Page 21 of Knot Just A Fan

Enzo cuts him off, words spilling out. “Briella, we appreciate all you’ve done for Arcadia Echo over the years. The Guild did us a solid one by hooking you and Grayson up so we could benefit from all your amazing work.”

Ronan butts in. “But we’ve come to say it’s time we moved on. We’re no longer in need of your services. We’ll speak to the Guild tomorrow.”

What? What in the fuck did he just?—

“Excuseme?” says Cami.

“You can’t do that,” I whisper hoarsely. “What’s the reason?”

Enzo just shakes his head, lips flat again.

Ronan smiles even wider. “Our reasons are our own. Stay away from Grayson, Briella. If you try to contact him, email, text, slide into his DMs, so much as pass our house on the bus, we’ll contact the Guild and have you ousted.”

I yank backwards and Cami comes with me, as if I’ve been slapped. “I’m asking again—what’s the reason? What’ve I done but try to put you all in the best possible light?” Tears bloom on my eyelids and the heat swirling around me mostly floods my head, along with a pounding headache.

“You fucking dicks!” Cami shouts, but Enzo just shakes his head and turns to go back the way they came. Ronan doesn’t join him, just has his eyes locked on mine, unblinking, so Enzo turns and grabs his arm.

“Our reasons are private, but take yourself to the Guild and get a new assignment. That’s all we have to say. Unless you try to have anything further to do with Grayson. And then we’ll have more words with the Guild.”

Ronan smiles widely, a look of pure benevolence like he’s doing me a favor but all I can see in it is hatred. And for what? What have I done? What have they misunderstood? What action, what words, what photo?

Tears fall silently from my face, shock and the pre-heat symptoms rolling together like an avalanche designed to take me down. Cami’s all that’s holding me upright, and for once, she’s speechless. We both stand there staring at their backs, until finally she yells out, “You’re a cunt, Ronan!” and then hustles me down the path in the other direction.

My body is a volcano, even if my heart is shattered ice.

Cami pulls out her phone and hastily texts or scrolls or maybe looks up bus times, but all I can do is put one foot down after another.

I don’t care about another job. I know I can get those. I work for two other bands right now as it is. The Guild’s always been happy with my work, even if Nic seems to want rid of me as a mentee.

It’s the hole carved in my chest, the double-whammy: for the insecure girl I’ve always been, who’s always wanted to please others and win their approval—the type-A who worries more than anyone should about what others think—she’s crushed.

But the woman who feels like there’s a keyhole in her soul that only Grayson can fit—she’s frantic.

Gray, what did I do?

CHAPTER 10

Enzo

“Man,this feels incredibly shitty, like the most shittest pack of shit I’ve ever dealt. Can’t we just leave it at the threat and move on? I feel like my balls have been replaced by a pair of out-of-season grapes. The kind that make the worst Chardonnay you have ever had.”

I hear the whine in my own voice and I don’t care. Ronan snickers darkly and shakes his head. “Your accent makes that even more fucking ridiculous.”

I will stand up to him. I will talk to Grayson. But then—won’t that just undo our plan? If I tell him what’s happened?

We head back in the front door of the venue. The lights are still low and the party’s still running, even though it’s past 1 a.m. The ballroom is due to shut at 2, and only the most hardcore are still hanging on.

It’s my estimation that most people, unless they’re off their face, don’t enjoy being the last to go, so the people still hanging around are too far gone to recognize us. Not that we’d be swarmed. We’re not pop stars. Even if we make our living doing this. When it comes down to it, we’re three Alphas, in a band, with a tight core of fans.

That said, it’s still uncomfortable to have people get in your personal space as you’re trying to hold a serious conversation or sit and play a mind-clearing game on your phone in peace. Asking for a photo or an autograph is one thing, but trying to talk nerdy about the meaning of track 3 on your debut album and if it’s a lyrical pre-cursor to track 8 on your third album is when I get antsy.

Unless I bring it up.

And then there are the girls. Women. A range of ages. They think they’re living out some film or novel where we wield some kind of magical power that makes us more romantic, better lovers, or talk like poets when we’re sitting around clipping our toenails. None of that shit’s true. Not for us, and not for any of the musicians I’ve been around my entire life, not even the ones on big-time labels with Grammys on their mantels and everyone and their great-auntie Tilda as a fan.

Not one of them is any better than the guy stocking shelves down at Tesco. Some people are amazing lovers. Some people are more thoughtful, more romantic, more eloquent. Plucking some strings or hitting some drums does not correlate to any of that.

But people like a good drama, and that’s where this myth comes in. That’s what I figure, anyhow.

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