21
Phoenix
The after-party was in full swing, the bass of the music thrumming through my chest as the crowd swayed in rhythm. Bodies pressed together on the dance floor, laughter and energy filling the room. I sat in the booth, nursing a soda I had no intention of finishing, trying to keep myself together.
The problem? My suppressants were running low. I’d had to lower my dose just to make them last until we got to Cincinnati, where Ro promised to meet me with more. But my Omega was clawing at the edges of my self-control, the proximity to my Alphas only making things worse. Every sound, every movement, seemed to grate against my skin, and my instincts were screaming at me, demanding things I couldn’t afford to give in to.
It wasn’t just the Omega urges either. My sobriety, the fragile grip I had on it, was being tested harder than it had been in months. Normally, I could manage—keep myself in check and maintain the routine. But between the suppressants running out and the endless temptations, I felt like I was teetering on a razor’s edge. One wrong move and everything could spiral.
I hadn’t noticed Parker approach until his hand landed on the table, his deep voice cutting through the noise. “You okay, Doll?”
His gaze was sharp, assessing.
“Yeah,”
I lied, flashing him a tight smile. “Just tired, I guess.”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t push. Instead, he gave me a smirk that I’d seen countless times before. “Come on, let’s dance.”
“I’m not really in the mood, Parker,”
I muttered, trying to brush him off. I didn’t trust myself to be that close to him. Not tonight. Not with everything I was fighting against.
But Parker wasn’t one to take no for an answer, especially when he thought he could help. “It’ll be fun. Just for a few minutes,”
he said, tugging at my hand. His touch sent a jolt of awareness through me, and my Omega stirred again, restless and hungry.
I knew I should say no. I should pull away, leave the party, lock myself in the bus, and ride out this storm. But I was tired—tired of fighting, tired of pretending. So, against my better judgment, I let him lead me to the dance floor.
The music wrapped around us as Parker pulled me into the crowd. At first, it was innocent enough. Just dancing, nothing more. He was grinning, joking around, trying to lighten the mood. And for a moment, I let myself relax, moving with the beat, letting the music drown out the mess in my head.
But then his hands found my hips, and the atmosphere shifted. His touch wasn’t overtly aggressive, but it was enough to make my heart race. I could feel the heat of him, the way his body moved closer, as if he could sense the pull between us. My Omega responded eagerly, the need for connection, for touch, surging through me like a wave.
I knew I should pull away, but for one fleeting second, I let myself lean into it—into him. It was dangerous, and I knew it, but for that moment, it felt too good to care. The weight of his hands, the warmth of his body, the spiced orange and cinnamon surrounding me—it was too much and not enough all at once.
Before it could go any further, I snapped out of it. Panic surged through me, and I yanked myself away, retreating from the dance floor as quickly as I could manage. My chest felt tight, my heart pounding against my ribs as I stumbled back to the booth. What the hell was I doing?
Anger flared in me—at myself, at the situation. How could I have let myself do that when I was this close to the edge? How could I be so stupid? I slammed down into the seat, my hands shaking slightly as I tried to catch my breath.
This was bad. I could feel the fragile grip on my sobriety slipping. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground crumbling beneath my feet, threatening to let me fall. The pull of the Alphas, the intensity of my need—it was overwhelming. And the worst part was, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could resist the temptation to drown away my emotions in a drink.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Zephyr and Kage hovering nearby. They weren’t looking directly at me, but they didn’t need to. I could sense them, the way they were keeping a close watch, as if they knew something was off. Maybe they could sense the vulnerability in the air, or maybe it was just instinct. Either way, they stayed close.
Parker returned from the dance floor, his expression unreadable. He slid into the booth across from me, his gaze locking with mine. “You okay?”
he asked again, this time softer, more serious.
I didn’t trust my voice, so I just nodded. He studied me for a moment, then glanced over at Zephyr and Kage. “Maybe we should call it a night,”
he suggested, his tone casual, but I could tell he wasn’t offering this for himself.
I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Relief washed over me, and I nodded again. “Yeah,”
I whispered. “That’s probably a good idea.”
They were doing this for me. They could see how close I was to breaking, and instead of pushing me further, they were giving me an out. I was grateful, more than I could put into words.
As we left the party and headed back to the bus, I couldn’t shake the feeling that this was just the beginning. The after-parties, the Alphas, the dwindling suppressants—it was all becoming too much. I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep it together.
◆◆◆
The bus door closed behind us with a soft hiss. The shift in atmosphere was immediate, quieter, more intimate. I was still reeling from the fact that the three Alphas in front of me had given up their night out just because I’d felt uncomfortable. It wasn’t like them to ditch the scene so easily, especially when they thrived on the energy of the crowds, the fans, the groupies.
I followed them into the lounge area, still processing the whole thing. Zephyr made a beeline for the couch, already scrolling through the movie selection. “Slasher night?”
he asked, raising an eyebrow as if daring anyone to protest. When no one did, he clicked play on some old horror film. Typical.
Parker wandered over to the kitchen area, grabbing a few bags of snacks and tossing one onto the couch beside me. “Gotta have fuel for this,”
he said, flashing a grin before taking his seat on the other side of Zephyr.
Kage handed out bottles of water to each of us. I took mine with a small nod of thanks, twisting the cap open as I sat down.
But something gnawed at me as I settled in. It wasn’t just the fact that they’d left the party for me. No, what really struck me was the subtle undercurrent of the whole night. Come to think of it, none of them had indulged in their usual vices tonight. No beers in hand, no cigarettes hanging from their lips. Just bottles of water, like they were on some sort of health cleanse instead of in a band known for its wild lifestyle. It was… weird.
We sat there, the slasher film starting up on the screen, but I couldn’t focus. My thoughts kept drifting back to the fact that they’d noticed. They had to have noticed. The slip-ups, the moments when my hands shook, or my temper flared just a bit too quickly. They weren’t stupid, and they definitely weren’t blind.
Parker was the first to break the silence. “You wanna talk about it?”
he asked, his tone gentle but direct.
My stomach twisted. I glanced at Zephyr, wondering if he’d told them about my confession. But he met my gaze with a subtle shake of his head. No. He hadn’t said anything.
I could feel their eyes on me, waiting. They deserved the truth, didn’t they? After all, it was getting harder to hide it. And the environment—well, it was taking its toll.
I took a deep breath. It wasn’t easy to admit, especially to them. They’d always seen me as strong, as the one who had it together. But I wasn’t that girl anymore. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been.
“I’ve been struggling,”
I finally said, my voice low but steady. “With… with sobriety.”
The room went still. I could feel the shift in the air, the tension that stretched between us like a live wire. Kage’s hand paused midair, popcorn forgotten. Parker straightened up beside him, his brows knitting together in concern. Zeph just gave me a small, encouraging smile.
“Wait, you’re—”
Parker began but then stopped, clearly unsure how to phrase it.
“Sober?”
I finished for him. “Yeah. Or trying to be. I’ve been clean for a while now, but it’s been… hard. Especially lately.”
Kage’s hand tightened around the water bottle, the crinkle of plastic loud in the quiet space. “Why didn’t you say something sooner?”
I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Because I didn’t want it to change anything. I didn’t want to be treated differently.”
“Phoenix,”
Zephyr spoke up. “We’re not gonna treat you differently because of this.”
“It’s not just that,”
I said, shaking my head. “Being on tour, being around all of this—it’s harder than I thought it would be. The drinking, the parties, it’s constant. And it’s wearing me down. This week I’m just feeling more on edge. More… vulnerable.”
Parker cursed under his breath. “Damn, sweetheart. I had no idea.”
“I didn’t want you to,”
I admitted. “I didn’t want to seem weak.”
“You’re not weak,”
Kage said, his voice firm. “Not even close.”
I glanced at him, my throat tightening. “It doesn’t feel that way.”
“We can dial it down,”
Zephyr said, his tone as steady as ever. “The after-parties, the drinking… we don’t have to do all that shit.”
“Yeah,”
Parker added quickly. “We can tone it down. It’s not like we need that stuff anyway. We’ve just been doing it because it’s… well, what we’ve always done. But we can stop. For you.”
I looked between them, surprised. “You don’t have to change everything because of me.”
Kage shook his head, his expression serious. “No, we do. We’ve treated you awfully, Phoenix. Let us look out for you now. If this is what you need, then we’ll make it work.”
My gaze flicked to Parker instinctively. Of all of them, he was the one who indulged the most—always the first to open a bottle, always the last to call it a night. I didn’t mean to doubt him, but I couldn’t stop the flicker of hesitation that must’ve shown on my face.
He caught it. Of course he did.
“Shit, it’s a wonder I haven’t become an addict myself,”
Parker said, a small, self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips. “But I’ve somehow managed not to get too dependent. Drying out will do me good anyway.”
“I appreciate it,”
I said quietly. “I really do. But I don’t want to be a burden.”
“You’re not a burden,”
Zephyr said simply.
I nodded, blinking hard as I swallowed the lump in my throat. There were too many feelings to name, too many things I didn’t have the strength to unpack yet. So I settled for the one thing I could say with certainty. “Thanks. Really.”
The slasher movie played on in the background, but none of us were really watching it anymore. The tension had eased, replaced by a quiet sense of understanding. The road ahead wasn’t going to be easy. I knew that. But for the first time on this tour, I didn’t feel like I was facing it alone.
And that was enough. For now, at least.