32. Jez
CHAPTER 32
Jez
Tonight should have been one of the happiest of my life. The band was marvelous—they each gave every moment of our set all that they have, loving every minute, shouting with rapturous glee as the applause rolled over us like a summer heatwave. The crowd sang along so loudly on Face It that I couldn’t even hear Shayla and Murray in my monitor. It blew me away.
But I pictured us all celebrating afterwards—Viv, me, and Fable. Cheering on the success this tour is becoming instead of utter disaster I’d imagined when I realized I was in heat around my mortal enemies.
And in such a quick succession of days, they showed a side I didn’t believe could exist. And maybe I did, too.
And now, it’s all gone to shit.
Viv was meant to come see me backstage beforehand, but due to her increasingly fragile condition, she’d messaged to say she would have her first peek of me from the VIP section on the floor, then come back to see me right after. But our time was so short, and her pack of guys were insistent she not hang around, so all told we got about twenty minutes together in my dressing room, and then she was gone.
I don’t know what I expected. Even once she joined her pack, she still had all the time in the world with me. I was her main client, and her best friend, and her Alphas have never been restrictive or demanding of her time.
They understand her career goals, and her friendship with me. It’s since she fell pregnant that I’ve seen her less and less—and of course I don’t begrudge her a second of rest time, of support from her pack. It’s been a tough pregnancy since the start. But it’s not as much about the lack of physical Viv time as it is the mental. We were two peas in a pod, connected at the hip. I guess this is growing up. Growing apart.
Losing each other, and in the process, losing ourselves. And right now, I have to admit, the people I’m closest to aren’t even my band, but the Alphas of Fable on Fire. And I’d never have dreamed it so, before last week.
All of this, though, is still manageable. It’s what Fable did tonight on stage that’s shattered me.
They played the song we wrote together—the song I mostly wrote, the melody I constructed in their hotel suite last fucking night. They didn’t tell me in advance. Of course I’d have said yes. But they played it and didn’t even mention my name.
I’m beginning to think that when I don’t expect much, I get much more. And when I expect too much, my heart feels shot through with cracks.
Viv has gone and I’m left to my own devices backstage, listening to Fable perform from the shadows of the wings, over the silhouettes of Ash, Steve, Murray, and Ry. Not sure where the others are. Right now, even Viv wouldn’t be able to make me feel good about this. About myself.
It’s like Tristan pulling the floor out from under me. It’s like Kai Hartley looking me in the eye, a stranger I’ve loved through their albums and concerts for years, telling me I’m off the series before it’s started.
I wander backstage after they’ve moved on to the next song, meandering uselessly, feeling dizzy and no longer able to deny that while my heat seems to be settling with the new suppressants, I’ve caught the absolutely miserable cold virus going around. It feels like spikes on fire are being driven into my throat, and my temples are throbbing like a fever is on its way. I need my bed.
“Ferny, thank God,” I croak, when I run into my manager and Caylee in catering. “I need to get to the hotel.”
Ferny turns to me and Caylee puts a hand on my forehead. “God, you’re burning up. Here.” She pulls her shoulder bag off and digs out a bottle of pain relievers. She uncaps the bottle and places two in my hand. Ferny hands me an ice-cold bottle of lemonade.
I take the nearest seat and down the pain relievers, then take a sip of lemonade.
“You were on fire out there tonight, Jez. We’re all really proud of you,” says Ferny, which is the most I’ve heard him compliment me after a set so far. Caylee frowns, one hand on her hip.
“I thought you were with Viv and her pack? I was coming to check on you in about a half hour but they’ve gone so soon?”
I nod, unable to move my head too much. Right now, everything is starting to hurt.
“I managed to keep it together for the set. I think the momentum and adrenaline helped—but now I feel terrible.”
“You poor thing,” she leans in and gives me a tight hug. “I’ll get you back to the hotel.” She turns to Ferny. “Okay if I grab my stuff, and see if Shay and them want a ride back too?”
Ferny nods. “I’m going to have a word with Steve about tomorrow. Let’s get them all back to the hotel together, and you stay with Jez for a while. That all right, Jez?”
I nod, feeling for a split-second like I did when I was a kid, sick, my Mum taking over and doing everything, and me in auto-pilot. She was in control and knew how to make me better. Since those chicken-soup days, nothing has made much sense. Everything is up to me now. And I’m not the person to leave anything to.
But at least when it’s just you, you know who you can trust.
I know that thought isn’t fair. I can trust Viv with my life. Right now, her life isn’t about her, though. And that is completely how life is supposed to go. When we mate and rear pups, they shoot up in the priority list.
Right now, what’s burning in my throat isn’t just this virus. It’s the uncontrollable sob waiting to come out, waiting until I’m fully alone. The trust I placed in Fable so quickly was even more swiftly broken. Used. Smashed to bits.
The only one of them whose mobile number I have is Kai. As Caylee steers me to the dressing room to grab my things, and gathers up my bandmates along the way, herding us to the bus, my thumbs stab out a message Kai won’t see for another two hours.
I should’ve known a leopard never changes his spots. This is what trust gets me.
* * *
Caylee fell asleep in my room before I did, but when I wake up at 3 a.m., I’m alone, one light on, and a basket of stuff from catering someone’s dropped off—another lemonade, a coconut water, a box of crackers, a pair of bananas, and a covered plate of cheese and meat, which turns my stomach. It’s the thought that counts though.
Someone’s also left a box of non-drowsy cold capsules. Probably all Caylee. I grab these and a banana, down the lot, and then lay back down with the covers up to my nose, staring at the ceiling. My throat feels raw and fiery still, but mostly swollen instead of painful. Pain killers are working but tonight’s gig in Bristol is going to be rough going.
I sigh and look at my phone. So many unread messages these days. I turned off all social notifications. After the second show, I knew it wasn’t worth my time. Right now, it’s all about time management, and mental health management.
I look at my personal text messages, and there’s only one I want to read.
We came to your dressing room but they said you’d gone. We thought you’d want to celebrate—your song was a hit.
I accept full responsibility, Jez. I wasn’t awake when you guys wrote it, and no one mentioned how much you’d actually written of it. To be honest, I don’t know if they remembered in the aftermath of last night. Everyone had been drinking, and it sounds like the song came together organically. Nico said the words were his, but he feels sure that the tune was mostly yours. And somehow, we just didn’t think how it would affect you.
We’re new to this. Not to playing alongside an Omega we care about. But playing alongside the Omega we want to make our lives with. Please let us make it up to you. We are terribly sorry for what happened. We were thoughtless.
I set my phone down and close my eyes, the pain and heaviness in my head demanding more sleep. Nice words, I suppose. But too much of it reminds me of Tristan—hurting me, then apologizing in retrospect. Only when I’d bring it up. But those hurts were within the confines of our relationship, sometimes a spat in a restaurant or coffee shop.
This—this was on a stage. The biggest stage I’ve ever played, in front of London. In front of fans that were beginning to see me as belonging up there, not just being trotted out and given a golden ticket to ride along with the big boys. And the song that got the crowd off the most tonight for them sounds like it was the one I had a sizable hand in writing.
I can’t deal with this right now. Not with the messages I’ve had from Tristan, saying “I hope you’re fucking happy now, sucking the cocks of the arseholes who booted you from the show and are now making you into something you could’ve never been on your own.”
It’s only when I notice the top of my duvet is soaked that I realize tears are streaming from my eyes. I thought I’d earned this spot. And no Alpha is going to tell me otherwise.
Or really, they can try to. They can try to take it away. But I won’t stay quiet. I still have my songs that got me here in the first place, and will still tell the world what they’ve done through them. Even if no one else wants to sing along.
* * *
The fever and more dramatic symptoms of the cold have chilled out, and now I just feel run down, like a good three days in bed would set me right. Instead, I let Caylee drag me alone to lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant where I have a bowl of soup the size of my head, and then sleep all the hours I can before soundcheck.
Afterwards, I ignore more messages from Kai, and listen to Murray encourage me to talk to them because, “They’re so stunned by the idiotic move on their part.”
They’re stunned?
It was only physical at first, with Thomas in the lift. But when he came back to my room, I felt like my heart came back online after years in a quiet, dark space. My songs reflect that space, and the initial indie-pop vibes I climbed onto the scene with have grown more reflective with each passing songwriting session.
Then came Holden, and his honesty. And Nico with his utmost care and vision.
Then Kai, the one I’d wanted to win over the most, the one whose voice and face and form filled my dreams before the dreaded disaster that was Ten to One . The one whose infectious energy, whose confident leadership skills and unapologetic artistry had lit my own flame.
It wasn’t just a second chance to impress them. That had never crossed my mind, even if it had lurked there. No, it was about being myself for them, not caring what they thought—and then them seeming to care more than I could’ve dreamt. I’d gotten sucked into that lie.
Caylee links her arm with mine and Ferny’s murmuring in my ear about the feedback from the radio interview I did on my own earlier today. I squeaked through it before my nap, but it was great to be asked questions by a DJ I’d listened to during my student days trying to get on the circuit in Bristol. I’d shortened my nap for that and then spent the rest of my awake time inhaling steam, downing chamomile tea with honey, and trying to relax.
The second we approach all four Fable guys at the venue, standing in the corridor outside catering, all that relaxation is flushed down the toilet.
They all turn to me like flower petals to the sun. Ferny looks at me but keeps up the pace. Holden opens his mouth to speak, all brows raised and pleading expressions, but Caylee thrusts up a hand.
“No thank you, please,” Caylee snarls. “She’s got nothing to say to you.”
And we keep walking. I focus more on how shitty my throat feels, and how horrible my heart feels, knowing I did this to myself. The cold was going around but sleeping with Kai the night before last was probably what did it.
No one to blame but my poor character assessment, I guess.
I feel broken as I head to the stage and the guitar tech hands over my Taylor. I get it comfortable around my neck as Murray, Ry, Gareth, and Shay come up behind me. They form a circle with me, everyone’s arms linked around everyone’s shoulders. A small smile creeps up on my face.
“We know you’re feeling pretty god-awful. But this is your town, Jez. They’ve seen you play more than anywhere. But they haven’t seen you with us,” Gareth says with a cheeky grin. “We’ll give them our best yet. Show them how even a fucking Fable germ-fest isn’t going to stop you from giving yours.”
“You’ll have more fans here than you’ve had anywhere. They love you for who you are. Remember that, Jez,” Shay says in my ear.
We all shout, “For Bristol!” as has become our custom in whatever city we’re in, then head out onto the stage.
I bite the inside of my cheek and think of what Viv said to me when she came through my dressing room door last night. “Oh, Jez. You were fucking ethereal out there. I feel like I haven’t seen you in a thousand years. Your confidence is soaring. You were meant to be here.”
Meant to be. It doesn’t always mean something is good . Just that fate needs it in order to bring about the next thing.
I hold to this, wondering what that next thing is as I stride onto the stage strumming the opening chords of the opening song and do a spin around in my mid-length ombre teal and violet dress, my hair and skirt twirling around. “Hey Bristol ,” I call. “I’ve been waiting for you!”
And the adrenaline of performing my heart out, laying the diary of these songs in front of a crowd and waiting like a masochist to see whether they’ll pick it up and hold it to their chest or mock it and turn away. As ever.
I see so many Fable shirts out there, but I also see a sea of blue hair like mine. Wigs, extensions, dye—whatever the case, my people are here. This is insane.
I turn around and grin at Shay and Murray on my left then Ry and Gareth on my right as the first verse approaches, and I ride it out like the professional I’m beginning to fully believe I am.
I do belong here. And I’ve waited for this night all my life.
That’s the feeling fate stamps across my heart, as we dive from one song to another, the highs and lows, the ballads, the wistful mid-tempo acoustics, and then, the crowd-pleasing dancier country-fied number that’s the biggest tip of the hat to my roots and my first demo.
I ignore the side of the stage except for one glance at Shay. Over her shoulder, all four Fable guys stand, side by side, watching every second. They haven’t moved since I came on stage. And I don’t know why, but a tremble rocks through me.
I trip over the next word, but catch myself, doing my best to camouflage the mistake by playing around with the rhythm of the following phrase.
Somehow, though, this tiniest mistake that most won’t notice has me obsessing over every syllable, and that’s when it hits me that my throat is drying out. I need some water but this song has only just started.
Then the panic begins. Those first irrational trickles—the sensation of weight on my chest. The heat prickling at my neck, my temples, my fingertips. And the worst—the dark aura framing my vision.
I tell myself, Not now. You’re fine. There’s plenty of air, plenty of space. Just calm.
The instrumental build-up to the chorus comes, giving me a chance to try to clear my throat quickly, and then when that powerful surge into the song’s anthem, I open my mouth, and nothing comes out.
I try again immediately but it’s a squeak, or a honk. I can’t tell which in the monitor over the blood rushing in my ears. Shay sings backup on this song so I turn to her with wide eyes and shake my head at her. She sees what’s happening and immediately draws closer to her mic, stepping in for me. Meanwhile, my jaw is working but nothing is coming out.
I try again and a louder honk comes out. I’ve lost my voice. There’s nothing there but a scratchy mess of bramble, and I’m fucked. I had lozenges and steam and sprayed my throat every hour on the hour today. But the interview went on for thirty minutes and maybe all that talking pushed me over the edge.
Oh God, is Tristan watching this? What are all my local fans thinking?
What will social media say? What will Ash say?
Please, please, why now?
I look out at the crowd, a sort of wild, anguished apology in my eyes. But they only see Jez Jacobs standing there, arms at her side, moving her mouth with nothing coming out, looking shocked and like she wants nothing more than to run from the stage.
A big guy in the crowd off the right side of the catwalk is jeering at me. I can’t hear what he’s saying but he’s waving a hand around and then elbowing his buddies who all laugh. Other people are standing around looking confused, some still dancing since the band’s playing on. I walk toward downstage, not quite to the start of the catwalk, and kneel, my guitar on my lap.
I look out. This is what dying feels like.
The crowd I envisioned leaving my absolute best with. The people I grew up around. The world of social media watching this or who will watch this, whether they support or despise me or couldn’t care less. All of them are seeing my biggest failure—because of my own inability to prepare, to control myself the way I’ve tried to all these years, and to control my environment.
The sea of shifting bodies in the crowd starts to thin as some head off to the toilets and bars, but most are left exchanging looks, or covering their mouths, or—Jesus—filming me.
Tears burst out the corners of my eyes, and I point helplessly at my throat, then cup the front of it with my strumming hand to show them—show them I love them but I can’t get anything out.
And then the strangest thing happens. I’m just letting them watch me die rather than leaving the stage, and I don’t know why. But I accept it, and a smile breaks out on my face, as I raise my chin to the sky, beaming wide with tears leaking down the sides of my face. This is me, undisguised. They might as well see it.
Subtly, the vibe in the crowd shifts. Applause is breaking out in a wave across the audience, and then I sense someone at my side. I rise quickly to my feet as the voice hits my ears before my eyes fall on Holden Pearce, holding a mic and singing the words to my song.
My face clearly shows my surprise. The crowd picks it up right away and starts singing and clapping along as my band continue to play without missing a beat. I glance back and see Shay still singing into her mic, so the stage manager must’ve hooked Holden up with his own.
He’s turning to me and takes my hand as I look into those sky-blue eyes, crinkling at the sides, as he’s singing words I wrote when I was eighteen.
Every word he injects with the same inflection as me. He goes into falsetto at some points and I stand there as he swings my arm slightly back and forth. I move my mouth, miming the lyrics.
My heart beats faster as the crowd eats this up. And then two more guitars join in, and I turn to my other side. Kai and Nico are there with acoustics, not playing over my band but simply filling the song out. And Thomas comes up behind me with a guitar tech. They remove my guitar from my shoulder and neck and the tech hurries off with it, while Thomas takes my hand and hip, and leads me into a slow dance around the catwalk.
We’re not practiced by any means, but we glide along, him leading and keeping me upright, smiling at me. His dark eyes glitter and he mouths, “You’re beautiful,” as we slowly turn and move our hips in time to the song as it begins to crescendo.
We glide back toward the other Fable guys as Holden masterfully ends the song on its high note, and then its whispery finish, exactly as I would have.
He really does know my music note for note.
The crowd goes utterly mad. And as I stare out, wondering what happens now, Kai, Holden, Thomas, and Nico all take a step back and bow, then another step back so I’m left in front, looking out over my hometown crowd, unable to speak, my hands clutched at my heart.
And gratitude fills me, but I still don’t know Fable’s intentions. They got me through this penultimate song. I spin around to try to mime asking if they can do the next one or if my set just ends, then Holden hands his mic to Kai, who steps forward and grabs my hand, squeezing it twice.
But he doesn’t look out at the crowd. He turns that mossy gaze on me, his long lashes sweeping down as he lowers his frame. Before I know it, he’s down on one knee.
He keeps one of my hands and speaks into the mic, continuing to stare at me as the crowd continues howling and clapping for a minute.
“You’re one of us, Jez, whether you like it or not. You fall, we fall. We rise, you rise,” he says softly.
“Jez Jacobs, everyone.” He says, placing a kiss on my hand and the crowd loses its shit again. But still he doesn’t look outward. He looks only at me.
I can’t ever scrub it from my memory, because it’s a look of wanting to stay. Forever.
“I want the world to know that the new untitled song Fable on Fire played last night in London was our first collaboration with Jez, who wrote the music. We didn’t give her proper credit, and that’s not the first time.”
The breath rushes from my chest, but I do my best to focus on keeping a wide, easy smile on my lips, my brows raised and eyes hopefully reflecting the gratitude I feel. No doubt also the shock, and the still-trembling uncertainty.
But the truth is maybe that no one can keep everything in their control, no one can handle all the pressures all on their own—and to show this to another person, this most vulnerable of places—is maybe the only way forward.
“I have another confession to make—we all do.” He gestures to his bandmates who approach from both sides so we’re all standing in a line. “Three years ago, Jez was due to appear on that show Ten to One. Some of you remember it, some might even know a bit more about what happened. Rumors fly.” He looks down at the floor, then out at the crowd for a moment before zeroing back in on me.
“Jez had every right to be on that show, but because of a personal issue Fable on Fire was experiencing at the time, we unfortunately made the call to keep the public from receiving her as they deserved to. We’d like to take this very belated opportunity to tell her we are beyond sorry. The years, the nights, the days of apologies in our minds and hearts that we never shared are yours now, Jez. And we want you to know we will do anything and everything it takes to make it up to you, every day from now until the end of time. You’re not our opening act, Jez. You’re the reason we’re a pack in the first place. Without you, there’d be no us. Please, forgive our actions, our inactions, and our inability to be what you needed from day one.”
He places another kiss on my hand, this time, his warm lips staying there, pressing into my skin as though trying to infuse me with the depth of agony I hear in his words. His soft dark hair, the small illustrative tattoos that line the side of his neck, his half-unbuttoned black shirt with the sleeves rolled up, his signature neck tie, and those long, dark lashes—I want to devour all of him. To have him devour me, and take me to my tour bus nest where I can tell him all the things I’ve felt about Fable, even through the anger I allowed to take over.
“We rise, you rise,” he says again. “As for last night, we wanted it as a romantic surprise, to play your song, but it all went wrong when we didn’t let you in on the plan. We’ve learned, and we vow to put your value, your heart first every day for forever, if you’ll let us. We will never allow the light of your star to fall into shadows, Jez Jacobs. Only to shine on everything before you, just as fate intended.”
The crowd is euphoric at this point, as I pull Kai to his feet. He lowers his head and I place my forehead against his chest, and feel other hands rest on my shoulders and arms, and someone kiss the top of my head.
“Thank you,” I croak softly, my heart so full of such a foreign feeling. Relief, contentment, relaxed joy. Maybe a trace of hesitation in being able to fully trust any Alphas, but for the first time I believe these four are not my competition. That they, like me, prize telling the truth above all else, even if it costs more than we bargain for.
* * *
“We’ve got a doctor coming to the hotel in the morning, and then we head out to Paris. Two days off should help, but we’ll get a professional opinion on whether you’ll need to miss any shows.”
Ash is sitting down with me, sipping a coffee in my dressing room. I’m curled up on the sofa as Fable is playing out their set. I’d given each of the guys a hug and a cheek kiss, and squeezed their hands as a thank you before we walked off the stage together. Kai had looked out onto the crowd and into the mic said, “Go get a drink, you lot! Fable will be on in twenty minutes.”
Then to me, as Caylee and Ferny and Shay had flocked to my side in the wings, Kai had whispered, “We all meant every word of that. Think about it. Please. We want you to be our Omega, Jez. Not as an apology or way to make up for the shit we’ve done. But because the role of serving you as your Alphas would be a higher honor than anything the public could give us.”
With that, he turned away, seemingly afraid to see my response, but I think Steve had words for him, and if I’m not wrong, a rearrangement of the setlist. I waved at the guys as they looked over their shoulders at me, and let Caylee bring me back here.
I nod as Ash continues telling me about the travel itinerary. Tour bus to Paris and then straight into hotel rooms and free time to roam, eat, whatever.
Fable’s been to Paris a handful of times. I’ve visited once as a tourist, and a second time playing a big indie festival where I had what was essentially a booth. I sat on a small stool that one broken leg and played to whoever walked past. Most people asked for covers of overplayed songs by British artists, which was fine but at the same time, not what I was trying to be known for.
Since then, I’ve never played a cover at a live gig. It stole my taste for it.
But it’s ironic this is on my mind as I get a hot shower in the venue’s facilities, since the bus’s shower leaves a bit to be desired and we won’t reach the Paris hotel until the early hours. Public is the way I want to think now. Not because I believe I owe them anything specific, or an open door into my personal life. But because I’ve always sworn by honesty as the best policy, both in my private and public lives. And yet the one thing I’ve hidden all this time is the thing that’s caused me the greatest trouble.
If I’d just shared it years ago—even before Ten to One , I could’ve potentially saved myself a lot of struggles. But that’s not the reason to share it. The reason is to let even one other person out there know that they shouldn’t be ashamed. They’re not alone. And there is understanding, if you reach for it. Even in unlikely places.
* * *
“You ready to go?”
I nod. I’ve hardly used my voice at all in the past day. The Bristol doctor gave me the all-clear to perform again at the next gig, as long as I followed the strict regimen she placed me on. And I have. I’m not missing a show if I can help it.
Caylee checks the lighting one more time, fusses with my curled hair, pulling it behind my shoulders then draping it over just my left. I give my head a shake and it all tumbles every which way, and then I grin and point at it, looking at her. She shakes her head and rolls her eyes, but then smiles as she checks my phone on its tripod.
I’m not going live but recording a message, only in case I start to honk and squeak again. I’ve been writing everything I’ve needed to communicate down on a pad of paper Ferny gave me, and it’s been great. Resting my voice is actually more, well, restful, mentally, than I realized it would be. It’s almost like being given a pass to check out of the world’s problems for a minute.
Not that I’d want to lose my voice every day.
The lozenge in my mouth dissolves and I nod at Caylee. She hits the button on the tiny remote and my phone starts recording.
“Hi guys, Jez Jacobs here.” I swallow the last of the lozenge and catch Caylee pushing my paper cup of tea forward on the counter beside me, out of view of the phone’s camera but there in case I need it. I nod slightly.
“I wanted to take a moment to thank you all for being so supportive through my stumble last night in Bristol, whether you were at the show or one of the people writing beautiful messages on social media. Thank you for taking the time, you’ll never know how much it means. And Bristol folks, I’m going to arrange a make-up show for you sometime after this tour ends. Stay tuned.”
Caylee gives me a signal and I pause for a second then take a sip of tea. Then she starts recording again. The idea was get it out as quick as I can so I don’t ramble or lose my will. Or my voice.
“Something you all deserve to know has been in my heart and mind for a while now. The truth is I’ve been lying to you by not sharing it with you since day one. Any of you who’ve stuck around this long might have some inkling, or might even know. There’s no way to know how well I’ve hid it, but it’s never gotten out to the media. As many of you probably also do, I struggle with anxiety. Generalized anxiety disorder is what they call it, GAD, but arm-in-arm with that is claustrophobia.” I pause again but Caylee doesn’t stop. I just swallow. And then take a breath.
“This isn’t something that’s ever stopped me from reaching for my dream of being able to perform for you the songs I write. The reason I wanted to be straight with you at last is the hope that you’ll see any hurdles in your own lives as just that—parts of life you deal with, but not walls without doors. There have been times, especially recently, where my anxiety levels rose, and so my claustrophobia struck in moments I wouldn’t have expected, along with situations where it was pretty normal. Like getting stuck in a lift. Yes,” I say. “That happened. But I survived—thank you, Edinburgh fire department. And Thomas.” I smile and fight the urge to twist my hair between my fingers.
“I want you to know that this is me. Not because an artist owes every part of their lives to the public, but because you guys have stuck by me, and I’m meeting more and more of you who’ve discovered me through Fable on Fire, and I’m grateful you’ve stuck through my shows even if it wasn’t your thing. To each one of you I want to say, don’t ever feel you have to hide who you are, because the more people speak about the things they work to overcome, the bigger a team of supporters we’ll all have. And if I’d spoken sooner, maybe I could’ve helped even one person believe they have as much value as the next person, no matter what struggle they fight in their own life.”
I take a breather for a second, relieved to find my voice is strong enough to handle this. The medicine and the rest is helping, and hopefully by the day after tomorrow, I’ll be strong enough for my set.
“No matter what anyone says, please remember, your worth is not in someone else’s eyes. That eye of the beholder stuff makes it sound like you’re only as valuable as the value someone else attributes to you. That’s bullshit. Your value is in your existence, and your power is in the purpose in your heart. Thanks for listening. Love you lots.”
Caylee presses the button and sets the remote down. She shakes her head, smiling. “That was perfect. You sounded sure and strong. And I think Viv’s going to adore it.”
When I told Viv earlier what I was planning, she nearly teared up. She said, “Jez, when I say it’s about time, I don’t mean you’ve been slacking off all these years by hiding this. It’s your truth, so you choose when to share it, and with whom. What I mean is, it’s about time that someone else entered your life who made you realize your truth is valid. You are more powerful the more you release this stuff, you know? And I’m still going to be here, every step of the way.”
I take the phone and make sure the video’s saved properly, then send it straight to Viv in a text.
Here it is. Let me know. And send me a pic of that beautiful face when you get time. We’ll chat tomorrow still, yeah? Love you.
I hand the phone to Caylee and let her upload it to my socials with the text I typed up earlier saved in a note, and I climb into the bed, lean back, and close my eyes. No matter what the world thinks of me, I have a support system—five people who have my back. And it’s taken me far too long to see that that really is what it’s all about.