Page 77 of Knot Their Opening Act

“I managed to keep it together for the set. I think the momentum and adrenaline helped—but now I feel terrible.”

“You poor thing,” she leans in and gives me a tight hug. “I’ll get you back to the hotel.” She turns to Ferny. “Okay if I grab my stuff, and see if Shay and them want a ride back too?”

Ferny nods. “I’m going to have a word with Steve about tomorrow. Let’s get them all back to the hotel together, and you stay with Jez for a while. That all right, Jez?”

I nod, feeling for a split-second like I did when I was a kid, sick, my Mum taking over and doing everything, and me in auto-pilot. She was in control and knew how to make me better. Since those chicken-soup days, nothing has made much sense. Everything is up to me now. And I’m not the person to leave anything to.

But at least when it’s just you, you know who you can trust.

I know that thought isn’t fair. I can trust Viv with my life. Right now,herlife isn’t about her, though. And that is completely how life is supposed to go. When we mate and rear pups, they shoot up in the priority list.

Right now, what’s burning in my throat isn’t just this virus. It’s the uncontrollable sob waiting to come out, waiting until I’m fully alone. The trust I placed in Fable so quickly was even more swiftly broken. Used. Smashed to bits.

The only one of them whose mobile number I have is Kai. As Caylee steers me to the dressing room to grab my things, and gathers up my bandmates along the way, herding us to the bus, my thumbs stab out a message Kai won’t see for another two hours.

I should’ve known a leopard never changes his spots. This is what trust gets me.

* * *

Caylee fell asleep in my room before I did, but when I wake up at 3 a.m., I’m alone, one light on, and a basket of stuff from catering someone’s dropped off—another lemonade, a coconut water, a box of crackers, a pair of bananas, and a covered plate of cheese and meat, which turns my stomach. It’s the thought that counts though.

Someone’s also left a box of non-drowsy cold capsules. Probably all Caylee. I grab these and a banana, down the lot, and then lay back down with the covers up to my nose, staring at the ceiling. My throat feels raw and fiery still, but mostly swollen instead of painful. Pain killers are working but tonight’s gig in Bristol is going to be rough going.

I sigh and look at my phone. So many unread messages these days. I turned off all social notifications. After the second show, I knew it wasn’t worth my time. Right now, it’s all about time management, and mental health management.

I look at my personal text messages, and there’s only one I want to read.

We came to your dressing room but they said you’d gone. We thought you’d want to celebrate—your song was a hit.

I accept full responsibility, Jez. I wasn’t awake when you guys wrote it, and no one mentioned how much you’d actually written of it. To be honest, I don’t know if they remembered in the aftermath of last night. Everyone had been drinking, and it sounds like the song came together organically. Nico said the words were his, but he feels sure that the tune was mostly yours. And somehow, we just didn’t think how it would affect you.

We’re new to this. Not to playing alongside an Omega we care about. But playing alongside the Omega we want to make our lives with. Please let us make it up to you. We are terribly sorry for what happened. We were thoughtless.

I set my phone down and close my eyes, the pain and heaviness in my head demanding more sleep. Nice words, I suppose. But too much of it reminds me of Tristan—hurting me, then apologizing in retrospect. Only when I’d bring it up. But those hurts were within the confines of our relationship, sometimes a spat in a restaurant or coffee shop.

This—this was on a stage. The biggest stage I’ve ever played, in front ofLondon.In front of fans that were beginning to see me as belonging up there, not just being trotted out and given a golden ticket to ride along with the big boys. And the song that got the crowd off the most tonight for them sounds like it was the one I had a sizable hand in writing.

I can’t deal with this right now. Not with the messages I’ve had from Tristan, saying “I hope you’re fucking happy now, sucking the cocks of the arseholes who booted you from the show and are now making you into something you could’ve never been on your own.”

It’s only when I notice the top of my duvet is soaked that I realize tears are streaming from my eyes. I thought I’d earned this spot. And no Alpha is going to tell me otherwise.

Or really, they can try to. They can try to take it away. But I won’t stay quiet. I still have my songs that got me here in the first place, and will still tell the world what they’ve done through them. Even if no one else wants to sing along.

* * *

The fever and more dramatic symptoms of the cold have chilled out, and now I just feel run down, like a good three days in bed would set me right. Instead, I let Caylee drag me alone to lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant where I have a bowl of soup the size of my head, and then sleep all the hours I can before soundcheck.

Afterwards, I ignore more messages from Kai, and listen to Murray encourage me to talk to them because, “They’re so stunned by the idiotic move on their part.”

They’restunned?

It was only physical at first, with Thomas in the lift. But when he came back to my room, I felt like my heart came back online after years in a quiet, dark space. My songs reflect that space, and the initial indie-pop vibes I climbed onto the scene with have grown more reflective with each passing songwriting session.

Then came Holden, and his honesty. And Nico with his utmost care and vision.

Then Kai, the one I’d wanted to win over the most, the one whose voice and face and form filled my dreams before the dreaded disaster that wasTen to One. The one whose infectious energy, whose confident leadership skills and unapologetic artistry had lit my own flame.

It wasn’t just a second chance to impress them. That had never crossed my mind, even if it had lurked there. No, it was about being myself for them, not caring what they thought—and then them seeming to care more than I could’ve dreamt. I’d gotten sucked into that lie.

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