Page 74 of Knot Their Opening Act

“Hey guys, what do you reckon, better if I play acoustic on this than electric?” I ask.

Thomas just bobs his head as he meanders around on a quietly insistent bass line. Holden keeps singing to give me a reference, so Nico’s the one that says, “Yeah, mate, that would suit. Jez was playing your part on acoustic in the first place and since that’s how it was born, I think maybe we ought to stay true to that vibe.”

We work on it another forty minutes or so. It’s pretty rough and raw, but maybe that’s the sort of change we need from our practiced-to-death, carved in concrete setlist with only one surprise song a night. We used to change up the setlist every night but found that more often than not, fans would get fucked off when they didn’t get to hear a favorite that we’d played the night before.Especiallywhen it’s two nights in the same city. Then they can get really pissy. Which, to be fair, I do understand.

As we sit down for a hydration break before running through it one more time, Holden parks beside me on a monitor. “How’re you feeling then? Sounding pretty healthy. You look better too.” He cracks a grin.

“I think she’s fucking magic,” I say, beaming back. “And you lot writing this, well, it’s a pretty genius little tune actually.”

“Could really appeal to the younger crowd, the newer fans. And might give the older ones a bit of a shock,” Holden notes.

“Yeah, I mean, it’s a bit of a deviation, but she’s injected fresh life into us. What can I say.”

Holden grins back at me and punches me in the shoulder. “About fucking time,” he says.

CHAPTER31

Nico

Jez’ssecond set goes off in London—the crowd’s eating it up just as they did the night before. I notice she turns away from the crowd and gulps down water after water, though. I think she’s gone through three bottles in the first three songs alone. Though probably she’ll sweat it all out. Despite this, she seems more comfortable with the crowd than she has so far.

Once she’s got two songs left in her set, I prop myself up in a corner of the backstage area, one leg out before me, the other knee bent, swigging a water with lemon, scrolling around on my phone. Kai admitted to the three of us during the practice earlier about Tristan’s message today.

Odd timing, but then, I guess not really if we’re playing in his and Jez’s hometown tomorrow. I hope she doesn’t have any negative feelings about how that show will go off, knowing he could well appear.

But security is here for a reason. And even though she has not officially agreed to be our Omega and join our pack, she’s said nearly as much to Kai—and maybe we ought to discuss that in detail before tomorrow. Just in case.

In case we need to protect her from the ex who’s done nothing, it sounds like, but fucking cause drama and stir shit inallour lives.

I start to get riled up, and begin an internet trawl for details of him. Tristan West, in Bristol.

A DJ—really? Now that’s interesting. He did tell Kai he’d be playing our tunes tonight. Fucker. Profiting off our work, and off our appearance in town tomorrow night.

How very fucking dare.

My fingers get more violent in the scrolling and flipping through screens, until I land on something that makes me stop and sit up, and nearly spill my goddamn lemon water all over my fucking khaki trousers.

Within minutes I’ve taken down the venue where he’s DJing, the time, and the venue phone number.

I don’t know what I plan to do with this info. Jez moves on to her last song and Steve comes by and taps me on the shoulder with a thumbs up, which I distractedly return. Enzo texts me to ask how we’re getting on, but I flick this message notification away because I’ve just landed on a three-year-old blog of Tristan’s that clearly hasn’t been used since then.

But, shame for him, he’s forgotten to take it down.

I skim the contents—a pitiful ramble, probably drunken, about how his DJing career had some momentum until his ex-girlfriend started to win bigger local gigs that he could’ve “done far better at“ with his sets. I can see the post has had a whoppingsevenviews, and no likes or comments. A real star in the making.

I mean, everyone has to start somewhere, but only the people who actually get somewhere.

With a twist of my wrist, I check the time before dialing the venue he’s DJing at tonight in so-called honor of us. It rings through.

“Hello, Nightshades, table reservations encouraged, how can I help?”

“Hi, can I speak to the manager on duty tonight?”

The sound of glasses being shuffled onto a counter fills my ear and I pull the phone away slightly. “Yeah, you got him, this is Teddy speaking, the owner.”

“Ah, great! Teddy, is it? This is Nico Fiore, guitarist for Fable on Fire. You might’ve heard of us. We’re playing the Air Dome in London tonight, with Jez Jacobs currently opening.”

I hold the phone out as she nails her high note of the evening.

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