Page 5 of Knot Their Opening Act

I try to stay away from comments on social media as much as I can, but I know rumors have followed me these past three years. My hardcore fans have a fervent though fairly restrained hatred for Fable, knowing what they did to me. It was never publicly declared because I’d never even made the televised portion of the show. But somehow word got around to one fan, and then they all knew. Same with Fable’s fans. They didn’t make some grand announcement that they’d had a little indie singer-songwriter called Jesamine Jacobs booted fromTen to One. But somehow word got out, and some had even come searching for me on social media to leave snide comments like,Who did she think she was, trying this out in front of our boys?

Some of my fans argued back then that Fable had made me stronger by saying no, and forced me to write more material and get it out quickly, which they adore. But most people—including myself—don’t see it that way.

Viv looks irate, but she’s hiding it well. Which makes me feel worse. How can she sit there with a smile plastered on her lips, hands in her lap like this is all perfectly acceptable? I almost feel betrayed. But I shove this away—she had no idea it was Fable, and she’s due all the rest she can get. Still, I feel cornered like a rabid animal. Cornered, and trapped in a room getting smaller by the second.

And only two days ago I was warning Ash about my condition.

I drill my gaze into him, though I feel everyone else’s eyes stab me like a thousand swords.

“Thank you for seeing us today, Ms Jacobs, Ms Wyatt.” He nods to me and Viv. “May I introduce the members of?—”

“I know who they are,” I say carefully. My hands grip the armrests like I’m on a roller coaster about to go from zero to sixty.

I look at each of their faces. Holden Pearce, who emigrated to the UK from Australia a decade ago. Blond, tall even for an Alpha, athletic, a perma-smile on his tan face and blue eyes that look like sunny skies. He’s smiling at me even now, though God knows what he’s thinking.

Nico Fiore, the only one I’d met before the talent show. He started out in a band with Enzo Flynn before Enzo joined Arcadia Echo. I think they’re either cousins, or grew up together in Bologna. Not sure which. He’s not smiling, but his dark hair and green eyes look thoughtful, open to possibility. Or maybe he’s just daydreaming that he’s on a beach with a beer in his hand instead of in this office with me.

The thought of a beach makes me desperately want to open the window, but at least Viv made sure the door stayed open.

I wore a knee-length halter dress under a jean jacket, and ankle boots for the meeting, so pinching the top of the dress away from my skin isn’t the best look. I worm my arms out of the jacket and place it around the back of the chair for something to do as I gather a round of ammunition that I hope I don’t have to unleash from my mouth.

I look over to Thomas Ashcroft, the infamously Oxford-educated bassist, who is even more infamous for basically never speaking. On the set ofTen to One, where Fable on Fire were one of three sets of judges, Thomas didn’t say a word. Nodded, shook his head, that was it. It’s one thing to be quiet but something about his well-known and accepted silence really irks me. I know it’s the music industry, not the conversation industry, but it feels like it’s all a mask, a persona he’s chosen. Though, I suppose, everyone in any entertainment industry wears a mask of some kind. He’s not mute—he has been known to mumble. But it feels dishonest to me somehow.

Then, I turn to Kai Hartley, the heavily-tattooed, tousled-hair, Isle of Wight-born lead singer and guitarist. The outspoken one. The one who looked me in the eye and said I wasn’t strong enough to survive in this industry, then turned away and told the other judges they should know that I struggled with a health condition that meant it was better for me to not be forced into situations that might compromise my well-being.

And then slated my songwriting skills to boot.

I still don’t know which of those reasons hurt more. I also still don’t know how he learned a very private fact I worked hard to keep hidden. While the fans found out about my removal from the show, mercifully, the reason remained secret.

I didn’t show my face on any stage for almost nine months after. That’s how long it took to re-grow my courage from the wreckage.

Theonlything I came away from that time period feeling positive about was that at least Fable hadn’t spread the truth of my condition. They did enough to stall me out by crushing me with rejection. I guess they felt their work was done.

From across the room I can feel the tension in Viv’s body. And maybe it’s only for her that I say what I do.

“I would love this idea to work out. I’ve already agreed, fully aware that I wouldn’t know until today who the band was. Maybe that was so you could place me elsewhere if these guys refused. But since we’re all here, I can only accept that this is a professionally-approached business deal, and we’re all going to be adults.”

My voice is cold, but soft somehow. I look into Ash’s gaze and wonder if I see a struggle there. His jaw hardens and relaxes for a second, then he leans against the front of his desk, hands propping him up and legs crossed at the ankles.

“Indeed. You guys are all adults, and all professionals, and if I say I believe this will benefit both of you, I mean it. I’m not in the business of digging a grave for myself or my clients. I know you’ll have questions, and I want you to come straight to me first when they come up.”

Nobody nods, except Holden, who still looks a million miles away. The tension in the room is enough to make me feel like I’ll choke. But maybe I’m saved by the more intense sensation of wanting to tear into all of them and storm out and tell Ash to stick his deal up his arse and twirl on it.

But I love what I do. And I love Viv. And I can’t let us down, or disrespect all she’s done to get me here. That’s the bottom line.

“Is that clear?” Ash says, in a polite but firm tone. He looks at each of us in turn. Now we nod.

Slowly, Kai gets to his feet, and the oxygen in the room seems to disappear. He stands with his arms crossed.

How can this work? How can I survive four months with these guys, sharing a bus, sharing hotels, sharing cars? Sharing astage?

Wait. Icando this. I want this dream more than I hate them. That has to be true, and besides, we’ll never be on stage at the same time. We don’t have to socialize. Sure, we might have to hit some parties and press events simultaneously but we don’t have to be arm-in-arm. Just appear friendly.

I can act, can’t I? After all, every gig I’ve ever played, I’ve had to act like the press of the crowd below or before me doesn’t make me want to run to the sea and inhale.

I can do this.

I stand with the intention of holding out my hand toward Kai, but Holden leaps to his feet first and steps in front of him, extending his hand to me.

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