hell, it was me and I didn’t know what was going on. But I’m not savvy on this stuff, and she sounds so much more worldly and experienced than I’ll ever be.

“Earth to Briella?” Cami’s standing beside her chair.

“Eh?”

“I said, do you want another coffee?”

“Oh, very much so, thank you.”

She heads off and I flick to Grayson’s message, then my heart falls. He invited me to meet him at a bakery two hours ago. I know they’re on their way to Nantes right now.

I tap out a quick reply.

I’m sorry I didn’t see this sooner. Some crazy stuff happened last night. I’m sorry I’m here and you didn’t know. I suppose Ash told you. I hoped seeing you all with her would help me. I’m sure he told you that, too. Gray, I’ve cared about you from the start. So I can’t really see what happens next. And Ronan hates me anyhow. Maybe even Enzo. Thank you for speaking out for me last night. I wish you all the best.

I hit send as Cami’s returning with two fresh lattés, and my heart does a frightening lurch. I mumble a thank you and realizewith new eyes, seeing that message labeled asReadwithin seconds, that it’s not what I truly want to say at all.

What I want to say is,I still want you as much as I ever did. And you don’t have a clue how much that is.

What would he have said to me if we’d met up?Sorry I nearly kissed you, don’t know what came over me?Willow’s finally come to be our Omega?Thanks for coming to one last Echo show, here’s some tour swag?

Whatcouldhe say? Even if he begged for my forgiveness on behalf of the band for the situation they put me in, could I really overlook it?

I wonder this until Cami and I finish our coffees, instantly regret them, and peruse some boutiques. After discussing how overpriced everything is but really meaning we love it all and can’t afford a damn thing, we pick up our luggage from our hotel reception and head to the train station. We look at maps and decide: Marseille for three nights, then a train back to Nice on the last day, spend the day sight-seeing here, then fly home.

In the meantime, Cami steps fully into this idea as my “agent,” and I’m grateful for her fiery personality in my corner, for the millionth time. I agree to everything she says about online interviews set up for London, Bristol, Devon, and two with Paris-based interest. My portfolio needs some work. Maybe all of this will take my mind off the burning in my chest that feels less like another pre-heat, and more like the agony of the if-only.

We’re pulling into Marseille, the majesty of the architecture against the bright-blue sky stunning my vision, as a text from Ash arrives.

Will these guys never just let me be? That’s my first thought. Quickly followed by a stupidly hopeful flutter of,Your apology from Ronan is on its way.

Instead, I read his words and cover my mouth. Cami catches this immediately as we stand to file off the train. She hitches her tote bag up and extends the handle of her suitcase. I clumsily pull mine down from the overhead compartment and join her.

“What’s up, Buttercup?” she asks.

As she step onto the platform, I read aloud his message.

I have a suggestion. This band is in shambles. We have two gigs and then the a few days off. I don’t know what your plans are, if you’re still even in France. Saturday we arrive in Barcelona. Guys have off. Ronan’s already talking about flying back to London for his brother’s wedding in Cornwall on Sunday. They don’t have another gig till Tuesday so he might, but I feel he’s doing it to make a point that Echo is in the shitter. I am trying everything I can to get them to be excited. They’re cooperating, and not at each other’s throats, but it feels even worse that they’re all quietly agreeing, submissively. You know this isn’t them.

Briella, they know they fucked up. And I understand if your answer is no, because you have every right. And every right to be pissed at me, as well. But here’s my idea. Grayson is DJing a gig on their night off, at a hotel beach party in Barcelona. No one outside us knows he does these. I can trust you to keep this info private: he’s been DJing on the side for fun for the past few years, anonymously. Goes by Kerosene Mixtape. He has a security outfit for these gigs so no one gets near him. He wants to enjoy this hobby without the media catching wind its him,so he wears these stupid sunglasses and hat and scarf and all this shit. Looks like a poncy twerp but he enjoys it, and usually seems more chill for having done it. He doesn’t want to feel he has to impress, but he’s getting a little name for himself so it’ll be hopping.

If you can make it, I can meet you and Cami in the hotel lobby. 7 p.m. I can get you to the security unit and they will let you into the booth. You could talk to him on your own, with a guarantee of no one interrupting. It’ll be loud as fuck. He is desperately sorry for how things have gone and told me he thinks he’ll never hear from you again. He told me you told him goodbye.

He’s not telling the guys this stuff. They’re like ships in the night right now. I know I’m begging on their behalf. But if you still care about him, about them, at all, I am begging you. Please come hear what he has to say.

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