6. Raleigh
Raleigh
6
The door flies open and Madds barges into my bedroom with tears streaking down her face. “Rae,” she cries, flipping on the light and blinding me before racing to my bedside.
“Mmmmm. What the hell, Madds?” I groan, positive that it’s got to be at least two or three in the morning. I rub my hand over my eyes and peer up at her to find tears streaming down her face, her phone clutched in her hand as her whole body shakes.
“I . . . I . . . I—”
“Madds,” I rush out, sitting up with her as a strange unease fills my veins. “What’s going on? What’s wrong?”
She visibly swallows, but the longer she looks at me, the harder her tears flow, and within seconds, she’s uncontrollably sobbing.
“Madds, I swear—”
She holds her phone out to me, and the pity and sadness in her eyes destroy me. “I’m . . . I’m so sorry,” she’s finally able to croak out.
Sorry? What the hell? Why’s she sorry?
My brows furrow, and I avert my gaze to her outstretched hand where her phone lingers between us, and as I take it from her, the unease morphs into dread. It’s the boys. It has to be. Why else would she be handing me her phone?
Dropping my gaze to the phone, I swipe my thumb across the screen, unlocking it to find it already open to a video of a news anchor. I immediately recognize her face. She’s one of the main anchors on the biggest news outlet across the country—the one everyone watches to confirm if the bullshit story they’ve just heard on social media is actually true.
The words brEAKING NEWS are across the bottom, and as I play the video, my hands begin to shake.
The woman—Samantha Hartley—looks directly at the camera, and I put the volume up to hear over the heavy sobbing that Madds can’t seem to get under control. “Wait—” Samantha says, pressing her fingers to the small device in her ear as horror dances across her face. “Are . . . Are you sure?”
There’s a slight commotion off screen and her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I’m sorry,” she says, doing what she can to try and regain her professionalism. “We have breaking news coming in—devastating news for fans of Demon’s Curse.”
The screen splits, showing both Samantha in the studio and a picture of Demon’s Curse, the four boys—Ezra, Axel, Rock, and Dylan—at the close of their Australian show.
“Details are only just coming in. However, it has been confirmed that one of the members of the rock sensation, Demon’s Curse, has died.”
My heart stops. Time stops.
My whole fucking world stops.
This can’t be right. This has to be some kind of sick joke.
“As of yet, we have no details to confirm which member has perished or the details surrounding the death. Reports state that during the night, the band arrived safely back in the States after the Australian leg of their world tour. As you can imagine, this is shocking news, and fans everywhere will feel this heavy loss,” Samantha continues, desperately trying to keep her composure. “We will keep you posted as news comes in.”
The video cuts to a montage of the band, and as my hands shake so violently, the phone falls from my fingers and crashes onto my bedsheet. “No,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No. This isn’t happening. It’s a joke, some bullshit social media prank. I would know,” I tell Madds. “I would know if something happened to one of them.”
“Rae,” she whispers, reaching for my arm, but I spring away, grabbing my phone.
“I WOULD KNOW.”
The deepest pity flashes in her eyes as the overwhelming grief infects me like a deadly illness. Surely I would know. If something happened to Ezra or Axel, I would feel it right in the center of my chest. I wouldn’t be able to breathe. My soul would be shattered on the floor.
If something had happened to either of them, surely I would be dead too because I couldn’t possibly survive in a world where they’re not here.
No. This isn’t right.
If Axel was dead, my phone would be ringing non-stop. I wouldn’t be able to keep up with the notifications. The police should be calling, fans flooding my social media accounts demanding to know what I know, my friends, the record label . . . Ezra. If this were true, he would have called, but there’s nothing but silence.
But what if it’s him? What if Ezra was the one who . . . fuck. I can’t even bring myself to think the words.
“Rae,” Madds tries again.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I can’t lose them. Either of them.”
Tears stream down my face like waterfalls, and I unlock my phone, determined to prove them wrong. I know it’s the middle of the night, and Axel is probably tucked in bed, but all I need is to call him. He’ll set the record straight, but as my screen comes to life, I finally see it.
Over a hundred missed calls.
Thousands of Instagram DMs.
Threads. TikTok. Facebook. Whatsapp. Even my emails are flooded. My phone simply can’t keep up with the demand. While it’s shocking and heartbreaking, it’s also more than enough to prove that this is so much more than some bullshit social media story.
This is as real as it gets.
One of them is gone.
I instantly curse myself. I’d gotten home from my bullshit date and thrown myself into my studies. I’d put my phone on Do Not Disturb and thumbed through the endless pages of my textbooks until I couldn’t keep my eyes open a moment longer. If I’d just left my phone alone—
Oh God. My last conversation with Axel, I was so short with him. What if that was our very last conversation? What if I never get a chance to tell him how much I love him? How his happiness means the world to me. How I’m so damn proud of him?
Throwing myself from my bed, I pace my room as I madly start trying numbers.
Axel. Dylan. Rock. The label. The boys’ manager. Their fucking producer and sound technician. But nothing. Every one of their phones are off.
The panic and emptiness within me feel like nothing I’ve ever known, and as the hopelessness weighs down on me, I crumble to the ground. The pain is agonizing, like a vise closing around my chest and refusing me just a moment of peace, but what does it matter? If it’s Ezra or Axel, peace is something I’ll never find again.
My face falls into my hands as the gut-wrenching sobs tear from the back of my throat, and not a moment later, Madds is right there with me, her knees crashing against the cheap carpet as she pulls me into her arms. “It’s going to be okay,” she vows, struggling to get the words out. “I’m going to be right here every step of the way. We’ll get through this.”
I shake my head. “How is it ever going to be okay?” I ask. “If it’s Ax or Ezra . . . Am I a monster for hoping it’s Rock or Dylan?”
A new wave of heavy sobs comes on, and I crumble right into Madds as she struggles to hold me up. Rock and Dylan are just as much my family as Axel and Ezra are. They were there through my awkward teen years and stood by and teased me about being head over heels in love with Ezra. They’re the only ones who truly know what it was like between us. They knew how rare our bond was. They’re like brothers to me. To lose any of them would be devastating, but Axel and Ezra . . . They’re my whole entire world.
“You’re not a monster,” Madds soothes, trying to get to her feet and pulling me up. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed. Someone is going to call you soon, and you’ll get the answers you need.”
I nod, letting her pull me up, and a moment later, I’m snuggled in my bed, holding my pillow to my chest as the tears continue rolling down my cheeks. Madds sits up beside me, silently crying as she goes through my phone and disables all my notifications, even going as far as to tell the random asshole from the press who knocks on our door to fuck off.
The long, drawn-out minutes turn into hours as I stare at my bedroom window, watching the pitch-black sky morph into a frosty orange sunrise. There hasn’t been a single update online or on the news, no calls from anyone who could give me insight, no texts, no sliding into my DMs. Just agonizing silence.
I can’t take it a moment longer.
The tears never dried up, and after three hours of constant crying, my swollen, red eyes feel like sandpaper, but true to her word, Madds hasn’t left me for even a moment, and it somehow makes everything just that bit easier.
I’ve started to convince myself that no news is good news. If it were Rock or Dylan who had passed, there wouldn’t be a call. At least, not yet. Their family would need to be notified first and then maybe at a decent time in the morning, Axel would call to let me know the details. But if it were Axel or Ezra, surely the phone should have rung by now. I know things are weird between me and Ezra, but if it were Axel, he’d call. He wouldn’t allow anyone else to do it. He’d pick up the phone and call the one number he’s avoided for so long, knowing that it needed to be him.
“Can I get you a coffee?” she asks, knowing it’s useless to suggest I try and get some sleep.
“No, I—”
The sound of my phone ringing cuts through the room, and my response turns to silence as our gazes drop to the small device in the middle of my messed-up bedsheets. It’s a private number, but somehow, I just know. This is the call I’ve been waiting for.
My heart races, beating right out of my chest as fear grips me in a chokehold.
My hands shake, too terrified to even reach for the phone, but I know if I miss it, it could be hours before it rings again.
The tears grow fatter in my eyes, and a weight drops against my chest, making it almost impossible to breathe. I stare at the phone like it’s a bomb about to detonate, and as I curl my fingers around the cool metal, it feels heavier than it ever has before.
My gaze flitters to Madds, and as she holds my stare, she grabs my other hand and squeezes it tight. “I’m right here,” she whispers, and with that, I swipe my thumb across the screen and lift my phone to my ear.
“Hello,” I croak, my voice wavering and cracking with pain.
“Rae.”
And there it is, right there in that one heartbroken, breathy syllable from a voice I’ve spent years trying to forget. I don’t need anything more, not an explanation, not even a name, because everything I need to know is right there in his tone, his actions, his silence.
My brother, my best friend in the whole world, is dead.