Page 13 of Knot Just A Fan

Confusion clouds me. The crowd is screaming harder. They’ve seen me, of course, but they’re jumping and the entire venue is full of laughter and screams and joy. No one seems upset by my presence. I walk over to Grayson and as the chorus drops out and he strums his way up to the bridge, he lets one note sustain, covers the mic, then leans over to me.

“Don’t go anywhere.”

I feel like an idiot, just standing up next to Arcadia Echo’s lead singer while they’re performing what’s sure to be a fan favorite for the first time. So I return to shooting him from close up, then kneeling down, taking crowd shots. That’s when I see Cami smack in front of me, jumping and reaching up to me. I lean down and twine my fingers with hers and shout through the crowd noise, “I have no idea what I’m doing!”

Through the din she must hear my note of panic, because she laughs and shouts back, “I think he wants someone to kiss at midnight!”

She pulls back a bit as the final chorus crashes to a halt, so I stand back up and return to shooting Ronan and Enzo. Both keep playing but start to tone it down gradually as Grayson slings his guitar behind his back and grabs the mic with both hands.

“And here we go, fine people. Let’s take it into the New Year! In ten—nine—eight—seven—six?—”

Grayson’s looking at me over the mic, one hand reaching out, so I have no choice but to lower my camera and walk toward him, eyes glued to his.

I start to feel like something’s lodged in my chest—something heavy, and very hot. My body moves toward Gray’s until he’s inches away.

“Five—four—three—two—one?—”

As the crowd screams, “HAPPY NEW YEAR!” and a few thousand noise makers go off, along with other various sounds of indeterminate origin, lights flashing, confetti dumping from the ceiling where it was just drifting down before, Grayson reaches for both of my hands, takes them in his, and pulls me into a tight hug.

“Happy New Year, rock star,” he whispers into my ear. He used to call me that but I haven’t heard it since he returned. His breath warms my skin, his arms feel like solid life around me, and our bodies melt into one.

Mine feels like lava, and as he pulls gently back to look back into my eyes, and there’s a fire in his. His unblinking gaze falls to my lips, and from somewhere, maybe a million miles away, I hear a crowd of people gasp and yell and applaud and scream. He leans into my ear again, making sure I can hear over the noise.

“You look more breathtaking than ever, Phillips.”

And as he pulls away, my chest hollows. And his expression changes, as if he’s seen the dead come to life. His nostrils flare slightly as if he’s inhaling me.

A new smile lights up his face like he’s just won the lottery. When his mouth seems to draw hungrily toward mine, my body collapses onto the stage like a sack of bricks, and all fades to black.

CHAPTER 5

Grayson

After all this time,I nearly kissed her. And she fainted.

I reach down and grab her under the arms, pulling her upward toward me, but shock blurs my awareness. I don’t think Enzo’s noticed, but Ronan has. He’s shouting something but I can’t hear him because he’s stepped away from his mic.

They’re both going to kill me when they find out what I’ve just discovered. When I tell them that Briella Phillips is my scent-matched Omega.OurOmega.

Ash appears running onto the stage along with two stage crew workers. And a woman—God, is that Cami? God, I haven’t seen her in ages. She’s climbing onto the stage, waving the VIP pass hanging around her neck. Between the three of them, they carry Briella off-stage.

I whirl around and unplug my guitar and move to follow.Please be okay. Please.I don’t even care what this looks like on social media. I just want her to be fine. But Ash turns around and yells, “Don’t stop, you muppet! We’ve got her, it’s okay!”

So I plug back in and return to the mic. Most of the crowd seems disinterested as they’re throwing back drinks and kissing and dancing and shouting, but a portion of them are watching and wondering why I was about to kiss the photographer.

I wish I’d said more to her before this. When we returned to UK soil, she and Ash and I had coffee, where she caught us up on all she’s been doing. But she spent more time askingusquestions—about our travels, and how my family was that she’d never met, bless her—my elderly mum and ill dad. She remembered all the details I’d shared back way back when.

She never asked why I didn’t reply to her. And I didn’t have the guts to say. Least of all in Ash’s presence. I’d wanted a moment alone with her to speak more candidly. But somehow or other, it hasn’t happened yet.

I didn’t want to tell her about Willow. Because either she already knew, and it would only make things more awkward or she didn’t know, and I’d have to explain where my pack’s heart was buried: outside the door of an Omega who isn’t our scent-match. The woman I lived with for years, and loved, for years.

But, it turns out, you can love someone who isn’t your match. And the longer you do, the harder it is to turn away—for you, for them, and certainly, for the rest of your pack who believes you’ve spent years knowing who their Omega is and just waiting for the stars to align so we could all be together.

That lie has been eating me up. And there are only a few bites left.

We dive into the next song on the setlist, a second new tune, but Ronan’s shouting obscenities at me, his Dublin accent growing thicker and more pronounced with eachYou fuckin’ bastardhe doles out. I swear to God, the audience thinks that’s part of the lyrics.

Rivulets of sweat cover my temples and jaw, soaking the collar of my shirt, which I’ve already unbuttoned half way. In fact, I yanked the top one out so violently that I’m pretty sure it bounced down off the stage and some girl scrabbled around to find it on the floor. Fuck’s sake.

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