Oli
PACK EM UP GOSSIP COLUMN
WERE MAY THORNTON AND THE ALPHAS OF THE EDGE INVOLVED BEFORE HER DEPARTURE FROM THE BAND?
June 17th
T he bristles of the makeup brush sweep gently against my cheek, a soft caress that sends a ripple of anticipation through me. I’m perched on the edge of the makeup chair before our second show in Orlando.
The air around me is thick with the odor of hairspray and the buzz of backstage energy.
The stylist works her magic, transforming my long, rose-gold hair into waves that cascade down my back like a shimmering waterfall. I catch my reflection in the mirror, and the bangs perfectly frame my green eyes, which are already singing with the thrill of what’s to come.
“,” Miranda calls out.
I turn, and there she stands, clutching a stack of papers. Her brows are knit together, lips pressed in a thin line that spells concern. Miranda is all business—her fingers tap-tap-tapping against the papers.
“Hey, Miranda,” I greet her with my usual spunk, but she’s not biting today. Something’s up, and by the look on her face, it’s nothing to do with the setlist or the lighting cues. My heart skips a beat, wondering what could have thrown a wrench into things. “What’s wrong now?”
Miranda steps closer, urgency emanating from her. “I just found the paperwork about the schedule.” She lowers her voice. “The music festival Trevor scheduled overlaps with when your heat is supposed to start.”
Oh, that .
“It will be fine,” I say, trying to catch my reflection’s eye in the mirror as the stylist adds a final dash of shimmer to my cheekbones. The sparkle almost masks the concern brewing in my gut.
“It’ll start right after the show. I might have to deal with some pre-heat symptoms. We can make it work,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
Miranda doesn’t smile at my attempt to lighten the mood. Instead, she places a steadying hand on my knee, grounding me back to reality.
“.” Miranda leans in, her gaze insistent, locking onto mine. “We can’t just brush this off. This could be serious. You know as well as I do that if your heat starts and we’re not prepared, it won’t be pretty.”
The knot in my stomach pulls tighter, the anxiety no longer just a tiny twist.
“What is there to do but hope?” I whisper.
“We might need to consider canceling the festival show.”
The words hit like a splash of cold water, jolting me upright. “Cancel?” My voice spikes an octave, the word tasting sour on my tongue. “No way, Miranda. That’s not an option.”
This extra show was important to Dax, and now that we’re finally building our relationship, I don’t want to mess that up. I remember when he came to me and asked if I would go somewhere with him in Miami. It was important. I can feel it.
Her gaze softens, motherly concern etched into every line of her face. “I know how much this means to you, sweetheart, but sometimes we have to make hard choices. For your health, for your safety.”
I shake my head, waves of rose gold hair brushing against my shoulders. “I can’t.”
“There’s one more option.”
“Which is?” I ask, feeling hope.
Miranda sighs. “We can get an emergency suppressant shot on hand since it’s only needed for one day.”
My eyebrows shoot up, a mix of shock and wonder spreading across my face. “That’s a thing?” How did I not know about this?
I know about suppressant pills, but they only stop a heat if it hasn’t already started. I stopped my suppressants after the mini heat per the doctor’s instructions, and he advised me against using the pills again.
“Only in emergencies,” she says, her gaze steady, cautious optimism painting her words. “It’s potent and has risks, but it could work.”
“Risks?” The word slithers through my excitement, casting a shadow of doubt. But this is important. I’ll stop with all the suppressants after this.
“Yes. It can make your pre-heat-”
“Let’s do it,” I decide, the words tumbling out before I can second-guess them.
“Are you sure, ?” Miranda’s hand rests on mine, grounding me. “You need to think this through.”
“I’m sure,” I quip with a smirk, determination coursing through me like an electric charge.
“Alright then,” she sighs, knowing that once I’ve made up my mind, there’s no turning back. “I’ll get everything ready.”
“Why didn’t Trevor offer me this?” I ask aloud, not expecting Miranda to answer.
Was he hoping May would step in for me, or did he not expect me to be here at all?
Miranda sighs, the weight of the world seeming to rest on her shoulders. “Some people don’t want to help omegas succeed. It’s complicated. There’s a stigma and judgment. People think it makes omegas less somehow.”
She looks at me, and there’s sadness in her eyes.
“Less?” I repeat, anger flaring up like a match to gasoline. “Less than what? Less than those alphas who strut around like they own the place?” I shake my head, hair whipping like a flag in a storm. “Screw that. I’m glad I have you on my side now, Miranda.”
“Me too,” she agrees, a small smile cracking her professional facade.
“So you’ll handle this?” I ask, double-checking.
Miranda’s hand is a soft weight on my shoulder, grounding me as the chaos of pre-show nerves threatens to send my thoughts into a tailspin. “Don’t worry, ,” she says, her voice the calm in the eye of my hurricane. “I’ll have the shot ready if we need it.”
“Thanks, M,” I reply, trying to mirror her steadiness. “And… can you do one more thing? Have a plane on standby to jet us back to Cali if there’s time?”
I want my heat in the nest Dax has set up for us if we can. It feels like the perfect conclusion to the grovel he’s trying to do.
“Of course.” Her eyes meet mine, full of that unwavering support that’s become my lifeline. “Whatever you need.”
“I appreciate it,” I say, meaning it from the bottom of my heart.
Jack comes in and finds us with a concerned expression. “We need to get out there, . Are you ready?”
I rise from the makeup chair, my legs surprisingly steady. “Yup!”
Grabbing Jack’s hand, I stride toward the wings of the stage. My other alphas come into view—Dax’s intense gaze, Chase’s smoldering look, and Aiden’s soft, encouraging smile.
“Ready to rock their world?” Jack quips, his arm slinging around my shoulders with easy familiarity.
“Born ready,” I shoot back, my pulse dancing to the rhythm of anticipation.
The stage lights flare, the crowd’s roar swells, and I step out into the spotlight, my alphas flanking me.