Phoebe
F or two weeks slept, letting the world and her problems slip away. She didn’t want to admit Axel was right to insist on her moving in, even if he was. Once she’d reluctantly talked to Nick and the others about her staying for the foreseeable future, the adrenaline she’d been surviving on fled, leaving her exhausted. All she could do was sleep. She only left her room for food—not that she was hiding from Axel. Okay, maybe she was.
With a clear mind, she couldn’t believe how reckless she’d been going to LouderTech alone. Confronting a grown man injured—yes with a weapon, but he could’ve easily overpowered her. The thought of him being out there, and that someone had paid him to do her harm, set her on edge.
Each day, though, the ache of grief eased little by little, sinking deeper under the surface. Questions only popped in when the silence got too much. Was he tolerating my love for the sake of the band? was a thought she couldn’t escape. Lena was right about the missed birthdays and exhibits. She didn’t want to believe it, but the last-minute cancellations and one-word messages all added up.
stared at the engagement ring sitting on the sink. She couldn’t toss it or sell it, but it felt like a lie, meant to keep her caged while he lived his life freely. Now she felt caged by her paranoia; she didn’t want to believe what Sheen had said about being hired to ruin her studio. However, she’d been wrong about Cillian, and now she was forced to consider if someone was trying to ruin her and her relationship with the band.
An unknown number appeared on her phone, vibrating on the glass shelf below the bathroom mirror. Panic swelled in her chest. Who would be calling her from a private number? She answered; it might be the police calling about her incident with Mr Sheen.
“Hello?” said, hesitantly.
“Ms Fletcher?” A soft Italian accent greeted her instead, and her shoulders relaxed. It wasn’t some journalist or troll. “My name is Rowena. We haven’t met, but Mr Hunt’s lawyer gave me your number. I was hired to look after the villa in Amalfi. I’m so very sorry about the accident, but I was wondering how you would like the villa to be maintained and if you’d like me to stay on, as I believe ownership has been passed on to you.”
didn’t realise Cillian had hired someone to keep the place up when they weren’t there. She put the call on speaker as she got ready.
“Yes, please stay on if you can. I’m not sure what needs doing, and it might be a while before I can get out there,” said as she moisturised her skin, paying close attention to her scars. “How much do I owe you? I’m sorry if you haven’t been paid; I can make up for whatever’s owed to you.”
“Please don’t be sorry, Mr Hunt already paid for the year. I take care of the grounds and the house. We are a small village and I live down the street, so I keep an eye on the place. I was dusting this week, and I was wondering if you’d like me to pack up any of Mr Hunt’s belongings. I wasn’t sure.” Rowena hesitated, and understood the woman’s discomfort. Talking about a dead employer to his ex-fiancée wasn’t the easiest conversation to have.
“Don’t worry about his belongings, just keep doing what you’re doing, but thank you for the consideration. I’ll try and get out there soon.” flexed her hand; the scar tissue made her skin feel tight and uncomfortable.
“As you wish. If there is anything you need, please ask,” Rowena said kindly while riffled through the numerous suitcases she’d been living out of on her unmade bed. Last week, Lena had packed up most of her clothes and things. The others were afraid that if she went back to her apartment she wouldn’t come back. Seeing how upset her brother had been when Axel told him about Sheen, staying was best for everyone.
“Thank you. Maybe if you could find some packing boxes. I can pay you for them, if you send your details,” she asked, finding a pair of mint green sweats and pulling her white T-shirt over her bralette. She felt the fine scratches on her chest and shoulders where the glass had cut her, and shook away the unpleasant memories.
“I’ve already been paid expenses for the year, so it’s no trouble. When you’re coming send me a list of groceries so I can stock the fridge for you,” Rowena offered.
appreciated her kindness, but she wasn’t sure if she was ready to return to the place where she and Cillian had planned their future.
“Thank you, I’ll be in touch,” she said, and closed her bedroom door behind her.
When she hung up, she contemplated selling the villa. She could use the money to buy her own place, maybe a house with her own studio. Her thoughts were cut short by the sound of her name coming from the TV downstairs.
Downstairs, she hovered in the kitchen doorway so the others wouldn’t turn off the news.
“ In entertainment news, we have a shocking update in relation to the death of Brothers of Anarchy frontman, Cillian Hunt. The studio of his long-term girlfriend and established artist, Fletcher, has been vandalised, ruining a collection of works scheduled to be shown in Buckland’s Gallery next month. Reports from a source close to the band and Miss Fletcher claim that the break-in was done by a disgruntled fan. We hope that fans can give the band members and Ms Fletcher some space and privacy during this dark time.” The glamourous anchorwoman offered a condescending smile before moving on to the next piece of gossip.
Luckily the break-in wasn’t news to any of them, but they still grumbled about it hitting the news.
“Some space and privacy, while reporting on every single one of our movements,” said, alerting the others to her arrival. She picked up the control by the microwave and turned off the TV.
“If it isn’t Sleeping Beauty. We were beginning to wonder when you were going to join us.” Nick got up from his stool at the counter and squished her to his chest. He was far taller than her—much to her annoyance—and she struggled to breathe in his embrace.
“Breakfast looks good,” she said, pushing her brother away.
August pushed a plate of pancakes towards her. “I made your favourite, just in case you came down.”
His thoughtfulness almost made her burst into tears. Being so emotionally raw was a new experience.
Axel cleared his throat as he sat on the counter by the oven with a loaded bagel in his hand. August glared at him, and noticed his dark circles had lessened since she’d last seen him; she wasn’t the only one getting some sleep.
“Okay, my idea, but Axel made them,” August confessed, biting into a slice of bacon. Nick had told her Axel’s love language was feeding people. It was the reason they had no need for a chef.
“Thank you.” glanced at Axel, who hid behind his breakfast. She hated to admit that he was right to bring her here.
“Don’t mention it, I’m just glad you’re out of bed.” Axel hopped off the counter while the others put their dishes in the sink. “I was beginning to think I’d have to kiss you to wake you up,” he whispered as he brushed past her. Thankfully the others didn’t hear.
“Would that make you my true love?” she said with a smirk, and he winked. Falling for another rockstar wouldn’t be good for her health, but flirting wasn’t off-limits.
“What was that?” Nick asked, looking between them.
“Nothing.” they said in unison.
Nick frowned, but luckily Anita coming in distracted him.
“, nice to see you are up and about, but we were in the middle of something,” Anita said, picking up a green smoothie from the counter that looked like freshly mown grass.
“Sorry to interrupt,” said. The atmosphere felt strained, now Anita was back. “I can take my food back to my room.”
“No, you should stay. You should have a say in this as well,” Nick said, and Axel suddenly walked out of the kitchen.
“Axel! We aren’t finished discussing the concert!” Anita called after him.
“What concert?” asked. Wasn’t it too early to be thinking about performing again?
“I’m coming back!” Axel shouted down the hall, and Anita turned a shade of stressed-induced purple.
“I don’t know how we could perform without Cillian, and it’s far too soon to replace him,” Nick argued. “The fans would be furious. Axel replaced our last drummer, but that was a completely different situation.”
“No one is talking about replacing Cillian,” Anita said. “You could fill in. You are one of the original members, and the fans will respect your decision to lead.”
“Do you want to sing lead?” asked her brother, not caring what the label or Anita wanted.
“I don’t have much choice, none of us want to disband,” Nick explained.
’s gut churned; disbanding felt like another death.
“We certainly aren’t considering disbanding,” Anita countered. “The label thinks a concert in honour of Cillian’s passing would help calm the situation. Give the fans something to focus on and look forward to. With all the bad press recently, we could all use a boost of positivity.”
“It’s only been a couple of months?” said. “Isn’t it a bit soon?”
“The concert wouldn’t be for another few months,” Anita said, clearly having already talked it over with the label since she was pushing it so hard. “No one is asking for miracles. It’s just a small concert, twenty thousand tops, to commemorate Cillian’s memory and give the media something to chew on.”
“Are you sure you’re ready for that?” asked August and Nick, who didn’t look enthused by the idea. sat at the table by August, who offered her a weak smile.
“The concert would be a nice way to honour him, but that’s not the whole proposal,” Nick said, crossing his arms.
“They want another album,” Axel said, returning.
choked on her pancakes when she saw her notebook in his hand. August slapped her back, but it wasn’t food caught in her throat.
Nick downed his orange juice. “An album we don’t have because Cillian didn’t finish, or if he did, we can’t find any trace of it.”
“The album shouldn’t be a problem.” Axel placed the purple notebook on the island in front of everyone.
wanted the tiled floor to open and swallow her. Axel glanced at her as she shook her head, begging him not to say anything. She couldn’t believe he hadn’t talked to her about this first. August got the notebook before she did, flipping through the pages. His scowl confirmed his suspicions.
“This isn’t Cillian’s handwriting.” August stared at the lyrics of a song on their last album. couldn’t meet his eye. Nick stared over August’s shoulder, and she knew he would recognise her handwriting; she had a childish habit of putting circles on her i’s.
“Care to explain?” Anita asked, tapping her foot impatiently.
“I think is the only one who can,” Axel said, not giving her an out.
She wished she’d never got out of bed that morning. However, her conscience told her she had to face the music at some point. Axel had given her weeks, but she’d kept putting it off, and now they were out of time.
“We wrote them together,” admitted.
“You’ve been writing our songs?” Nick stammered.
“There is no point in lying,” Axel said to her as she hesitated. “I think we’ve all had enough lies, and we can’t move forward if we don’t start being completely honest with each other.”
“Yes,” she confessed, feeling a weight lift from her shoulders. “But only for the last album, and we still worked together on it. It wasn’t entirely me.”
They all gawked at her like she’d grown a second head.
“You’re like a walking media disaster. Anything else we need to know? Any lovers in the wings or other secret talents that might blow up in our faces?” Anita ranted, her face turning a nice shade of red.
“Back off,” Axel cut in. “’s work has been making you, us, money for years and she hasn’t expected a thing in return. You— we should be thanking her, because without her now, we are finished.”
Nick’s nostrils flared, looking like he wanted to punch something. Probably Cillian, but it was too late for that.
“You’ve been writing our songs?” Nick stammered, taking the notebook from August. “How could you not tell me? I’m your brother!” He slammed the notebook on the table. “We promised not to get involved in each other’s careers. I accepted your relationship with him, but you’ve been doing this behind my back for years! When did this start?”
“I don’t know, but it was after you were already signed. Cillian was struggling and I just helped,” she said, hating the look of betrayal in her brother’s eyes. “Over time, it became a habit. I never wanted to lie about it, but it felt so harmless, and it’s only words—you guys did everything else.”
“I don’t know what to say. I don’t know whether to be angry, grateful or pissed that Cillian kept this from me.” Nick ran his hands through his hair. “When did you find out about this?” He turned to Axel.
“The concert in Munich,” Axel confessed. “I found the notebook in my bus after they’d left.”
“I’d come to surprise Cillian with it that night,” added, and the room drifted into silence.
“Okay. Here’s what we are going to do,” Anita said, taking charge as she always did. wished she wouldn’t micromanage them so much. “We need this album, so we’ll continue as normal.” Anita turned to . “Next album, you keep your hands off. We can bring in some songwriters, if necessary, but the fans don’t need to know about your past involvement.”
“The whole point of this concert is to honour Cillian and help with the negative press,” Axel countered. “Maybe telling the fans that ’s the reason they have all the songs they love might help bridge the gap.”
“Or those who already blame me will think I’m trying to take credit for his work,” pointed out.
“Enough,” Anita huffed. “There is enough chaos right now. We don’t need any more surprises, or the label will skin us alive. We need this next album to make back all that was lost with the cancelling of the tour.”
“You can have the songs, but I don’t want anyone to know I wrote them,” said, not wanting to be accused of stealing the spotlight or tainting Cillian’s memory. She couldn’t win no matter what she did, so staying out of it was best for everyone.
“Good, and can you promise to lay low between now and the concert?” Anita asked. hated her condescending tone. Still, she was trying to stop their ship from going under.
“I haven’t left the house except for physio, I can’t get a much lower profile than that,” pointed out. She had no power over what the media did; she’d never realised she could be everywhere and nowhere all at once.
“I know you’re doing your best, but the news about your studio has kicked everything up again,” Anita said.
“This is bullshit,” Axel muttered under his breath. “Secrets have done nothing but cause this mess in the first place.”
“I don’t want the credit. Like I said, we wrote the songs together. Consider it my parting gift.” looked at the notebook that contained the last remnants of their relationship.
“If she doesn’t want the credit we shouldn’t force her,” Nick argued. “It’s only one more album. Then we can take some time to figure out next steps.”
“Exactly. We just need to get through the storm and then we can reassess,” said. “Now isn’t the time to drop another bombshell on the fans.”
August nodded. “I’m with .”
“Is this what you really want?” Axel asked .
She nodded.
“Fine, we can get started on producing,” Nick said. “The concert can be a way of saying goodbye to Cillian and for the world to get a chance for closure. I’ll just have to sing and play, and Axel, you’ll have to support more on vocals.”
Axel grumbled a little but agreed.
“Good.” Anita beamed. “I’ll tell the label the concert is on, and that we’ll announce the new album the same night, in Cillian’s honour.” She couldn’t hide her satisfied grin. Of course she couldn’t—she loved getting her way. “Getting back to normal is best for everyone.”
They all exchanged a look. Nothing about this felt normal.
Anita was too busy gathering her things to notice their hesitation.