Chapter 53 Ryder
RYDER
MONTHS LATER…
There are nights when the world doesn’t simply spin on its axis…
It detonates.
Tonight was one of those nights.
The impressive stadium, bursting with billion-dollar screens and a retractable roof, pulsed with both music and the energy of fifty thousand fans, each of whom had shelled out a fortune to scream themselves hoarse at us.
This was our show. Our music.
Our hands played our instruments. Guitars. Bass. Drums. Keyboard.
My voice sang our lyrics. Every now and then, Dixon’s deeper tone would resonate, threading beneath my lead vocals.
This was fucking amazing.
I felt the way I once had, back when we started out.
The rush of singing for anyone, anywhere.
Busking on streets. Booking shitty jobs.
Doing covers of popular songs at weddings because no one wanted to hear our original stuff yet.
We’d once played a goddamn pizza party for a kid’s birthday.
They’d wanted us to repeat the same song, and nothing else.
One fucking song for two fucking hours. Even that, now, was a memory that brought joy. That made me laugh.
Somehow along the line of healing, I’d found my love for the industry again.
Not the warped, twisted version as I tried to feel alive while fighting ferality.
This was the real, unadulterated passion for music.
For every part of it. Sometimes, I even found myself forgetting that the roar of the crowd, the screams, the handmade signs hoisted by over-eager groupies was for us…
for Oblivion Haze. It all felt fresh again.
Truly, for a heartbeat, I forgot we were famous.
But what I never forgot, not for a microsecond, was that she was watching.
“Rip it apart, my aching heart. Bleed my guilt upon the ground. Let this crimson be my death shroud. Penance for the way I treated you. I’m torn in two.
This is how my soul breaks.” I pressed my mouth into the mic, pitching my vocals low as I sang that last line.
With practice, I’d gotten an audible, grief-laced crack to form as I sang the word breaks.
I caught sight of Tessa from the corner of my eye as my fingers shimmied over the neck of my tour-worn, scratched Fender.
Looking at her was so natural, though staring too long put me at risk of messing up chords.
It didn’t take much for my entire focus to shift to watching her, wanting her, wishing I was with her.
Fuck, I’d stared at her for too long. She took me over, and I never could fight it. Never wanted to fight it.
My sight narrowed down until her face was all I saw. The scream of the fans faded until it was a gentle current carrying me to her. Tessa Fortune. Our Omega. The girl who’d never given up. Who’d clawed at survival while homeless. Who’d saved her cat through sheer grit and stubbornness.
Right now, though, she hugged a wall backstage. Obviously nervous.
I didn’t like to see her that way, as if she was counting down the seconds until doom struck.
Yet, I knew she could do this. I knew she would take our fans by storm. If they saw and heard her the way I did, they’d be in her thrall. That thought sent me reeling, backwards in time. How often had I said similar things to my pack brothers?
If you’d only seen her too…
If you’d only smelled her the way I had…
Fuck, if you’d kissed her, you’d understand…
Endless convincing, to no avail. Repeated arguments that no one won. Watching my pack mates all suffer, feeling myself suffer, as our baser natures began to creep in and take over. I could have relented. I could have agreed to find someone else. Hell, I had agreed. We signed up for Eros after all.
None of that mattered anymore. All that was over.
We were back where it all began. Seattle. The very city that almost ate Tessa alive, then spat her out right into our arms. Mine. Dixon’s. Mac’s. Tray’s. We could hold her every day now. See her sweet face. Drown in her glorious scent.
Where would we be without her? Where would Tessa be without us?
We’d all saved each other. We were still saving each other, and until the day we died, we’d keep saving each other.
I don’t think Tessa would ever understand how that first kiss with her lingered after she disappeared. How the feel of her mouth rooted in my brain, changing my DNA. It was like bits of her had slipped inside my soul that night, flowing between our joined lips, leaving a permanent tattoo.
The first time I’d smelled her. The first time I’d tasted her. The first time my Alpha nature connected in an undeniable, irreversible way. So many firsts, when I thought I was all out of firsts.
I was still staring towards her standing backstage. My eyes were glued to her. She turned slightly, gaze roving slowly. When she focused on me, the air sparked. Did she see it too? The bursts of fire between us.
I couldn’t make out the magnificent blue of her eyes through the glowing lights. But I could see the strained smile and the double thumbs-up she offered me. I knew she only did both to assure me she was fine. I wanted to stop singing, halt the music, rush over and comfort her.
But Tessa was strong. She didn’t need saving anymore.
Since I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, rush to her side, I sang for her. I sang like I never had before.
Mac’s keyboard was electric. Tray’s arms were a blur as he pounded the skins.
Dixon grinned as he absolutely shredded guitar.
I could tell they felt it too—the rebirth of Oblivion Haze.
This was our fate coming to fruition. Not in a weird, mystical way, but in the sense that all the bruises and therapy bills and midnight panic attacks had to add up to something.
We’d had long-standing affairs with fame.
We’d made a killing and squandered it on ridiculous shit.
Parties. Booze. Drugs. Gambling. Late night bidding on auctions that usually resulted in a mystery package weeks later.
A fucking Fabergé egg, or a goddamn limited-edition set of golf clubs. We didn’t even play golf.
Though to the outside world back then, we looked like we were riding high, I now knew those days were our low point.
Destiny, the real one, had caught up to us.
Tessa had pulled it along in her wake.
One song ended and we smoothly transitioned into “Land of the Lovesick”. We’d worked out a longer intro, time to make the introductions—for both the song and Tessa.
“This is one of our brand new songs, out on the next album! ‘Land of the Lovesick’!” I shouted into the microphone. “And we’ve got a special surprise for you!” I left it at that; I didn’t reveal the twist.
The music floated over the fans.
A slow beginning, crawling toward the start line.
One.
Two.
Three.
A heartbeat. Rhythmic, soothing. Tray caressed the drums. It always surprised me when he could restrain his feverish playing, suddenly becoming gentle and controlled.
Mac was on bass now. That low, warm thrum felt like a lullaby.
Dixon entered the fray, plucking out the melody. I juxtaposed that, beginning the dance between chord streams. I breathed in. Breathed out. Filling my lungs on a cocktail of pheromones, stage smoke, and my own Alpha scent—turned salty with sweat.
The past and present braided together. We were simultaneously at that fateful concert where I’d kissed Tessa, and this one.
I was Ryder Hendrix. This was Oblivion Haze.
The first line always hit. A punch to the gut, making tears prick my eyes.
“Nobody told me loving you would feel like dying.”
As planned, her voice joined mine. We harmonized, as if we’d been singing together all our damn lives.
“Nobody told me dying would feel so good.”
I turned, watching Tessa slowly walk across the stage. She held the mic with both hands, trying not to shake. But the tremors were trapped in her body. Her voice was steady, confident. She sounded like a goddamn mythical siren, each word she uttered floating out over the crowd.
It was crazy how the stadium quieted.
Insane how the fans reacted, going perfectly still as they watched.
“I’ve been living in the land of the lovesick for so damn long.” She focused on me. I didn’t blink. I let her know I was with her, every step of the way. “I’m so tired of being alone. So tired of being strong.”
Tessa completed the journey to the second stand, cradling the microphone in its holder. She leaned in with her eyes closed and crooned the next line. This time I didn’t join. I let her have the spotlight.
“Can anyone even save me? Can anyone even love someone who’s sick?” She placed her breathes exactly as planned. Pausing after the words love and someone.
Now, we all joined her, just once, repeating the questions. Because we’d all needed saving. We’d all been sick.
“Can anyone save me? Can anyone love someone who’s sick?” It was unusual that my pack brothers and I could harmonize. But we managed it for this song because it was so damn important to us all.
Tessa grew bolder, eyes opening. She bloomed before us, before the crowd.
And the crowd held its breath.
Watching her transform.
My chest swelled with pride so fierce it nearly knocked me sideways. This was our Omega showing fifty thousand people exactly what we'd known all along—that she was fucking magnificent.
"Take me to the place where broken hearts go to heal," she sang, her voice gaining strength with each word. "Show me that this pain I carry isn't all that's real."
Without consciously deciding to, I moved away from my own mic and stepped closer to hers. I got near enough that our cheeks brushed. I sang with her, and our voices blended into one. Puzzle pieces, clicking together.
"Don’t let me die in the land of the lovesick.” With that line, we began to alternate.
“Will you let me?” Her.
“I won’t let you.” Me.
“Die in the land of the lovesick.” Her.
“Cry in the land of the lovesick.” Me.
“Live in the land of the lovesick.” Her.
“Run with me from the land of the lovesick.” Me.