18. Jez
CHAPTER 18
Jez
I’m done. I tried to be nice. I tried to tell myself this was a once-in-a-lifetime chance to take my career up to the next level. And this is what I get—Kai fucking Hartley dropping a bold-faced lie that we are an item. Insinuating that I’ve let him anywhere near me. Mocking me.
I can’t deal with this. I tap my nails on the hotel room desk while the phone rings through to Viv.
“Pick up, please. If ever I needed to?—”
But the line goes dead. What?
I press her number again and it goes straight through to voicemail. Ah, she must be on the line already. Probably video chatting with one of her pack since they like to keep tabs on her all day while they’re at work.
Viv, I’ve always said, “What would I do without you.” Well, I’m about to find out.
And P.S. you are irreplaceable, no matter what happens next.
I think that before I actually just text her that exact message and ask her to call me later, but if tonight’s too late, don’t worry. I spend enough time anxious about her health and the babies’, too, and I don’t want her thinking I put myself above any of that.
But it is a lonely realization. As thrilled as I am for her and her pack, and these babies at what an awesome mum they’re going to have, I’m sad for me. That’s selfish as hell. But if nothing else, I am honest.
I stomp around the room and boil the kettle for tea, but I really don’t want tea. I want a massive cocktail. Espresso martini. Though I probably don’t need the espresso. Just give me a bottle of Vodka.
Tomorrow’s down to Leeds, and the day after, mercifully, to London. I’ll get to see a doctor before soundcheck, and get a new prescription for heat suppressants, and the worst of this current shitshow can relent. And then it’s just dealing with Kai and his infuriating suggestion to the Edinburgh audience—and the entirety of the world via social media—that I would with him. Using my song against me. Using my fans against me.
He can take that notion and shove it up his little bitch ass and fuck off while he’s doing it.
It’s just gone midnight, and I will not be sleeping tonight, even though Caylee’s coming to get me at 6 a.m.
I pace across the thick carpet, barefoot, and stop before the drinks fridge. Then I turn back toward my suitcase, pull out my sneakers and workout clothes, and get changed.
After pulling my socks and sneakers on, though, I perch on the side of the bed. Tiredness is there, but I pick up my phone again—still no response from Viv and I think, at this point, she’s got to be asleep—and I open a social media app.
Big. Mistake.
I didn’t look before because I knew it would be there. My text message inbox has 64 unread messages. I don’t have 64 real-life friends. I don’t even really have six friends, but I do have a lot of industry contacts.
My social media is the problem. I’m tagged in over 400 new posts, including videos and photos. Most of those will just be people at the show, either my fans or Fable’s, recording their proof-of-life at the tour.
But how many of them show Kai Hartley taking the piss out of me? Or trying to start something that hasn’t, doesn’t, will never exist?
My whole body feels like it’s made of fumes and thorns and jets about to take off. I shut the phone down but shove it in my leggings pocket, then grab my room key and head down to the 24-hour hotel gym.
After getting lost in a labyrinth of identical corridors with enormous floor-to-ceiling abstract paintings as the only differentiating feature, I use my room key to open the glass gym doors. The desk isn’t manned at this late hour, but there’s a sign that says to help oneself to bottled water and juices in the fridge, towels in the cubbies and shower rooms, and that the equipment, “ including the climbing wall,” is use-at-your-own-risk.
There’s a sign-in sheet but I don’t feel like letting anyone know I’m here, so I walk past it, grab a towel from a cubby, and head through another set of double doors.
From this new corridor, there are doors leading to a weights room and a machine room on the right, a pool and sauna on the left, and a climbing wall at the end of the corridor.
As I push through the glass double doors into the climbing area, I remember all the walks Viv and I used to do, with her old dog Chewie. Out to Wales, sometimes up to Snowden, sometimes to the Peak District, and once even to the Dolomites which scared the living shit out of both of us, but at least a tour bus took us to a fairly high starting point.
I’d spent most of my happiest times with Viv, and learning to be okay on my own was going to be a long path. It’s not the being alone part. It’s the being without Viv.
I’d rather be alone than with someone like Tristan ever again. I know my own company won’t disappoint me. And if I get bored with me, I can disappear into songwriting or a video game. Like I do.
Tonight though, I need movement, an outlet for adrenaline, and a forceful push of the emotions inside me to the outside, where they can die for all I care. My brain is shouting that I should be holed up in my room, making a video or doing a live where I can refute the toxic slander that Kai’s spewed out into the world. But right now, my body needs to move.
Plus if I do any video or live right now, it’ll look like I’m sitting around stewing after a massive gig in Edinburgh rather than, I don’t know, celebrating on the town, like I imagine so many music fans expect artists do every night.
I set my towel on a bench and look around. Current pop music blasts through unseen speakers, and the size of the space nearly takes my breath away. The climbing wall Viv and I used to use was more for a fun social than for proper training.
One side of this space is a lead climbing wall, with points along the routes to hook your rope into. That’s not something I’m going to dream of trying. I just want to move my body around a bit and focus on breathing and movement and not much else. I head over to the bouldering wall, which is signed as being twenty metres. Pretty damn high as far as I’m concerned.
I plop down on a bench and check my laces are good and tight. I read over a brief warning sign about climbing solo then head on over. How hard can it be? I don’t plan on going all the way up anyhow, because it’d be just my luck to get halfway and decide I can’t back down without falling. And a broken bone or worse stopping me from continuing this tour I’ve barely started is a humiliation I don’t plan to tempt.
And yet. There’s a dark little voice in the back of my brain. You could get out of this. Not by falling and getting injured. But just by quitting. You don’t have to subject yourself to the ridicule, to Fable, to ? —
But Thomas. He was kind. He was reassuring. He was everything I needed in that moment, and he didn’t give me the impression he would be off bragging to the others—or for that matter, slagging me off. In fact, he said he would tell no one.
And like most touring Alphas, I had to assume they were all on suppressants. So no one would know I was in heat from my scent. Just from any visible cues. And I needed to get better at hiding them, at least for tomorrow. Friday morning I’d be in the big tour bus, but at least in my own small bedroom. I could close the door and be non-existent for a few hours. As long as I kept it quiet, they wouldn’t be the wiser.
And if things got really bad, maybe Thomas could sneak away while the others slept … So risky. But the idea’s planted in my head and my thoughts start to drift there, and to every sensitive inch of my body his lips touched.
Stop that. Stop thinking.
I shake my head and approach the wall, placing my hands to the first set of brightly-colored grips. I don’t know exactly what they’re called, but there are all different shapes. I plant my feet on the lower ones and begin to pull myself up.
After a few minutes of careful concentration, the floor’s somehow dropped a good three meters below me. My fitness regime mostly consists of weight training and a run on a treadmill or outdoors two times a week. Not the most I could do, but certainly not nothing. This is a new kind of challenge, and pushing myself like this feels good. But I’m aware it would feel a whole lot better after a full night’s sleep—not after spending a day having frantic sex, performing an eight-song set, and feeling my nerves want to rip free from my body to strangle a certain Alpha, all while trying to maintain a semblance of control over my heat.
So far, so good. After Thomas this morning, the burning urge between my thighs and up through the center of my being has been much tamer, which just the occasional peaked nipples or hint of slick. Nothing as bad as some make it out to be. Although I’m guessing it was Thomas’s assistance that brought it down several notches.
Who knows what tomorrow brings. Or even tonight, but hopefully it waits til I get back to my room.
After rising a couple more sets of grips, my shoulders and lower back start to complain, but there’s a thrill of being so far off the ground without a rope or a handrail. Just my own energy and strength and will to push me on.
That’s the theme of this tour, I guess.
A single bead of sweat runs down my back. I make sure my left hand is firmly buried in the deep pocket grip while I reach around with the right to itch the spot and relieve myself of that sweat when I hear the double doors opening, and glance down. Two people enter. Shit.
From here, all I can see are the tops of heads. One’s a sandy blonde, the other slightly balding and grey. Two men.
Oh brother.
I grip the wall again with both hands and look up. Do I keep going, or should I get back down and rest? It’s not much further until the section of bouldering wall I’m on inverts, and that really is beyond my limit—at least for tonight without any kind of spotter. Or net at the bottom to catch me.
More sweat is sliding down my skin. My neck and the undersides of my knees, in particular. And then, I realize with great disdain, my inner thighs.
But that’s not sweat. It’s slick.
Double shit.
My heat is creeping back. But as far as I’ve seen, it doesn’t really creep for long before it’s full-on sprinting.
The greying man calls out good-naturedly to the other, “Good to see you. Enjoy!” as he heads straight toward the bottom of the bouldering wall I’m on. The sandy head sits down on a bench opposite mine, changes his shoes, and then checks his mobile.
I grumble under my breath, frozen in place. If I go down, I’ll be in Grey Dude’s direct path. And I’m going into heat, so if he’s an Alpha not on suppressants it won’t be long before he knows all about it.
“Hello up there!” he calls, looking up at me. He’s got glasses and a goatee, and looks like a fit man in his fifties or so.
“Hi!” I call as brightly as I can manage, though I’m afraid the single note wobbles and gives away my nerves.
I glance down again. He’s standing with his hands on his hips, tilting his head at me. “You all right up there?” He winces after this comes out. Probably doesn’t mean to sound patronizing, and honestly, I’m not worried about that.
“Oh, all fine, just taking my time,” I shout and flash a smile before turning back to the wall. Up or down? Dammit.
“Well I’m going to shoot up past on your left, just to give you a heads up. Plenty of space. That all right?”
“Oh, yes, absolutely! All the best.”
Right, once he’s drawn level with me, I will descend. Or descend quicker than I plan to right now.
Slowly I back one foot down, then a hand, then the other foot, then the other hand, and by the time I’m thinking of moving that first hand again, homie is flying past me on the left as promised. He holds his hand out as he draws level as if to high-five me. I bite my lip, avoiding his eyes, and try to maneuver my left hand out and he gives a surprised squawk then chuckles. “No, no, I was kidding. Little climber humor. Sorry, love. Carry on! Doing great!” He winces again and then takes off at speed.
Sweat and slick are both streaming off me now. I feel like steam must be rising from my entire body. Honestly even if I could’ve reached over to slap him some skin, the mere touch would’ve probably electrocuted me and had me rushing toward the ground.
Just as I start to lower again, the other man, who for a moment, I completely forgot even existed , heads right for me.
Right below me.
And then he laughs. “Look who it is.”
The sandy head angles up as I look down into Holden’s eyes.
Fuck. This. Timing.
“Can I help you?” I say frostily. What a dumb question. I immediately draw my left leg closer to my right, balancing both on the same point. My thighs press together but I know that won’t keep the scent or the slick in.
On suppressants, he won’t notice the scent. But he will notice the slick if he gets much closer. My army green gym leggings are as tight as can be, and any wetness is going to show. If the other man didn’t see, it was only because he was climbing to my left and focused on the task. Or maybe just figured I have a really unfortunate sweat pattern.
Holden is directly below me as though he intends to take the same path.
“Nah, it’s good,” comes Holden in his thick Aussie accent. “I like the looks of your path better than the other, though, so if you don’t mind, I might follow you up.”
“I was actually on my way down.” No need to tell him I hadn’t made it to the top yet. Let me think I’m that agile at this time of night after a gig. Or any time, really.
“No worries, I can overtake once I get there.”
Holy God.
The heat is getting worse, and with those blue eyes looking up at me, probably right up my arse, I have to force my thoughts off how soft his hair looks, how broad his shoulders are, and how much my clit wants his tongue to do to it the same thing he does to his o’s and i’s.
Ahhhh, stop thinking that shit!
“Okay, great. Great show, by the way. All except that utter horseshit out of Kai’s mouth,” I manage, as I wait for him to approach and pass me. Hopefully as fast as Spider Guy up there, who’s still on our side of the wall, but now kind of dangling from the inverted section.
Holden’s halfway up to me already, and looks up to reply. “Oh, right. That was super shitty. And not planned, by the way. I think he saw that fan’s sign and decided he needed to make it clear who was on stage at the time.” He rolls his eyes then turns his gaze back to the grips. “I’m really sorry he did that. If it makes you feel any better, we all gave him a bollocking, and Ash told him if he pulls a stunt like that again he’s going to have him change the lyrics of an entire song into an apology to you.”
“Jesus,” I say softly, clinging tightly and pressing my thighs into each other like my life depends on it. My muscles are quaking now and the sweat is giving the slick a run for its money. I have to get off this wall. Please hurry up. “I don’t think that would make me feel any better, to be honest. He could just give me a shout-out and then get on with your show.”
“Right?” Holden continues. “That’s what he’s meant to do. I mean, that’s what he should do regardless of what he’s told. You’ve been gracious and—and stunning, really—both nights so far.”
I look down and I swear my arms are about to tear out of their sockets, but this touches me.
All this time since Ten to One , I thought Fable on Fire were fucking arseholes out to ruin me. I imagined them sitting around in their pants trying to think up ways to capsize my career as it started to make up for all the ground it lost after that horrible contest.
But the truth is, Thomas and now Holden have completely proven that wrong. They both seem so—genuine. Friendly.
Thomas insisted it was just Kai, but they were supposed to show a united front. And once he’d spoken aloud, they couldn’t very well argue with him. He’d spoken well out of line.
So it was never the rest of them. Just Kai.
Before I can look down again, I realize I don’t have to. Holden is there, his face by my foot, his hand gripping a point to the left of it.
“You haven’t moved. You sure you’re okay?”
I grit my teeth and barely inhale for fear of the movement making me tumble to the gym floor.
“Hey,” his voice is softer. He manages to raise himself alongside my leg, his face beside my shin.
“Please—” I start, but what can I say? Please don’t get your face so near my slick-covered thighs? Please don’t tell anyone I went into heat on a fucking climbing wall? Please don’t be so nice to me, because it’s going to wreck the belief that’s given me the push I needed for three years?
Wait—is that what I think?
Oh, God. Am I that shallow?
Slick slips seeps through my leggings without any hiding it now. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed, and just like that, my mind’s back to the pull of this attractive man just below me, and the inner coil of need that’s pulling back, ready to burst outward again.
And I thought this morning had been enough for one day.
“—I can’t get off.” I stare at him, my neck screaming in pain, my shoulder blades shaking. I feel like if he so much as put a hand on the back of my calf, I would cum in an instant. “The wall! I can’t get off the wall. This was so stupid—this?—”
And then he does it. He raises a gentle hand to the back of my left leg, just below the knee, but not to stroke it. He’s holding on, gentleness turning to firm support. His eyes are wide as he looks up at my face, not my arse or the sure signs of slick on my Lycra.
“We need to get you off. Safely. The wall.” He adds quickly. And then his eyes shoot to up my leg, toward my arse.
I know the moment he realizes.
“Your face is so flushed. And I don’t think it’s just from the exertion. Do you need—Jez?—”
I shoot a look up at Spider Guy who is now nearing the top, moving sideways. I hope he continues around the other side of the wall and doesn’t have super hero-hearing, too.
I press into the wall as though it can hold me up, and my breasts brush the rough surface. My nipples are sharp as diamonds digging into my sports bra. I didn’t bother putting my ratty old gym t-shirt on because I figured no bugger would be down here at this hour.
I begin to pant. Holden slides his hand up my leg, his eyes checking in on the other climber as well. He says nothing else, just climbs up until one hand holds a grip to my left, and his knee goes toward my legs. As he shows his intention, I spread them again, moving one foot over to its original position.
“Not much time,” I hiss.
“Get down first, or get off first?” he whispers in my ear. “I want to help you. With both.”
“Are you on suppressants?” I don’t know why I say this, and immediately spit out, “Off. I need to get off, first. I can’t focus.” I squeeze my eyes shut, almost in too much agony to be embarrassed.
He must sense this. His upper chest and shoulders are pressed against my back, somehow giving me strength and support as he whispers, his lips right beside my ear, “Jez, you don’t have to be embarrassed, all right? This is perfectly normal. And this is what Alphas were put on this earth to do.”
His voice is so soothing, his tone and accent such a relaxing balm that if I wasn’t in heat, I would probably be having to fan myself anyhow. With his broad shoulders, tanned and muscular arms, and easy smile, he exudes a sort of wholesome sexuality that I’m just not used to seeing. Most Alphas seem to wield their appeal as a sort of magic spell they want to weave around an Omega, but Holden is somehow making me feel like this is the most natural course of action in the world.
Without another word, two fingers slide between my legs, pressing outside the fabric. He finds my wet, swelling entrance and pushes firmly inward, his mouth still at my ear. From above, I imagine it only looks like he’s trying to calm or help me down, his body long enough to frame mine against the wall. I keep my chin raised, noting with gratitude that the grey-haired speedy climber has disappeared from sight, though his grunts can be heard echoing from the wall’s other side.
“Is this okay?” Holden whispers into my hair.
I nod my head, but at the same time, give off some nonverbal signal he’s able to read, that it’s okay but I need more.
“I’ll give you more then,” he says, and my eyes widen. My pulse races as I want this Alpha to read what else is on my mind. And then do it.
He looks around quickly then slides his free hand around the front of me and cups my right breast. My nipples, already harder than ever, seem to drill into his palm. A small moan escapes my lips. I just want more. More.
“I want your mouth on my tits,” I whisper back. I can almost feel him smile against my ear. That same hand returns to the back of my leggings, slips inside, finds my folds, and then slides two fingers inside me.
He thrusts inside once, his middle finger landing on my clit. And with a few darting, pressured circles on the sensitive nub—with my pussy so soaked and my insides ready to clamp and then release, it takes mere seconds.
Holden senses the moment I cum as he withdraws his hand, wet from my slick but still able to cling to the grip on the ride side of my body.
“Come on, Adventure Girl, let’s get you down.”
My body shudders but the best part is, the tightly-wound spring of my deep core seems to release, to rest in a neutral, relaxed mode again, after the quick but heady build-up since I got on this damn wall.
My leg, arm, and shoulder muscles, however, might never recover.
Holden climbs immediately below me all the way down, using his hands to make sure my every foothold is secure. Once I almost slip off and kick him in the head, but his reflexes are faster than a cat’s.
Once we’re on the gym floor, my knees buckle and I land on them, hard, then place my hands out, about to face plant. He’s already there, securing me in his arms and swooping me into a scooped position. He carries me to the bench and sets me seated upright, but leans my head against his shoulder.
My arms and legs splay out like starfish, utter jelly and useless.
“My God,” I say. I close my eyes, breathing in and out, letting my body accept that it’s safe again.
“Are you okay?” he says softly, tucking my blue braid around my shoulder. The hair framing my face is plastered to my skin, soaked, and it occurs to me I didn’t even wash my stage makeup off. I’m a mess.
“Much, much better.” My voice is hoarse. I don’t want to look him in the eye now. Humiliation takes over again, but his rough fingers take my chin with such a delicate touch that I don’t fight it. He turns my face to his, his lips an inch from mine.
“Jez, while you are in heat around me, you’re under my protection. My watch.”
I suck in air as I watch his bright blue eyes dance between mine, his brow creasing with slight concern. And something else. Reading me, it feels like. Like a laser in some sci-fi film, burning into my mind, taking what he needs, then running it through his system to make sense of what it’s found.
“I don’t know what you’ve experienced in the past with any other Alphas you’ve known. But this is what we’re here for. Now, I know you’re not part of my pack. And I know we barely know each other. But I’m an unmatched, unmarked Alpha, and you’d better believe if I see an unmatched, unmarked Omega in need of help during a heat, I cannot look away. No matter if she’s opening for my band on tour, no matter what our history is. Do you understand? That’s how this works. No matter what anyone’s ever told you before.”
He’s so serious, so impassioned in this speech. He believes every word he says, I’m sure of it. I nod, unable to blink or look away.
“I do understand.”
“And you believe me? This is between you and I right now, okay? No one else has to know. Unless you want them to.”
I nod, still staring at the ocean in his eyes. “Yes, I believe you.”
If I believed in hypnotism, too, I don’t think I’d feel any different. But in all honesty, I believe he means it.
“Now,” he pulls back slightly to take more of me in his vision. “I suspect you want to get back to your room. Shower. Get to bed. That safe to say?”
I nod. Why does he make me want to throw all my anger, all my frustrated rage out the window and just hear him out, calmly and rationally?
God, because he’s a fucking beautiful man.
“Why don’t I help you up there. And then help you up there. ”
I nod again, this time meekly, lowering my eyes. “Please.”
“Hey,” he says, even more softly, taking my hand in his and then covering it with his other hand. His are so big, so warm, so calloused from drum sticks and, God, I know nothing else about this man besides drumming and climbing walls. But clearly he works out, weight trains. He’s not built like one of those totally over-buff gym guys, but he is pretty fairly ripped in a way I never realized I found so fucking hot before.
I really want to see him with his shirt off.
“Yes?” I manage.
“I’m the one who should be begging you. If you need more help, if I can help you, Jez, say the word, and I will.”
“Let’s go, then.” I try to inject more confidence in this and he draws me to his feet, takes off the hoodie he’s wearing and ties it around my waist to cover the slick stains. I’m not used to feeling out of control like this. I loved giving Thomas control earlier. But sex is one thing, and letting a man do something like take care of me in this smallest of fashions—covering my embarrassment—feels like such a vulnerability.
Without conversation but with a warm, wide smile on his handsome face, we walk through the corridors and back to the elevator up to my floor. First Thomas this morning—or really, yesterday morning, as it’s nearly 1 a.m. now—and now Holden tonight. Two Fable on Fire members in two days.
Christ, I’m picking them off like characters in a horror film.
I wanted it to be only Thomas, when that happened. Just our secret. Who knows if he’s told the others—could that be why Holden showed up here, thinking he had an easy chance with me?
No . I shove this thought away as the elevator dings on my floor. There’s no way Holden could’ve guessed I’d be down here. Hell, if I’d thought about it, I should’ve guessed that he’d be in the gym at least.
There is nothing nefarious, no great conspiracy plan against me here . C’mon, Jez. Stop the paranoia.
Holden said this is natural. This is normal. What he’s meant for. And really, what I’m meant for.
So why did Tristan make me feel so needy and clingy, and so goddamn unimportant at the same time?
As Holden closes my hotel room door and gently leads me into the shower room so I can clean off and get comfortable in privacy first—as the slick is already building and seeping into my clothes again, my core desperate for so much more—my last thought of anything besides what’s under Holden’s clothes is that maybe Tristan wasn’t an Alpha after all.