Chapter 23 Kellan
Kellan
I'm practicing and hitting all the right notes, my rhythm tight and clean.
The drums respond perfectly under my hands, each strike precise and controlled.
We're working through one of the new love songs, the one that's actually decent despite the sickeningly sweet lyrics.
Jordan's vocals soar over the instrumentation, Liam's guitar provides the melodic foundation, and I keep everything grounded with steady percussion.
Then Rex messes up again. The same fucking note in the same fucking place he's been getting wrong for weeks. His bass comes in too early, throwing off the entire rhythm section. Jordan stumbles over his lyrics trying to compensate, and Liam shoots Rex an irritated look.
Something inside me snaps. I drop my sticks with a clatter, the sound echoing through the practice space. Without a word, I walk out, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. The heat under my skin that's been simmering all day spikes higher, making my clothes feel restrictive and uncomfortable.
"Kellan, wait!" Liam's voice follows me into the hallway.
I keep walking, heading for the back exit where I can get some air and away from the suffocating practice room. But Liam catches up, his longer legs closing the distance easily. He corners me near the emergency exit, blocking my path with his body.
"If you're about to tell me that I'm having a bad attitude or I'm overreacting," I say, my voice low and dangerous, "I'm going to fucking riot. I will walk out of this building and not come back."
"No, actually." Liam holds up his hands in a placating gesture.
"You're valid in your anger because I thought it was just showmanship at first. Rex being Rex, playing it up for laughs.
But it's becoming a problem. He's the golden boy and all, but his constant mistakes are starting to make us look bad as a band. "
The acknowledgement surprises me. "Then why hasn't anyone said anything to him?"
"Because he's Rex." Liam shrugs. "Tom loves him, the label loves him, the fans love him. Calling him out feels like fighting a losing battle. But you're right to be frustrated. I'm more worried about you though."
"What about me?" I cross my arms, defensive.
Liam steps closer, lowering his voice. "First, you come in today smelling like Micah. Like completely saturated in his scent. So congratulations on loosening up a little bit and actually letting yourself have something good."
Heat floods my face but I don't respond.
"But second," Liam continues, his expression shifting to concern, "you're showing signs of rut. Pretty obvious ones, actually. You shouldn't be here. You should be home managing it properly."
I look down at myself, not seeing what he's talking about. "What are you talking about? I'm fine."
"Everyone learned about heats and ruts in high school, Kel." Liam's tone is gentle but firm. "This is basic biology."
I shrug, uncomfortable with the direction this conversation is heading. "I might have skipped those classes. Didn't seem relevant at the time."
Liam stares at me like I've grown a second head. "You skipped the classes about Alpha biology? When you're an Alpha?"
"Music theory seemed more important." I lean against the wall, the cool concrete helping ease some of the heat. "So educate me. What am I supposedly showing signs of?"
"Rut happens when you meet your mate and you stave off that physical connection too long," Liam explains, his voice taking on that patient teaching quality.
"It doesn't happen with every mate bond.
Some people can wait years before completing the bond without issue.
But really strong connections, instant recognition types, tend to throw one or more of the mates into a heat or rut if they try to resist too long. "
The words click into place with everything I've been experiencing. The increasing heat, the constant arousal, the desperate need to be near Micah. "How do you know I'm in one? I feel normal."
Liam snorts. "For one thing, your scent is really strong. Like overpowering. I could smell you before you even entered the practice room today. Second, you haven't stopped touching your cock. Every few minutes, you have to readjust yourself. It'd be more subtle if it wasn't so often."
I look down and realize he's right. My hand is currently resting near my belt, and I have been adjusting myself constantly all morning. The awareness makes it worse, makes me hyperconscious of the persistent arousal I've been trying to ignore.
"Go home," Liam says firmly. "Fuck your Beta properly and come back when the rut breaks. Usually takes a day or two of consistent attention. You're not doing anyone any good here, least of all yourself."
"It's not like that with us." I run a hand through my hair, trying to find the right words. "He had to help me yesterday when it got really bad. But we're figuring things out. The relationship is supposed to be fake but it's becoming real and we don't know what that means yet."
"Figure it out faster," Liam's voice drops, taking on an urgent quality.
"Because Tom is going to do whatever he needs to do to spin a narrative.
And the moment it stops working for him, the moment you or Micah become inconvenient to his plans, he's going to rip you two apart.
He'll make it impossible for you to see each other, impossible to maintain any kind of relationship. "
Something in his tone makes me pause. "Why does it sound like something happened to you before? Like you're speaking from experience?"
Liam sighs, dragging his hands through his hair in a gesture of frustration.
"Tom had a fit when me and Jordan became part of the same pack.
It didn't fit the story he wanted to build.
He wanted Jordan as the available pretty Alpha vocalist, and me as the mysterious guitarist with a revolving door of romantic interests.
Two bandmates in the same pack complicated that image. "
"That's what those late night meetings were about?" I remember Jordan and Liam disappearing for hours at a time about two years ago, coming back looking stressed and exhausted. "We thought you were having relationship problems."
"We were, but only because Tom was creating them.
" Liam's expression hardens. "He threatened to break up the band, to drop our contracts individually so we couldn't work together anymore.
Said if we wanted to stay employed, we needed to keep our pack bonds quiet and maintain separate public images.
We worked around it eventually, but there were a few tense months when it first all came together. "
"Jesus Christ." I lean my head back against the wall, staring at the ceiling. "Tom has some part of all of us in his little game, doesn't he?"
"Yours is probably louder than all of ours," Liam agrees. "And I have no idea what he has on Rex, but we're all treading lightly. One wrong move and he could destroy our careers, our relationships, everything we've built."
I sigh, the weight of it all pressing down on my chest. "Fuck."
"So go home," Liam repeats. "Take care of the rut properly. Fuck your Beta until you both can't move. Then come back tomorrow when you're thinking clearly and we'll figure out how to handle Tom's next move together."
"Why are you being nice to me?" The question comes out more vulnerable than I intend. "A week ago you were telling me to get my attitude under control."
"Maybe it's a shitty reason," Liam admits, "but I'm starting to see everything you screamed at us about.
They've all got an agenda. The label, Tom, the PR team.
We've lost some part of what our band used to be because we're just getting pushed around, told what to play and how to act and who we can love.
We've got a lot to think about regarding our contracts and our futures. "
"I wish you had figured this shit out months ago." But there's no real heat to the words. "Better now than never, I guess."
Liam clasps my shoulder briefly. "Go. I'll run interference with Tom, tell him you're sick or something. Take care of yourself and take care of Micah."
I head out to my car, the afternoon sun beating down on the parking lot. The heat from the rut makes everything feel more intense, colors brighter and sounds sharper. My skin prickles with sensitivity, every brush of fabric against my body sending sparks through my nervous system.
I'm about to pull out my phone to call Micah when Tom appears, seemingly out of nowhere. He blocks my car door, his expression calculating.
"Kellan! Perfect timing. We need to talk."
"Can it wait?" I don't have the patience for this right now. "I'm not feeling well and need to go home."
"This will only take a minute." Tom pulls out his tablet, already swiping through screens. "We're moving up the timeline for your relationship with Micah. We've reworded some of the songs and really feel like it's going to be better this way."
Dread pools in my stomach. "What are you talking about?"
"Some of the songs talk about heartbreak but also getting over heartbreak, moving on to better things.
" Tom's voice is matter-of-fact, like he's discussing weather instead of destroying my life.
"This new relationship of yours has to tank faster to fit the narrative.
I need a few good dates out of you, really sell the love story.
And the live video on your socials is going to be this evening.
Then next week, everything is going to explode.
Public breakup, maximum drama, perfect timing for the album release. "
"What the fuck?" My hands clench into fists. "That's not what we agreed to. The contract says three weeks, not one."
"Contract has flexible timelines based on promotional needs." Tom doesn't even look up from his tablet. "It's in the fine print. Don't worry about it. He's just a Beta. You'll be fine. And you can find a pretty little Omega after the album releases, settle down properly."
"This is bullshit and you know it." My voice rises, anger cutting through the rut-induced fog. "You're jerking him around. He agreed to three weeks, not one. He's got a life to go back to, plans to make. You can't just change the terms without his consent."
"He's still getting paid the same amount," Tom counters. "And you'll get your apartment back, your privacy restored. It's a win-win situation."
"It's manipulation and you fucking know it." But even as I say it, I know there's no use in fighting it. Tom holds all the cards. The contracts, the money, the power to make or break our careers. Fighting him head-on has never worked, will never work.
I grumble and then sigh, defeat settling into my bones. "Fine. When's the live video?"
"Seven pm. That gives you a few hours to prep." Tom finally looks up, his expression satisfied. "Make sure Micah knows to smile and be enthusiastic. We need this to look genuine."
Tom walks away, already on his phone making more calls and arrangements.
I climb into my car, hands shaking with anger and the rut making everything worse.
I need to get home to Micah immediately, need to warn him about what's coming.
Tom just cut our time together by two-thirds, compressed everything into a condensed timeline that doesn't give us any room to figure out what we actually want.