16
Phoenix
I was pissed.
I should’ve known better.
Foolishly, I thought the guys were having a night in.
Kage and Parker had both been lounging in their bunks after the post-show commitments, looking as exhausted as I felt.
For once, I had allowed myself to believe that maybe, just maybe, I could relax tonight.
After all, it wasn’t often they turned down a wild night out, and I’d hoped they might want to recharge.
But no—of course not. The second I emerged from my shower, fresh-faced and towel-drying my hair, they were gone. Not a word, not a note. Nothing.
I should have expected it.
Chasing them around town like this had become a routine, but that didn’t make it any less frustrating.
Now, here I was again, traipsing through the streets of Chicago, trying to hunt down their asses.
By the time I finally found the club they’d wandered into, I was practically seething.
I stopped outside the door, catching my breath and glaring at the sign, noting the name of the place.
To my surprise, it wasn’t the usual overly fancy, pretentious place they liked to hit up.
No, this club had a modern but edgy vibe.
It was the kind of place that, in another life—one where I wasn’t chasing after unruly rock stars—I might’ve fit right in.
The music pounding from the speakers was right up my alley, a mix of hard-hitting beats and dark, pulsating energy.
A smile almost tugged at the corner of my lips.
I’d have to remember the name of the place. Raven, my youngest sister, would love it here if we were ever in Chicago together.
Shoving my hands in my pockets, I pushed through the door.
It didn’t take long to locate the VIP section.
Of course that’s where they’d be, soaking up the attention.
As far as nights out with Purely Onyx went, it looked pretty tame—for now.
But I knew all too well how quickly that could change.
I marched through the crowd, my eyes narrowing as I spotted Kage first.
He was lounging back in one of the leather booths, looking as effortlessly cool and indifferent as ever.
His gaze landed on me almost immediately.
Instead of the usual teasing smirk or sarcastic comment, he simply gave me a knowing smile and a nod.
That was it.
No witty remark about me “babysitting”
them, no admonishment for my presence.
Just… acceptance.
I didn’t know if I should be relieved or more irritated.
Parker, meanwhile, was already drunk.
I could see it in the way his head lolled back against the cushion, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned into a group of girls surrounding him.
Zephyr, unsurprisingly, had a woman on each arm, flashing them that signature, mischievous grin that always seemed to get him whatever he wanted. Typical.
I made my way to the bar, keeping my distance.
“Coke, no ice, please,”
I told the bartender, who looked like he expected me to order something far stronger.
If only he knew how tempting that was.
But no—I couldn’t.
I’d worked too damn hard to get clean, and I wasn’t about to throw that away just because these idiots didn’t know how to stay out of trouble.
Drink in hand, I found a dark corner of the club to settle into.
It had become my routine during these nights out—stay out of the way, keep an eye on things, and only intervene if there was an imminent PR disaster.
The band had grown used to it, and as long as I wasn’t in their faces, they tended to ignore my presence.
Fine by me.
Tonight, I didn’t have it in me to argue.
I didn’t even have it in me to be angry with them anymore.
I was tired—exhausted, really.
Chasing after them every night, being surrounded by all my old vices, and suppressing my Omega instincts at every turn… It was starting to take its toll.
Every inch of my body ached, my mind screamed for reprieve, but I couldn’t give in. I couldn’t let myself slip.
I leaned back in my chair, sipping my Coke and watching as the guys fell deeper into their typical antics.
I told myself I wasn’t envious of their freedom—their ability to let go without consequence—but it was a lie.
Part of me wanted to throw caution to the wind, to join them in their reckless abandon, but I knew where that path led.
I had barely survived it the first time.
So, I stayed in my corner, hidden in the shadows, reminding myself why I did this.
I couldn’t let them ruin themselves, even if it meant I had to carry the weight of my own desires and responsibilities in silence.
◆◆◆
I slumped into a dark corner of the club, the heavy bass thudding in my chest like a heartbeat as my thoughts swirled.
I had tried my best to remain detached, to be professional, but the lines between my work and my emotions were blurring dangerously.
My constant close proximity to my scent matches had chipped away at the wall I had constructed around myself.
Tonight, the club, with the band only meters away, felt like a trap.
The proximity to the Alphas was a constant, unrelenting pressure on my senses.
My Omega instincts were in overdrive, and every encounter, every brush of their presence, seemed to pull at my resolve.
I could feel the ache in my chest, a physical manifestation of the internal struggle between my professional facade and my instinctual needs.
It was becoming increasingly difficult to keep up the pretense of indifference, to maintain the image of the unruffled Beta who had it all together.
I had never wanted a drink more.
Fuck.
I needed to escape.
Pushing through the crowd, I made my way outside into the cool night air.
I leaned against the brick wall of the building, taking deep breaths as I fought to regain my composure.
The outside world was quieter, the cacophony of the club reduced to a distant murmur.
I closed my eyes, trying to steady my racing heart and quell the tears that threatened to spill.
My brief escape was cut short when Zephyr stepped out of the shadows, his usual swagger dimmed by a disheveled appearance.
His clothes were slightly rumpled, and his eyes carried an unfamiliar heaviness.
I prepared myself for his sharp wit, the inevitable verbal sparring, but instead he offered me a cigarette.
“You look like you could use this,”
he said, his voice softer than I had ever heard it.
I took the cigarette with a trembling hand, the small act of kindness a strange balm to my frayed nerves.
I didn’t light it immediately; instead, I held it between my fingers as if it were a lifeline.
We stood in silence, the cool air wrapping around us and providing a temporary reprieve from the club’s oppressive heat.
Zephyr’s presence, usually intimidating and distant, felt oddly comforting in that moment.
There was something in his eyes, a flicker of understanding that seemed to acknowledge the depth of my struggle.
For the first time, I saw past the confident facade he wore.
It was the glimpse of the raw vulnerability beneath that had me wanting to dive into his arms.
Not a smart idea.
“Look,”
he began, “I didn’t mean to make things harder for you.
I get it—this gig is probably more than you signed up for.”
His words were unexpected. The animosity between us, which had been constantly simmering, softened in the face of his honesty.
I nodded, unable to find the words to express the complex mixture of gratitude and sadness that swirled inside me.
He didn’t push me to speak, his presence a quiet support as I grappled with my emotions.
In that quiet space, I began to see Zephyr in a new light.
He was more than the arrogant, reckless Alpha I had come to know.
There was a depth to him, a tortured side that mirrored my own struggles in ways I hadn’t expected.
The realization was jarring but strangely comforting. Perhaps he, too, understood what it was like to fight against one’s darker impulses, to struggle with a past that refused to stay buried.
When Zephyr finally left, I stayed outside a little longer, letting the cool air calm my nerves and the silence steady my thoughts.
For the first time since returning to the tour, I considered telling the band the truth.
Maybe—just maybe—something more meaningful could come from the tangled mess I was in.
But then Kage’s words echoed in my mind: There’s nothing Zephyr hates more than Omegas.