12
Kage
The lantern event had been… unexpectedly beautiful.
Watching those paper lanterns lift into the night sky, carrying our messages and memories, I felt something loosen in my chest. A knot I hadn’t even known was there. I’d lit mine for my own mother. Wrote her name in blocky letters and underneath it, Still trying to make you proud.
The flames flickered, soft and golden, and I watched my lantern float higher until it disappeared into the stars.
It was simple. Gentle. And exactly what Parker had needed.
Usually, my pack would drown out this kind of pain. Booze, sex, drugs—whatever it took to not feel. But Phoenix, the little beta who stormed into our lives like a goddamn hurricane, she didn’t run from the hard stuff. She faced it head-on. She saw Parker struggling and didn’t hesitate to do something about it. And not with empty words or forced comfort. She acted. She gave him space while still making it clear he wasn’t alone.
I wasn’t used to that kind of softness.
Wasn’t used to someone outside our pack thinking of us like that.
I glanced over at Parker during the ride back. His head leaned against the window, arms crossed over his chest, but he looked… calmer. Not okay, not really, but lighter. Like he’d finally put down a burden he’d been carrying for too long.
I should have done something for him.
Hell, I could’ve. I just… didn’t.
And that realization sat heavy in my gut.
The truth was, my pack had always been my anchor. When life got messy, when it hurt or spun too fast, I had them. We’d formed right out of high school, three reckless boys who had clung to each other through loss and poverty and everything in between. Parker, Zeph, and me. None of us had it easy growing up, but we had each other. My mom had cried the day we made it official, said she’d gained two more sons. She loved them like they were hers.
She’d be disappointed in me now.
Because somewhere along the way, we stopped holding each other like we used to. We had forgotten that we weren’t meant to handle everything alone.
And I’d let Parker handle this alone.
Fuck.
I rested my head back against the seat as the driver pulled into the venue parking lot, the low hum of the engine fading into silence. One by one, we filed off. No one said much, we were all emotionally wrung out.
I moved slower than the others. Not ready for bed yet, not with all that guilt rattling around in my chest. Instead, I lingered near the front of the bus, running my hand along the edge of the small table near the kitchenette and thinking about our pack.
We’d lost something along the way.
Maybe it was time to start finding it again.
I turned toward the bunks, stepping lightly in case anyone was already asleep. Most of the curtain flaps were drawn, but Phoenix’s was still cracked open, a soft sliver of light spilling out. I hesitated for a second before gently knocking on the edge of the frame.
She looked up from her bunk, surprise flickering across her face.
“Hey,”
I said quietly.
“Hey,”
she echoed, setting down the book she’d been reading. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just…”
I rubbed the back of my neck. This wasn’t easy for me, saying shit like this. “I wanted to thank you. For tonight. That was… really fucking thoughtful. Parker needed that. And… so did I.”
Her expression softened, and I caught a glimpse of that quiet strength she always seemed to carry in her eyes.
“You don’t have to thank me,”
she said. “I just… No one should have to carry that grief alone.”
I nodded, swallowing around the lump in my throat.
“You’ve got a good heart, Phoenix,”
I said before I lost the nerve. “And I see it. Even when I pretend I don’t.”
That made her blink, startled, and I didn’t wait for her to reply. I just offered a small, grateful smile and backed away.
“Goodnight,” I added.
“Goodnight, Kage.”
I ducked into my bunk and stared up at the ceiling, the hum of the bus settling around me. My thoughts were a storm, but at the center of it was her.
◆◆◆
After practice, I was drenched in sweat and starving, same as always.
My stomach was gnawing at me, the kind of hunger that couldn’t be ignored.
I was frustrated that I hadn't thought to bring a snack with me when something brushed against my chest.
I glanced down to find a water bottle and a protein bar held out to me, and for a second, I didn’t know what to do with it.
I looked up to find Phoenix, standing quietly, her gaze fixed on her phone, not even looking at me.
I muttered a quick thanks, more out of habit than anything else.
She didn’t say anything in return, just gave me a quiet nod.
Then, as though the exchange was the most natural thing in the world, she turned away, her attention back on whatever was on her phone.
I stared after her, more than a little confused.
Why was I watching her? Why was I noticing her so damn much today? It wasn’t like her kindness was anything new.
She’d been quietly doing this for months—handing us things, making sure we were taken care of, but it was her job.
Maybe it was the events of last night lingering in the back of my mind, or maybe it was just how fucking tired I was of being a jackass.
But I realized how many little things she’d been doing for us.
The things I’d been too wrapped up in my own shit to notice.
Like this morning, I’d caught Parker fiddling with a fidget ring—this simple matte black ring, something that seemed out of character for him.
He was turning it over and over in his fingers, and I couldn’t figure out why it seemed so important.
But then I caught Phoenix looking at it.
Just once.
She’d glanced at it, and then at Parker, and then back at the ground, like she was making sure she wasn’t seen.
I knew right then that she was the one who had given it to him.
And that wasn’t the only thing.
She had learned the rhythms of Parker’s restlessness like second nature.
She could always tell when his attention was slipping, when his eyes glazed over in frustration, and she’d make sure we took a break.
She wasn’t afraid to press pause on whatever we were doing, whether it was a complicated interview or her PR nonsense, just to let Parker breathe for a minute.
If he was getting distracted by the noise of his own thoughts, she’d slip him a water bottle or a snack, not as a request but as a quiet act of care.
She wasn’t thanked.
Hell, she’d barely be acknowledged.
But she continued to do it each day.
Zeph was no different.
He was a creature of habit, obsessed with his routines.
He had to have his mic pack set up a certain way or he’d spend the entire show complaining.
I used to watch him rip it off and fix it himself, barking at the sound tech like it was their fault.
But I realized, in the last few weeks, that he hadn’t been complaining.
He hadn’t even been growling under his breath about his gear.
Because Phoenix had already taken care of it.
I’d caught her once, kneeling behind him during soundcheck, fixing the mic clips like she’d been doing it for years. And when she was done, she just faded into the background again, like it was no big deal.
And for me? I had this stupid little ritual with the fridge.
It wasn’t even a real fridge—just a tiny, cramped cooler and a small pantry cabinet.
But when it was out of order? When everything was thrown around and in the wrong place? It drove me fucking insane.
And I’d never said anything.
Not out loud, anyway.
I’d muttered about it under my breath a few times, but who the hell would listen to me? It’s just the fridge, right?
But when I opened it up last week? It was organized.
Everything in labeled bins.
Drinks, protein bars, cold snacks—all neatly sorted.
And the condiments? Color-coded.
I didn’t even need to ask who did it.
Of course it was her.
She’d heard me complain, and she just… fixed it.
No thanks, no requests for recognition. Just quiet action.
My mind spun as I processed all the little things I’d missed.
The way she was always watching, always noticing.
It hit me then, how fucking selfish we’d all been.
How we’d treated her like she didn’t matter.
I felt a sick twist in my gut, a burning shame creeping in.
How many times had I snapped at her? How many times had I dismissed her as just a fixture? And all she’d done was… help us.
Quietly.
Without asking for anything in return.
I couldn’t keep ignoring it anymore.
I stormed off the stage intent on finding her.
The backstage area was quieter than I’d expected, the usual bustle of crew members moving between their duties.
I pushed past a few of them, not paying attention to the scattered conversations. I was too focused on finding her, the sound of my boots thudding against the concrete floor the only rhythm in my mind.
That’s when I heard it.
A conversation, low but clear enough to catch my attention.
Two voices, sharp and dismissive. I stopped in my tracks, my hand resting on the edge of the backstage curtain.
"How long do you think we can keep pretending this band is worth the hassle?" one of them asked.
"They’re more trouble than they're worth," the second voice replied, sounding like he’d had this conversation before. "A pack of party boys. They’ve got no discipline. No focus."
I clenched my fists, the blood rushing to my ears, but I stayed still, didn’t move. The words stung more than I thought they would. We were used to critics, to people on the outside saying things they didn’t understand.
"They’ll crash and burn soon enough," the first voice continued. "Trust me, it’s only a matter of time."
I was about to march in there and tell them exactly what I thought when I heard a voice that stopped me cold.
"I don’t think you know them at all," Phoenix said, her voice steady but filled with conviction.
I could barely breathe as I listened to her defend us.
"I’ll admit, yeah, they’ve got their issues.
They’re reckless, they’re impulsive, and sometimes, they make my life ten times harder.
But there’s more to them than that.
More than what you see when you look at them from the outside. They’re not just party boys. They’re artists. They’re more than the sum of their mistakes."
The silence that followed was deafening.
All we’d done was take, take, take—and here she was talking about us like we mattered.
She just kept giving, kept defending us when everyone else was ready to write us off.
I took a step back, leaning against the wall, my mind racing.
God, we were idiots.