Page 76 of Knot Their Opening Act

And she was clearly defensive enough of it to believe that our tastes in music—and some kind of disdain for her chosen style—was why she’d been disqualified. Because she wasn’t on trend enough to fit in.

But that hadn’t been the reason at all, and while it turns out it was our fault—all of ours, because we didn’t question the source of intel about her condition—she had already been sensitive to any potential criticism of her style. Maybe that defensiveness had fed into her independence, and her unwavering, go-getting focus.

Either way, somehow, it made her feel like our destiny. Because despite what had happened there, she still came back into our lives. Maybe Ash was our matchmaker; maybe he’d believed we were meant to be together. Maybe he has a sixth sense, after watching Arcadia Echo and Briella Phillips come together. Maybe he had the magical ability to scentothers’matches.

I’m going to choose to believe this fairytale. But no matter how it came to be, I am grateful she stepped into our life then, even if we fucked it up. But now, a growing fear inside me says we might’ve fucked it up worse, this time.

I think we all feel it. But no one wants to admit that we went so quickly from her fitting right in like she’d always been there with us, to making the biggest mistake of our lives, never mind our career.

No, performing the song we co-wrote tonight was good for our career. That much is clear.

But for our lives?

Disaster.

CHAPTER32

Jez

Tonight should have beenone of the happiest of my life. The band was marvelous—they each gave every moment of our set all that they have, loving every minute, shouting with rapturous glee as the applause rolled over us like a summer heatwave. The crowd sang along so loudly onFace Itthat I couldn’t even hear Shayla and Murray in my monitor. It blew me away.

But I pictured us all celebrating afterwards—Viv, me, and Fable. Cheering on the success this tour is becoming instead of utter disaster I’d imagined when I realized I was in heat around my mortal enemies.

And in such a quick succession of days, they showed a side I didn’t believe could exist. And maybe I did, too.

And now, it’s all gone to shit.

Viv was meant to come see me backstage beforehand, but due to her increasingly fragile condition, she’d messaged to say she would have her first peek of me from the VIP section on the floor, then come back to see me right after. But our time was so short, and her pack of guys were insistent she not hang around, so all told we got about twenty minutes together in my dressing room, and then she was gone.

I don’t know what I expected. Even once she joined her pack, she still had all the time in the world with me. I was her main client, and her best friend, and her Alphas have never been restrictive or demanding of her time.

They understand her career goals, and her friendship with me. It’s since she fell pregnant that I’ve seen her less and less—and of course I don’t begrudge her a second of rest time, of support from her pack. It’s been a tough pregnancy since the start. But it’s not as much about the lack of physical Viv time as it is the mental. We were two peas in a pod, connected at the hip. I guess this is growing up. Growing apart.

Losing each other, and in the process, losing ourselves. And right now, I have to admit, the people I’m closest to aren’t even my band, but the Alphas of Fable on Fire. And I’d never have dreamed it so, before last week.

All of this, though, is still manageable. It’s what Fable did tonight on stage that’s shattered me.

They played the song we wrote together—the song I mostly wrote, the melody I constructed in their hotel suitelast fucking night.They didn’t tell me in advance. Of course I’d have said yes. But they played it and didn’t even mention my name.

I’m beginning to think that when I don’t expect much, I get much more. And when I expect too much, my heart feels shot through with cracks.

Viv has gone and I’m left to my own devices backstage, listening to Fable perform from the shadows of the wings, over the silhouettes of Ash, Steve, Murray, and Ry. Not sure where the others are. Right now, even Viv wouldn’t be able to make me feel good about this. About myself.

It’s like Tristan pulling the floor out from under me. It’s like Kai Hartley looking me in the eye, a stranger I’ve loved through their albums and concerts for years, telling me I’m off the series before it’s started.

I wander backstage after they’ve moved on to the next song, meandering uselessly, feeling dizzy and no longer able to deny that while my heat seems to be settling with the new suppressants, I’ve caught the absolutely miserable cold virus going around. It feels like spikes on fire are being driven into my throat, and my temples are throbbing like a fever is on its way. I need my bed.

“Ferny, thank God,” I croak, when I run into my manager and Caylee in catering. “I need to get to the hotel.”

Ferny turns to me and Caylee puts a hand on my forehead. “God, you’re burning up. Here.” She pulls her shoulder bag off and digs out a bottle of pain relievers. She uncaps the bottle and places two in my hand. Ferny hands me an ice-cold bottle of lemonade.

I take the nearest seat and down the pain relievers, then take a sip of lemonade.

“You were on fire out there tonight, Jez. We’re all really proud of you,” says Ferny, which is the most I’ve heard him compliment me after a set so far. Caylee frowns, one hand on her hip.

“I thought you were with Viv and her pack? I was coming to check on you in about a half hour but they’ve gone so soon?”

I nod, unable to move my head too much. Right now, everything is starting to hurt.

---