Page 17 of Discover Me
Jordan and Liam exchange a look, one of those silent pack conversations that excludes me. Then Jordan takes a deep breath and steps through the curtain onto the stage. The crowd erupts immediately, screams and cheers and wooo echoing through the venue. Jordan waves, his charm on full display, eating up the attention.
Liam follows a moment later, more cheers and screams following, people calling out his name. He grins and waves, comfortable in the spotlight in a way I've never been.
Rex goes next, and the crowd loses their minds. He strokes his guitar dramatically, playing a few teasing notes that hint at songs to come. The golden boy, the one everyone loves, the Alpha with the perfect pack life. He basks in the adoration, spinning in a circle with his arms raised.
Then it's my turn.
I take a deep breath, ignoring the way my chest protests. I walk through the curtain and make my way to the drum kit at the back of the stage. The lights are blinding after the dim backstage area, hot and white and overwhelming. The crowd roars, a wall of sound that hits me physically.
I sit down behind my kit, adjusting the height of my stool, checking that everything is positioned correctly. My hands move on autopilot, muscle memory taking over. Then I raise my sticks and hit the cymbal, a sharp crash that cuts through the noise.
More wooos, more screams, more people calling my name. "Kellan! We love you, Kellan! Marry me!" The voices blend together into a cacophony of worship and want. They don't know me. They don't want to know me. They just want the idea of me, the character Tom created, the bad boy drummer with the brooding face and the tattoos.
Jordan moves to the microphone, his voice carrying over the crowd, amplified by the sound system. "Welcome to Lunar Ransom!"
Micah
I drag my coat tighter around me, the warmth that comes with the movement doing little to settle my anxiety from sitting alone in this open venue, my mind spiraling in circles that lead nowhere good. The noise around me feels distant and muffled, people pushing past me to get to their seats, excited chatter filling the air, but I barely register any of it.
I'm not even sure why I came. Jamie couldn't make it, but some part of me needing to come anyway, so here I am, alone in a sea of screaming fans, clutching a ticket to see a band I barelyknew existed a month ago. The only reason I'm here is for a glimpse of a man I met in passing, held together by the memory of flowers that are slowly turning to dust on my kitchen table.
Every morning I wake up and see them there next to the stack of bills that keeps growing. Every morning I lean close and try to catch the faint scent of sweet rum that's almost gone now, faded to nearly nothing. I know it's pathetic. But they're all I have of that moment.
Because outside of that moment, everything has been hell. It’s been a month of never ending bills and a few days ago, the doctor prescribed a medicine that insurance wouldn't cover, something for the nerve damage in my neck. Fifteen hundred dollars out of pocket for a three-month supply. Money I don't have. Money I can't make while I'm stuck at home healing.
Two days after that particular piece of bad news, I found out that Derek and Colt were out on bail. Walking around free while I'm trapped in my house with bruised ribs and a useless arm. They frequent Riley's Bar, the place I used to go every Friday night to unwind.Myplace.Mysafe space. Now ruined because those two Alphas decided my rejection was worth violence.
I can't go back there now and I can't risk running into them while I'm still healing. So I've lost that too. Another piece of my normal life stripped away because of what they did.
And then last night, Jamie called to tell me he couldn't come to the concert. His mom got sick and needed him to drive her to the emergency room. Nothing serious, just precautionary, but it meant he couldn't make the three-hour drive to the venue. He offered to sell the tickets, or just get a refund, but I told him to let me have one of them.
I don't know how to feel about any of it. The world feels like it's slowly closing in, walls getting tighter with each passing day. The cast on my arm serves as a firm reminder every fucking day about what happened. I can't shower properly, can't dress myselfeasily, can't do half the things I used to take for granted. Every task takes twice as long and hurts twice as much.
I sigh and lean back a little in my seat, trying to get comfortable even though the venue chairs are hard plastic designed for maximum capacity rather than comfort. Two male Omegas sit on my right, already whooping and hollering even though the show hasn't started yet. They're dressed in band merchandise, faces painted with the Lunar Ransom logo, clearly superfans who've been following the band for years.
A girl on my left bounces in her seat, her energy infectious even though I can't match it. She keeps checking her phone, texting someone, probably posting on social media about being here. Everyone around me radiates excitement and anticipation. Everyone except me.
The lights dim and the crowd loses their mind. Screaming erupts from all directions, people jumping to their feet. I stand too because I can't see anything if I stay seated. My ribs protest the movement but I ignore them. I came here for a reason, even if that reason is stupid and impossible and will probably just make everything hurt worse.
The first band member steps onto the stage and the crowd somehow gets louder. He's smaller than I expected for an Alpha. He waves to the crowd, eating up the attention with a genuine smile.
"Yeah, Jordan!" the girl next to me screams, then says something incredibly crude about what she'd like to do to him. I tune her out, my attention already wandering.
Liam comes next, his guitar strapped across his chest. Then Rex, the golden boy, the Alpha stroking his guitar dramatically as the fans go wild.
My heart pounds in my chest as I wait for the one person I actually came here to see. The one person whose face hashaunted my dreams and whose scent I can't get out of my head no matter how hard I try.
Then Kellan steps onto the stage.
He looks worse than usual. That's my first thought. The photos online, the press conferences, the carefully curated social media posts all show a bad boy with a controlled edge that must have been curated because the man walking to the drum kit at the back of the stage looks like he's barely holding it together. The muscles in his jaw are pulled tight and every step he takes looks like he’s forcing himself through the motions.
He sits down behind his kit and I rub at my chest unconsciously. The pain that's been growing over the last few weeks flares more prominently, sharp enough to make me catch my breath. I've been ignoring it, attributing it to stress or anxiety or residual trauma from the fall. But right now, looking at Kellan under the stage lights, it pulses in time with my heartbeat.
Jamie was right.
I frown when I see Kellan make the same gesture, his hand pressing against his sternum before he picks up his drumsticks. The movement is brief, easily missed if you're not watching closely. But I caught it.
He raises his sticks and hits the cymbal, the crash cutting through the crowd noise. Everyone screams louder and Jordan steps up to the microphone, his voice carrying over the sound system. "Welcome to Lunar Ransom!"
