Page 11 of Knot Their Opening Act

I’ve arrived at the rehearsal space one last time before we leave, and I’m an hour early. I misread my clock when I got up, too much on my mind and no Viv there anymore to set me straight. But alone in the studio isn’t a bad thing.

I set down my bagel and coffee on the music stand and sit on an amp, replacing a guitar string on my practice acoustic. I’ve always found replacing strings a soothing activity, but I’m halfway done when a door slams down the hall and male voices follow.

At first it sounds like my band but after a few seconds I don’t hear any of their voices. Instead, I hear an Australian accent and an Oxfordshire one.

Holden. AndThomas. He actually speaks.

“Nah, he’ll cool down once we get moving,” Holden says from the corridor. “He needs the stage lights and crowds and all that, and it’s like flipping that switch. You remember what it was like touring after Nyah.”

“I know,” Thomas replies. “I just hate seeing him so worked up. Puts my nerves on edge he’ll do something crazy. We can’t afford any more setbacks.”

“We can’t. But she’s cool as hell, isn’t she? I mean, she’s a badass, andshe’sgot to put up withusfor four months. You’d think he’d have sympathy for that instead of worrying about himself,” says Holden.

I freeze. Why the hell are they here? What are theysaying? We’re supposed to have completely separate rehearsal times, and it’s only about fifty minutes until my slot.

Unless—shit. I grab my phone from the music stand and scroll back to the schedule Ash emailed.

Final day of rehearsals:

11:00 Fable

4:00 Jez

I’m not supposed to be here. How professional willthatlook?

I shove my guitar into its case and stuff my bagel into a jacket pocket, then slosh my iced coffee over to the door just as Holden and Thomas round the corner. Holden is turned toward Thomas as he steps into the room and slams into me. Iced coffee flies everywhere.

“Fuck!” he squawks. Thomas rushes back down the corridor as though he’s seen a ghost.

Great.

Seconds later, however, Thomas returns with a wad of kitchen roll and starts mopping the floor and my guitar case, which I’ve set down. Meanwhile, I’m wiping my phone on my jacket sleeve and trying desperately to avoid eye contact. But Holden’s standing there holding his left shoulder—the part of him that bashed into me. He’s wearing a t-shirt so his arm’s exposed but it’d be a real miracle if little old me injured a man built like a brick wall.

“I’m so sorry,” I exclaim. “I was just grabbing my guitar. I’d left it last night and—ah—wanted to practice with it at home before coming in this evening.”

Thomas finishes chasing an ice cube around the floor and holds his hand out to me. I stare at it for a second then slide mine into his to shake it. A small smile creeps into his face, then his eyes crinkle as he laughs. It’s a melodious sound, and I find myself staring.

“I wanted your cup so I could throw it in the bin,” he says with a grin.

“Oh!” I say. I hand him the cup. “Thank you.”Oh my God, kill me.

Holden’s still holding his arm, and is as silent as I always believed Thomas to be. He stares at the two of us holding hands. Realizing I haven’t released it, I jerk mine away and stuff it in my jacket pocket, right between the cream-cheese covered halves of my warm bagel.

“Have a good rehearsal,” I say, bobbing my head in farewell. Then I shoulder my guitar case and whiz round the corner and out onto the street, where I stop, lean over, and breathe.

It’s a breezy morning, cloudy but warm. For a moment I forget where I am—Reading, not Bristol, where my flat is. I’m staying in a self-catered flat Ash has provided for me.

That’s right. Yes. Walk to my flat. Forget this happened. Forget Holden’s horrified muteness, or Thomas’s musical voice and—dare I think it—good-natured humor. And beautiful smile.

I pull my hand from my pocket. Cream cheese is smeared everywhere. Between my rings, under my fingernails, across my palm. Why was my instinct to hide? To lie? I should’ve automatically strode on past and not even looked.

Hearing them when they didn’t know I could triggered something. I just don’t know what yet.

Kai.I start walking and focus on Kai, and his infamous stage antics. I’m sure he’ll find some way to embarrass me at shows. My blood starts boiling as my feet pound the pavement toward the carpark.Yes, focus on that. Stoke that fire.

Maybe if I can keep it up, I’ll stop remembering how much his words nearly killed my dream. Maybe the only thing I can do is ramp up my show, my vibe, my whisperiness, the sequins, the folky-country vibe. Turn it all to eleven. His dismissal of me, of my ability to make it in this industry, will continue to push me, one day at a time.

I’ve come this far. I refuse to shrink for them now.

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