Page 3 of Wild Fixation
And meet a wall of shouting.
I freeze, blinking at the chaos before me. I can’t even see my car past the cluster of reporters screaming at me. Rather than get bored and wander away, they’ve multiplied into a thicker throng. Several shove small devices at my face. Recorders maybe? They’re all yelling at the same time, and several are taking photos. A few of the devices flash like some old-timey camera.
“When is the new album coming out?”
“What did you work on today?”
“Can you tell us anything about the rumors of a collaboration with The Ten Hours?”
“Keannen, is Tim with you?”
The words wash over me like a tidal wave, drowning me as I stand there gaping. At the mention of Tim, Keannen snarls, “None of your damn business.”
His voice snaps me from my stupor. Keannen has been the focus of a lot of this. The press got wind of his relationship with a rival drummer pretty quickly. It all went down during the tour. While we were busy opening for The Ten Hours, Keannen was evidently busy seducing their drummer, Tim. He hasn’t been shy about the relationship, but that has only made the press more nosy. It’s raised questions in people’s minds about how we got the chance to open for The Ten Hours, who are far more famous than us. Many have implied we secured that opportunity because of Keannen and Tim’s relationship, but that couldn’t be further from the truth. They hated each other at the start of the tour. More than once, I feared it would come to blows. Maybe it did and none of us ever knew, but now they’re mostly seen holding hands and going out together. I’m happy for Keannen, I really am, but his situation has only made the frenzy swirling around us worse.
Someone grabs the back of my shirt. I gasp, but realize it isn’t the press when the hand hauls me back into the hall. We throw the door shut, but the shouted questions pelt our exit.
Shawn releases me. “I don’t think we’re getting out that way.”
I put up my hands in defeat. “I can’t believe they’re still here.”
“They’ll sleep in that damn parking lot if they think we’re here,” Keannen says. He digs his phone out of his pocket. “Give me a minute. I’ll call Tim.”
He stalks away, phone already to his ear.
I deflate. I really didn’t want it to come to this. During the tour, The Ten Hours’ security team did double duty in order to protect both bands, but we were nobody back then. Everyone’s been saying we need our own security, yet I’ve resisted, insisting on keeping some shred of normalcy in my life.
“Seth can get here in ten minutes,” Keannen says.
My stomach flips, and not just because of the press. Seth, the head of security. A tree worth climbing if I’ve ever met one and the person who has insisted the most ardently on Baptism Emperor getting its own security team because of situations exactly like this. Now he has to come rescue me like I’m some sort of damsel in distress. What a way to get close to an attractive guy. Not that he’s into me. He looks like a linebacker, and he’s probably straight, but Keannen caught me checking him outone timeduring the tour and he’s never let me live it down. It’s a lost cause, but hey, a boy can dream.
Right now, I’m mostly dreaming of getting the hell out of here.
If I’m the damsel in distress, then maybe Seth can be my knight in shining armor.
Chapter Two
Seth
WHEN TIM APPROACHES, I know something isn’t right.
He’s grimacing and clutching his phone to his chest. I glance up from the job application I was reviewing as Tim leaves the practice room and his band and enters the tiny adjoining room where I’ve been sitting. Strictly speaking, I don’t need to be here, but it was the surest way I could think of of getting myself to review the stack of applications waiting for me.
I’m not as upset about the interruption as I should be. Reviewing applications for hours on end has left my eyes glassy and head fuzzy. Nearby, The Ten Hours have been working through some new music. Or so I presume. I don’t pay much attention to the fame and glamour portion of this. I’m just the security guy. Plus, the thick walls have insulated me from most of the sound they’re making in the other room.
“Hey,” Tim says, shifting from foot to foot. His smattering of freckles and hunched posture makes him seem younger than he actually is. We’re pretty close in age, being in our mid 20s, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at us. “So, Baptism Emperor is kind of having a situation.”
I heave a sigh. Baptism Emperor has become my unofficial responsibility ever since the tour that launched them into stardom. I took care of both bands during the tour, but it was easier when they all had to be in the same places at the same times. Now, the two bands have scattered to their respective studios and lives and homes in Seattle, and I’mtechnicallyonly working for The Ten Hours. I’ve told Emmett and Tim and Jacob and anyone who will listen that Baptism Emperor needs their own crew, but so far they haven’t listened to me. Baptism Emperor themselves have been particularly stubborn, insisting over and over that the buzz will die down any day now and they’ll go back to their regular lives. I don’t know how to break it to them that their regular lives don’t exist anymore. This is their lives now, the music and the fame and the press and everything that comes with that.
Their stubbornness hasn’t stopped me trying. Hence the stack of applications scattered around me as I slouch on a beat up couch. I figured that if Baptism Emperor wouldn’t set up a security team themselves, I’d do it for them. We could call it an expansion of The Ten Hours’ crew if we needed to, as long as it gets Jacob and the others some kind of protection. It’s a matter of time before a member of the press or a fan takes things too far, and someone gets hurt. The whole world wants a piece of these guys.
Especially…
An image of Baptism Emperor’s frontman flashes through my mind. I brush it aside like I’m swatting away a fly. It’s not like everyone can’t see that the wavy-haired, hazel-eyed, dimpled frontman is incredibly popular. Jacob is charming and fit, with warm brown skin and an even warmer smile. He could melt a glacier by smiling at it. It’s no wonder the press is all over him. That observation certainly isn’t unique to me.
Which is why he and his band need security. Their own security. Dedicated security. But I suppose it’s a bit late for that if Tim is coming to me looking like a startled cat.
“What’s going on?” I say.
