Page 79 of Knot Their Opening Act

A big guy in the crowd off the right side of the catwalk is jeering at me. I can’t hear what he’s saying but he’s waving a hand around and then elbowing his buddies who all laugh. Other people are standing around looking confused, some still dancing since the band’s playing on. I walk toward downstage, not quite to the start of the catwalk, and kneel, my guitar on my lap.

I look out. This is what dying feels like.

The crowd I envisioned leaving my absolute best with. The people I grew up around. The world of social media watching this or who will watch this, whether they support or despise me or couldn’t care less. All of them are seeing my biggest failure—because of my own inability to prepare, to control myself the way I’ve tried to all these years, and to control my environment.

The sea of shifting bodies in the crowd starts to thin as some head off to the toilets and bars, but most are left exchanging looks, or covering their mouths, or—Jesus—filming me.

Tears burst out the corners of my eyes, and I point helplessly at my throat, then cup the front of it with my strumming hand to show them—show them I love them but I can’t get anything out.

And then the strangest thing happens. I’m just letting them watch me die rather than leaving the stage, and I don’t know why. But I accept it, and a smile breaks out on my face, as I raise my chin to the sky, beaming wide with tears leaking down the sides of my face. This is me, undisguised. They might as well see it.

Subtly, the vibe in the crowd shifts. Applause is breaking out in a wave across the audience, and then I sense someone at my side. I rise quickly to my feet as the voice hits my ears before my eyes fall on Holden Pearce, holding a mic and singing the words to my song.

My face clearly shows my surprise. The crowd picks it up right away and starts singing and clapping along as my band continue to play without missing a beat. I glance back and see Shay still singing into her mic, so the stage manager must’ve hooked Holden up with his own.

He’s turning to me and takes my hand as I look into those sky-blue eyes, crinkling at the sides, as he’s singing words I wrote when I was eighteen.

Every word he injects with the same inflection as me. He goes into falsetto at some points and I stand there as he swings my arm slightly back and forth. I move my mouth, miming the lyrics.

My heart beats faster as the crowd eats this up. And then two more guitars join in, and I turn to my other side. Kai and Nico are there with acoustics, not playing over my band but simply filling the song out. And Thomas comes up behind me with a guitar tech. They remove my guitar from my shoulder and neck and the tech hurries off with it, while Thomas takes my hand and hip, and leads me into a slow dance around the catwalk.

We’re not practiced by any means, but we glide along, him leading and keeping me upright, smiling at me. His dark eyes glitter and he mouths, “You’re beautiful,” as we slowly turn and move our hips in time to the song as it begins to crescendo.

We glide back toward the other Fable guys as Holden masterfully ends the song on its high note, and then its whispery finish, exactly as I would have.

He reallydoesknow my music note for note.

The crowd goes utterly mad. And as I stare out, wondering what happens now, Kai, Holden, Thomas, and Nico all take a step back and bow, then another step back so I’m left in front, looking out over my hometown crowd, unable to speak, my hands clutched at my heart.

And gratitude fills me, but I still don’t know Fable’s intentions. They got me through this penultimate song. I spin around to try to mime asking if they can do the next one or if my set just ends, then Holden hands his mic to Kai, who steps forward and grabs my hand, squeezing it twice.

But he doesn’t look out at the crowd. He turns that mossy gaze on me, his long lashes sweeping down as he lowers his frame. Before I know it, he’s down on one knee.

He keeps one of my hands and speaks into the mic, continuing to stare at me as the crowd continues howling and clapping for a minute.

“You’re one of us, Jez, whether you like it or not. You fall, we fall. We rise, you rise,” he says softly.

“Jez Jacobs, everyone.” He says, placing a kiss on my hand and the crowd loses its shit again. But still he doesn’t look outward. He looks only at me.

I can’t ever scrub it from my memory, because it’s a look of wanting to stay. Forever.

“I want the world to know that the new untitled song Fable on Fire played last night in London was our first collaboration with Jez, who wrote the music. We didn’t give her proper credit, and that’s not the first time.”

The breath rushes from my chest, but I do my best to focus on keeping a wide, easy smile on my lips, my brows raised and eyes hopefully reflecting the gratitude I feel. No doubt also the shock, and the still-trembling uncertainty.

But the truth is maybe that no one can keep everything in their control, no one can handle all the pressures all on their own—and to show this to another person, this most vulnerable of places—is maybe the only way forward.

“I have another confession to make—we all do.” He gestures to his bandmates who approach from both sides so we’re all standing in a line. “Three years ago, Jez was due to appear on that showTen to One.Some of you remember it, some might even know a bit more about what happened. Rumors fly.” He looks down at the floor, then out at the crowd for a moment before zeroing back in on me.

“Jez had every right to be on that show, but because of a personal issue Fable on Fire was experiencing at the time, we unfortunately made the call to keep the public from receiving her as they deserved to. We’d like to take this very belated opportunity to tell her we are beyond sorry. The years, the nights, the days of apologies in our minds and hearts that we never shared are yours now, Jez. And we want you to know we will do anything and everything it takes to make it up to you, every day from now until the end of time. You’re not our opening act, Jez. You’re the reason we’re a pack in the first place. Without you, there’d be no us. Please, forgive our actions, our inactions, and our inability to be what you needed from day one.”

He places another kiss on my hand, this time, his warm lips staying there, pressing into my skin as though trying to infuse me with the depth of agony I hear in his words. His soft dark hair, the small illustrative tattoos that line the side of his neck, his half-unbuttoned black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his signature neck tie, and those long, dark lashes—I want to devour all of him. To have him devour me, and take me to my tour bus nest where I can tell him all the things I’ve felt about Fable, even through the anger I allowed to take over.

“We rise, you rise,” he says again. “As for last night, we wanted it as a romantic surprise, to play your song, but it all went wrong when we didn’t let you in on the plan. We’ve learned, and we vow to put your value, your heart first every day for forever, if you’ll let us. We will never allow the light of your star to fall into shadows, Jez Jacobs. Only to shine on everything before you, just as fate intended.”

The crowd is euphoric at this point, as I pull Kai to his feet. He lowers his head and I place my forehead against his chest, and feel other hands rest on my shoulders and arms, and someone kiss the top of my head.

“Thank you,” I croak softly, my heart so full of such a foreign feeling. Relief, contentment, relaxed joy. Maybe a trace of hesitation in being able to fully trust any Alphas, but for the first time I believe these four are not my competition. That they, like me, prize telling the truth above all else, even if it costs more than we bargain for.

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