Chapter 8
Chapter Eight
AIDEN
Three days. It’s three days until the weekend, and aside from a few thumbs up reacts and lyrics shared from Mia’s notes app, we don’t hear from her. At least, we don’t in the group chat, and I don’t directly.
I could smell her through the fucking walls of my apartment. I heard every whimper, every moan. Even when Leo went in to ease her heat. Noah and I weren’t in the room with them, but we might as well have been.
And then she just left like nothing happened.
I understand why. Scent matches are random and rare, and to have that happen on the day we meet on top of her going into heat? We’re practically strangers to her at best. But fuck if I wouldn’t form a pack just to help her through this.
I don’t stop thinking about Mia and her feverish whimpers or the future Exit Fate could have until I get a text from Darius:
Are you really fucking starting a new band right away? What the fuck man.
That’s on day one of the three-day stretch of time without Mia. I don’t reply until day three, after the rest of my old band reaches out in kind.
You kicked me out, remember? Fuck you. Good luck in the future.
I ignore the rest of his and the others’ messages. Exit Fate is my focus now, when I’m not thinking about Mia and making her my omega—our omega. The guys and I mention the idea of a pack a few more times, but both Noah and Leo want to wait.
I understand. But I also crave Mia’s sweet strawberry candy scent so badly I go to the store and pick out every single candy I can find that I think might get close. Nothing compares, and all it does is make me wonder how she tastes.
Wondering is all I have. The only thing of Mia’s I can hold right now are her lyrics—some of them are new, I think, and many of them from her time as a solo act. And they’re good .
Noah’s already got some bass lines noted down, and Leo’s sorted drums. Mia approves the two tracks we’ve come up with so far over text message.
Two tracks ready out of a whole album’s worth within three days. It’s honestly magical.
On day four, a Saturday, I meet Leo and Noah at Carnation Studio with Wes on the way. A few hours go by without Mia’s appearance.
Leo watches the studio doors that haven’t opened since we got in here. “She’s definitely coming.”
“You’re confident,” Noah says. “Do you know something we don’t?”
No, but he’s definitely felt or tasted something we haven’t. “Mia said she’d be here, and I believe it.”
Leo pulls out his phone, glances down at the screen, and shakes his head. He pockets his phone again. “Nothing from her saying she won’t be here.”
“Still—”
The doors swing open, cutting Noah off, and Mia strolls on in. She’s wearing black skinny jeans and her signature black vest, with a purple t-shirt spouting some logo I can’t quite make out from here. Her blue and purple hair is tied up today, and she’s smiling from ear-to-ear.
“Sorry I’m late!” She sets down her guitar before all of us and fishes her phone out of her pocket. “I was struck with some ideas on the way and pulled over to record them.”
She looks… happy. And excited.
And a lot less flush.
I’m not sure why, but knowing her heat has ended deflates me. And knowing she went through it on her own makes me feel even worse.
“Let’s hear it then,” Noah says with his hand held out for the phone. “How have you been?”
The question of the hour. Or the last three full days.
Mia smiles sheepishly. “Occupied, but when I could think, I wrote everything I could.”
Leo moves over to the drum set. He’s wearing a tank top today and shorts, ready to jam to whatever we’ve got going. “What you sent was fantastic. Hopefully Wes enjoys the two tracks we’ve already got for him.”
Mia hands her phone to Noah. “Three, maybe, if you guys like this.”
Noah flicks the screen and the video begins to play. He holds it out for all of us to see. Sure enough, Mia’s sat in the middle of the view on a fallen tree trunk somewhere along the highway. I can hear the cars whizzing past in the background.
She starts to play something slow, then jumps into playing an acoustic guitar as hard as one can. The soft beginning coasts into screams and growls, and where her lyrics fall off, I jump in on improv only, filling in the words. She smiles up at me, nodding along to my additions. Leo starts softly playing, too, and by the time the video’s over, even Noah’s fingering the air as if he had his bass in hand.
Mia glances up at all of us with anticipation gleaming in her eyes. “So, what do you think?”
“I think it’ll sound great tomorrow night at the Sound House in town.”
We all whip around to find Wes standing there, his arms crossed, and a grin on his face.
And then his words sink in. “Excuse me?” I ask.
Leo sets down his drumsticks. “The Sound House?”
Wes nods as he approaches. I didn’t even hear him come into the room. “Word got out that you’re heading a new band, Aiden. The Sound House called me right away and wants to book you, and they have an opening tomorrow night.”
Sunday’s weren’t normal gig days, and when we were in town, extra gig slots at Sound House always went to Designation Outsider. Which presents two unique problems:
We’re taking a slot from my old band.
We’re doing it literal days after forming this one, with barely two— three —songs that might be ready.
“Wes, that’s real quick,” I argue.
Wes holds both hands up before himself. “I know, I’m aware. But look at what you just made together. Do that, do some covers, do Mia’s Dreaming Late . A mix of something. Ten songs, one set.”
I get the feeling that’s an order, not a request. So I turn to the band. Noah’s grip on the neck of his bass leaves me feeling uneasy. Leo’s paled some—this concerns me more. I know Lost Time has played Sound House, too. He’d be familiar with it.
“How did news even travel this quickly?” I ask Wes, although I can think of a few sources. Darius, for one.
Wes shrugs. “You know, I have no idea. It wasn’t me. But word is traveling fast, and there’s a lot of excitement about this particular group of people getting together. Noah, you’ve done a lot for a lot of people in the industry. Aiden and Leo, I don’t need to explain. And Mia.” He turns to her. “Mia, you have such a spark. I believe in Exit Fate. I believe in all of you. The question is, do you believe in yourselves?”
That feels like a stupid question, because the real important one is actually: Do we believe we can play a full set together?
“Ten songs is a lot,” I argue. “This is our second practice.”
Wes raises an eyebrow. “Only the second?”
He doesn’t know about Mia or her heat. I’m not sure what to say, and neither are Leo and Noah apparently.
So it’s a good thing when Mia speaks up. “We’ll work hard today and be ready, Wes. Don’t you worry.”
But he should. And I know he will.
Wes nods once, then claps loudly. “I’ll let you get to work, and I’ll go about making you some marketing collateral quickly for the show. A logo, a banner. Something.” He’s starting to sound like a stressed art teacher.
Wes leaves the studio. Silence befalls us for a long minute afterward, at which point I turn to my band. “Well, that’s unexpected.”
Noah plucks a few strings on his bass. “To say the least. Think we’re ready?”
Leo exhales loudly. “He’s not wrong—we can do covers, pull on old stuff. I’ll probably not hang around Sound House before or after, though.”
“No worries.” Leo’s autoimmune disease puts him at severe risk of infection. It’s why I gave him the seat closest to fresh air at Al’s the other night, and why I’ll make sure any and all venues we go to accommodate him. “Mia?”
Mia smirks. “You bet. This is our chance to prove we’re here to stay. Don’t you want that, Aiden?”
Don’t you want that?
Her voice boomerangs through my mind. Yes, I want that. And her. And this . All of this. But those are strong words, so instead, I say, “I’ll do anything to prove Exit Fate may just be starting, but we’re not a rebound band or a passing thing.”
I’ll do anything to shove the largest fucking middle finger in Darius and Jordan’s faces.
“Then it sounds like we have a lot of work to do,” Mia says before opening up her guitar case. “And lucky for you all, my focus is fully on music again. Be ready to be amazed.”
Oh, Mia. I was amazed the moment we first met.