Page 60 of Knot Their Opening Act

Not time to dwell, though. We hop into action and she provides wipes and towels. I sneak a peak of her bare ass as she pulls herself into clean panties and a skirt with built in shorts beneath. In a minute we’re both dressed and presentable, though she takes another minute to brush her hair and spray some product into it. It’s only soundcheck and then we’ll have time to eat and get ready for the show afterwards.

And maybe, talk more.

“Before we go,” I say, sitting on the chair at the small vanity tucked beside the bed. “Setting all heat-related stuff aside for a minute, we need a united front for the fans, the media, everyone. What if we put out a video with all five of us, solemn, and sober.”

She’s nodding, so I continue. “Something along the lines of, ‘You guys ought to know you can’t believe everything you see. That photo was not what it seemed, blah blah blah. The fan used it to spread misinformation, and while we’re thrilled to pose with you guys, the real ones know we don’t let stuff that looks this crazy get online, nor was this an actual pose. Use your rational minds and accept that what you see is not usually the full story. And frankly it’s not a story that it’s anyone else’s business to know, so it’s best to let it go.’” I pause, staring at her wide eyes as she’s nodding enthusiastically before I wrap it up.

“Then, ah, something like, ‘We kindly ask that this is what you do, and that you continue to join us on tour, have fun, be good to each other, and not assume where no facts support. We love you all.’ That kind of thing. What do you think?”

“My God, are you a professional speech writer in your spare time?” she gasps.

I laugh as I slide open the door and gesture for her to go first. “No, but I do write a good chunk of the lyrics, with Kai. Mine just aren’t emotionally very deep like yours and his. Wish they were. My style is a bit more bare-facts.”

She shakes her head like she’s in awe of this ability, but I don’t think she sees herself the same way. “Thank you for helping me feel like I’m going to survive this, somehow. But if you don’t mind—” She places a small, feather-light hand on my arm and I wonder how someone so seemingly delicate can play guitar so powerfully.

“I’ve always sensed something between you and Enzo. I love Arcadia. I’ve seen them twice and they’re incredible inspiration.” She pauses, looking down. “I know what it’s like to feel you missedyou. And while I don’t think I’m on some gold-paved road to superstardom, I am opening forfuckingFable on Fire, a bigger dream than I could ever imagine. So I think I can speak from my experience so far, anyhow, and sayyourroad isn’t his. And his isn’t yours. I don’t know how close you guys are, and I apologize if I’ve way overstepped polite observation. But I say it because, well, I’ve compared myself to you guys for so many years. And everyone inTen to One. And at the start of this tour I told myself that all the time I spent thinking those things, examining everyone’s every move online, wondering what they had that I didn’t, I could’ve written a hundred more songs that tookmesomewhere.”

I smile and a warmth floods my neck and cheeks and ears, a way I haven’t felt around anyone in so long. “Thank you, Jesamine. That’s all I can say in return. You’re very perceptive. And I suppose that’s how you create the kind of art you do.”

She runs her hand down the back of her neck and smiles. “After sound check, let’s talk to the guys. If they’re okay with presenting this message with me, I want to record it.”

“They’ll absolutely be. We’ll do it. Let’s get you on that stage.”

I pray to all the saints I’m right.

* * *

After the soundcheck, by a miracle of said saints, everyone agrees. Because it’s beginning to feel at last like we’ve all subconsciously come to the conclusion that what’s good for Jez is good for us. And I don’t mean that in a selfish,what’s in it for usway. But that we’re only going to be really happy when she is. And that’s one more way to know she’s our Omega.

We record the video in Jez’s band’s green room, and the video goes live ten minutes before she’ll hit the stage. So the crowd has time to watch it tonight, if they’re still digging for info on that fucking photo.

I see her face, and the Jez who I knew from three years ago. Two different people. Before, she was sort of known for doing everything she could to grasp control. After our interaction on the bus, I feel like she’s finding her feet on her own. She seems lighter.

Maybe it was the video. I don’t fancy my chances that it was me giving her a quickie that did it. But as she stands tall in the wings, guitar around her shoulder, waiting for her moment to go on, the pain and fear flashes there that I remember from the moment we told her she was off the talent show.

I want to take it all away, once and for all, for good. So all she knows in its place is security, self-worth, and the confidence she deserves to have at all times, no matter what any audience member or fan or journalist says.

We’ve been working apart for too long. We need to work together. Be on the same page. And the messiness that’s unfolded so far proves that we could be greater as a whole. We just all carry a fear we haven’t figured out how to tame yet.

CHAPTER27

Jez

My setof the Leeds show is almost over, and it’s gone so well with my heat calmed and settled by Nico earlier on the bus. I’m about to launch into my penultimate tune when the applause from the last one roars into a crowd rush toward the stage.

I’m on the edge of the catwalk. I have plenty of space. I am fine. No one’s climbing up here. Security is alert.

But I know by now that claustrophobia isn’t rational. The fear’s bigger than any actual, and it’s not just about being uncomfortable with tight spaces. It’s a fear of how I’ll be if something goes wrong.

I watch the press of the crowd suddenly overwhelm the two security guards directly below me, and that’s when my heel catches on the stage light. I crumple to my knee—nowhere close, really, to toppling into the crowd.

But that doesn’t matter.

My anxiety rushes over me like a tidal wave. Alarm bells sound in my head and my face feels hot and detached from my body. I fall on my backside, my acoustic guitar around me still. I’m grateful I didn’t damage it, but I sit there in shock until Shay runs out with a bottle of water.

She turns to Murray and makes a show of clapping her hands over her head to the beat of his drums, leading into the song I was about to start. She’s pulled me to my feet but the shivers going down my spine and the restrictive tightness in my chest makes it hard to breathe as I walk back toward the mic. Once I’m behind it, I can see the security guards have received reinforcements and peace has been restored.

But in that moment, what happened?

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