Page 47 of Knot Their Opening Act

“Jez, oh shit, I’ve gotta go. Let me—let me get some rest and I’ll check back in later, okay? Let me know when you get to the Leeds venue. We can talk more privately then I assume. I still plan to see you tomorrow night if all else fails, so we can talk then, too! But that’s why I gotta rest now. Doctor’s orders.”

“And pack’s orders,” I hear one of her guys say in the background.

“Of course, Viv. Get some sleep. Love you lots.”

She hangs up abruptly and I don’t let it get to me. She’s probably puking again and wants to spare me an encore.

The back of the bus is much smoother than I expected, and the ride down to Leeds is about four hours. We’re fifty minutes in, and I’ve been back here the whole time. After nodding to the guys who all said hello, except Kai, and Caylee leading me to my tiny bedroom to “debrief” me, I’ve sat alone and tried to stay that way.

Once on our own, Caylee promised she’d talk to Ash about the journalists and gather any advice he might have.Should I speak to them or not, that’s the question, I’d said. I was grateful for her for steering me through it and speaking on my behalf, but is this what it’ll be like from now on? I don’t mind answering questions and would love to sign autographs or pose for photos (maybe not without makeup and hair done). But having to answer for someone else’s lie is not on my wishlist for this tour.

Though that’s what being in a spotlight of any kind is about, isn’t it?

I pick at my nail polish then force myself to stop. I’ve got a manicure set I could dig out but my brain just wants to find the perfect words for Kai when I inevitably have to leave this space and interact.

I push this aside and record the video that Viv was right to insist upon. I set up my ring light, apply some normal day makeup, and straighten and style my blue waves. I don’t bother changing out of the custom tee I threw on this morning. The video’s about the message and certainly shouldn’t look like I tried too hard.

I check the tags that Viv tends to use when she uploads for me—I absolutely can do this stuff on my own but she’s the one who always remembers every useful trick. I write a little short note for the description, and hit post. Then I send Viv a quick message.

No need to call, just wanted to let you know I’ve done it. I’m sure you’ll see. I don’t want to wait around to read comments right now. Might try to get more sleep, three hours til Leeds.

I bite my lip then add:I hope we can talk more soon. I’ve got a serious issue on my hands, and it’s not just about being in heat.

She writes back almost immediately.

Great work, Jez. You’re being the bigger person here. He has no idea how deep a grave he’s digging for himself. I was on socials earlier. Believe it or not, your fans actually do overlap. More than I would’ve guessed, but certainly more than Kai can possibly imagine. And yes, we will talk as soon as I can reliably do so without interrupting every few minutes to barf.

Well,I reply, somehow that makes sense that we’d share fans. Fable was my favorite band back in the day. And I’m me.

LOL. Good point. Don’t look at comments. I’ll check in and let you know if there’s anything worth knowing. Sorry I had to go so quickly. Hyperemesis is the shittiest. I’m basically sick all night, and daytime isn’t much better. Apparently hormone levels with Omegas though can make it more intermittent, so I can have really great, normal days, and then several in a row that are sent straight from hell.

Get rest, I write back.And don’t you go hanging around on my post either. What will be will be, and tonight he has a chance to either just shut up and play his set, or keep shitting where he’s walking.

Haha. Nicely put. Good luck tonight, babes.

I hear the Fable guys in the common area joking and laughing, and someone’s got the TV on, playing some familiar tune I can’t place but start humming along to as I dig out my manicure set.

A half hour and a podcast later, I’ve finished my nails and I check my video post. Just a wee little check, nothing to obsess over, right?

It’s getting shares. An absolute ton of them. The general talk is that the truth that goes on behind the scenes is never truly seen by the crowd. Some say drama is impossible to avoid this early in the tour, others say it won’t end well with our history. And some think I’m hiding a torrid love affair.

Thankfully, those voices are the minority.

Someone’s even taken the tail end of the talk—the bit that came off-the-cuff from my head, not Viv’s—and stitched it into their videos. One is over a video of a girl walking her dog by the seaside, Cornwall, I think.

It’s kind of really lovely.

This tour, it’s just about the music. Nothing else is needed, and nothing else matters. We come out to take you away and make you dance and sway and sing and jump and feel and make memories. That’s what matters. If that’s why you’re joining us, we’re so happy to have you. If, however, you’re looking for something to play detective with online, trust me, the news stories of the world—the battles we need to face on so many fronts for a more united society and humanity against the problems that plague us from small to global—those are the more worthwhile stories to engage in and exchange ideas on. Together. Not for the sake of divisiveness. And not for that short-lived dopamine hit you get from pointing out someone else’s flaws or vulnerable spots.

That’s not the point of my music, and as a long-time Fable on fire fan, I can say that’s never how I’ve seen theirs, either. I wouldn’t be on this tour if I believed otherwise.

I pace the small space with my own words echoing in my head. Anger is what got me here, but I don’t want to cling to it anymore. I just don’t know how to take a next step. Thomas and Holden are so lovely, so fucking hot, so gorgeously attentive and kind while also being horny as hell. I need to be able to see them as separate to what happened and how I internalized it all. Because the truth is, I don’t know the whole truth either.

Still, no matter how blissful the release Thomas and Holden generously gave me, they’re still going to work each day with the Alpha who—let’s be real—broke my heart.

I’ve heard humming is a known nerve-calmer, so as the rolling hills fly past the bus window, I continue to hum the familiar tune coming from outside my door.

I should go out there, have a seat, have a drink. Join in a conversation. They couldn’t stop me. Maybe it would be the broken ice we need—all of us stuck on a bus together. Two of them having brought me to heat-relieving orgasms. And secrets between us that need to be freed.

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