7. Raleigh
Raleigh
7
Thousands of screaming fans linger in the street, causing hell for the security team as my driver slowly tries to make his way through the masses. People throw themselves against the car window, desperate to peer in and see who’s inside, and realizing that I’m not one of the three remaining members of the band, they pull away in disappointment.
It takes almost an hour to get from the top of the street to the front of the church, and the whole time, I can barely manage to hold myself together.
Today, I say goodbye to my brother.
It’s been a week since his passing, and I still can’t believe it’s real. It’s as though someone is playing a cruel joke on me and, at any moment, he’s going to jump out at me, call me a turd, and laugh about how clever he thinks he is. But I’m starting to realize that the only cruel joke going on is my life.
My driver pulls to a stop, finally making it through the weeping fans to the front of the church. There’s a sectioned-off area for attendees to get from their cars to the front doors, which allows them not to get mobbed, but unfortunately, that means there’s plenty of space for the press.
They’re all lined up and snapping shots of the guests like this is the red carpet for the Met Gala, and I’ve never been so uncomfortable. Obviously I know they have no interest in me. They’re waiting for the band and all the famous friends Axel met along the way, but just the thought that this will be splashed across every news outlet before the funeral has even begun makes me sick.
A man in a suit steps up to my door and opens it for me before offering me his hand, which I graciously ignore. “Thank you,” I mutter, my voice not feeling like my own. Hell, nothing has felt like my own this past week.
As I stand out on the street, a heaviness weighs down on me, and I lift my gaze to the church, taking it all in. It’s huge. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an architectural piece of art, but it’s not what I would have pictured for Axel. None of it is. He would have preferred his privacy, maybe something back in our hometown where he could be buried next to our mom.
My feet feel glued to the ground, but the longer I stand here, the sharper the ache in my chest becomes, and if I don’t get my ass inside, I fear I’ll never get my chance to say goodbye. I take a shaky breath and as my driver slips away behind me, I’m left with no choice but to get a move on.
Keeping my head down, I make my way to the church doors, ignoring the press as they scream out, asking me who I am and what relation I have to Axel Stone. Their cameras go off nonetheless, flash after arrogant flash, blinding me as I stumble across the entryway.
Stepping into the foyer of the big church, the insane noise from outside is somewhat blocked out, and I’m greeted by a woman with a clipboard. “Welcome,” she says, handing me a small program. “Name?”
“Oh, ummm,” I say, not having expected there to be an exclusive guest list at the door. “Raleigh Stone. I am . . . was Axel’s—”
“Sister,” a burly man finishes for me as he steps closer, his eyes lingering on mine. He immediately scoops my hand into his big ones, holding it like he’ll never let go. “Raleigh, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. So terrible that it’s happened under these circumstances. Your brother was such a light in this world.”
I nod, and he continues. “My name is Lenny Davidson. I’m the head of—”
“Louder Records,” I say, noticing a bunch of suited men just behind him staring at me. This is the label, the men Axel worked his ass off to impress, and time and time again, he would succeed. Hell, I can’t even begin to imagine how much money the band must have made for these assholes.
“That’s correct,” he says. “Now, I understand that you grew up with the band, so we’ve made the arrangements for you to be seated with them. I hope that’s okay.”
“No,” I rush out, a sheer panic gripping me. “I’d prefer not to. I’ll be fine finding my own seat.”
“Oh, umm . . . okay. As you wish,” he says, probably not used to a young woman going out of her way to avoid the band. “We do have your father on our guest list. Would you prefer to be seated with him?”
Oh, hell no.
“He’s . . . he’s coming?” I ask, feeling my whole body begin to cramp up with fear. “Is he here?”
“I, uhhh . . . I don’t believe he has arrived,” Lenny says, glancing toward the woman with the clipboard to confirm. “He was invited, of course. However, I don’t believe we ever received a formal RSVP.”
I let out a shaky breath, doing what I can to keep a lid on my trauma. Saying goodbye to my best friend in the world while having to see Ezra for the first time in six years will be hard enough without seeing my father as well . . . no. I can’t. It’s too much.
“Right, okay. Ummmm . . . If it’s okay, I’d really prefer to sit on my own.”
“Of course,” he says with a nod. “Just let me know if there’s anything we can do for you.”
I force a smile and clutch my program as I step around him and make my way deeper into the church.
There are a lot of people here already, a sea of black suits and designer dresses, and as I start down the aisle and to the front of the church, I feel all their judgmental gazes on me, wondering who I am, why I’m so important to be able to walk all the way to the front in my cheap dress and heels, why the label went out of their way to talk to me.
Almost at the front, I lift my gaze and come to an abrupt stop.
The casket.
Holy shit.
There he is.
Tears well in my eyes, and as my hands tremble, I force myself to keep going until I’m standing right before it. I lay my shaky hand on top as the tears track down my face. The casket is closed. Apparently, his body was too messed up for easy recognition. I wouldn’t know. I wasn’t allowed the chance to see him, but a part of me is grateful. I don’t think I would have wanted to see him like that.
There’s a lot about Axel’s death I don’t know.
How it happened.
Where it happened.
Why it happened.
I’ve spent the past week desperate to get ahold of someone with answers, but after being hung up on and having my number blocked by multiple people assuming I was just a fan using my name to try and get unreleased information, I had no choice but to give up. A part of me has started to wonder if I’m ever going to get the answers I’m looking for, or if I’m just doomed to walk through life as a lost little girl.
Taking a heavy breath, I stare down at the closed casket. “I’m so sorry, Axel,” I whisper, feeling my voice begin to break. “I love you so much, and I know I didn’t tell you nearly enough, but you were my best friend, and even though you were far away, I always knew I could count on you to make everything better. I don’t know how to miss you, Ax.”
Needing to step back before I crumble right here at the front of the church in front of everyone who means something in the music industry, I let my hand fall away before inching back.
I turn to face the church, taking it all in, and as I gaze upon the many faces staring back at me, it becomes all too clear just how much Ax would have hated this. He wouldn’t have wanted some big fancy funeral in LA where the people he loved from back home would have had to dip into their savings just to afford the flight out here. He wouldn’t have wanted all the bullshit flowers and the big fancy church. He wouldn’t have wanted the screaming fans lingering outside.
He would have wanted the park where we used to go on family camping trips by the lake at sunset. He would have wanted his close friends and the guys in the band. Not the label and management. Not these familiar faces he only saw at award shows. Not the fucking press.
Unable to take it any longer, I creep away from the casket and find the furthest seat in the front row, opposite of the boys’ empty seats. The ceremony isn’t set to start for another fifteen minutes, and I’m grateful for the small window by my seat that allows me something to focus on other than the casket only a few feet away.
I watch as the eager fans scream and chant with every approaching car, but when the screaming becomes so loud that I feel it vibrating through the ground, I realize they’re here.
Demon’s Curse.
Ezra Knight.
Fuck me. I could really use Madds right now, but no matter how hard I tried, an invitation was never granted, and I was left to face all of this on my own.
I can’t help but keep my gaze trained on the approaching SUV as it slowly makes its way through the overcrowded street, and with every passing second, my heart races just a little bit faster.
It’s been six long years since I’ve seen any of their faces in person.
The crowd outside is deafening, and I can’t help noticing the people in the church looking around and trying to peer out the windows, desperate to lay their eyes on the most famous men in the world.
The SUV comes to a stop and, not a moment later, the same man who opened my door and offered me his hand is standing right there, opening the rear door of the SUV. A moment passes before I see Rock step out, only the blinding flashes from the paparazzi make it almost impossible to see him.
Dylan comes next, stepping out and fixing his suit as he presents a mask of indifference. He’s always been the best at putting on a show and masking the wild emotions inside. The cameras flash again as the screaming fans desperately try to push past security to get just a bit closer.
Both Dylan and Rock disappear inside the foyer of the church, and I find myself scoffing at the realization that they won’t have to stop to have their name marked off. They’d just walk right through like they own the place.
A moment passes, and I keep my gaze locked on the back of the SUV when finally, the front man of Demon’s Curse steps out into the daylight and my chest sinks.
There he is. The very man who offered me the world, only to let it burn right there in my fingertips, and then had the audacity to sing about it as though he’s the one all broken up inside.
Ezra fucking Knight.