Chapter 24 Elijah
TWENTY-FOUR
ELIJAH
Our album hit number one on the Billboard today.
Number fucking one.
Not sure if this feels so good because my siblings and I accomplished it together with our new team or because it feels like payback to our old management, who are just getting angrier and angrier.
Justin, our old agent, went on a morning television show yesterday. Guess what he talked about.
Us.
I’m not one to get mad when someone runs their mouth about my personality because I know who I am. Yet the shit he was saying went too far.
How we didn’t write any of our music, how we lip-synched and used auto-tune, and—my favorite—how we made up fake backstories to enrich songs. That one was a blade to the chest.
Our fans are demanding we speak about these allegations. Some are defending us, and others are heartbroken. Fay is starting to lean more on addressing these rumors while my siblings and I are still hesitant.
We know our old team like the back of our hands.
They’re only doing this for two things—revenge and money.
Giving in to the allegations and speaking on it will bring them more attention, and that equals money.
The greatest revenge for us is being happy.
All the ruckus they’re causing just proves they hate that.
Triple Threat and Leonidas stand above me, where I hunch over my laptop in the lounge of the tour bus I share with my brother and Lily.
All the girls are playing with Stella in Leonidas’s bedroom.
The distant sound of Stella’s little squeals, filled with happiness, behind the door makes me want to barge in and be with them instead.
But I’m stuck out here, trying to figure out a plan.
“I understand you guys don’t want to say anything yet, but if this goes on any longer, they could tarnish your image. Isn’t that important to you?” Rowan stresses, looking at each of us in distress.
“Of course it is, man,” Leonidas groans, plopping down in the booth. “But at the end of the day, it’s their word against ours.”
“Who do you think your fans are going to believe more? You or the old management team they never cared about?” Axel raises a brow.
“People like to believe the worst.” I shrug, being the Debbie Downer.
“You have proof,” Axel argues back, getting in my face.
Scrunching my face at the suddenly close proximity, I push him away in the chest. “Personal space. Ever heard of it?” I say jokingly, noticing his scowl.
“Besties don’t give each other personal space.”
He’s got me there. We high-five like five-year-olds.
“You guys are children—you know that?” Rowan snaps, directing our attention back to him.
“I’ve done things no child would ever do.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Wincing, I move to stand on the other side of Levi. “I’m freaked out,” I whisper to my sister’s intimidating-looking boyfriend.
Triple Threat is a badass band—and I’m not just saying that because half of them are family now and the other are my best friends. Their music hits the soul.
Axel still has a boyish charm to him. His short blond hair is practically a fetish for his fans. Rowan is broody, with a perfect buzz cut. His fans die over his tan complexion that glows under the sun.
“Ew, Axel.” Levi waves him off, a frown pulling down his face. “Don’t ever say that shit again.”
“What? It’s true,” he mumbles, sagging in defeat.
“Anyway, getting back on track.” Rowan sends his bandmate a stern look. “It doesn’t hurt to play the same game and talk about it. Look at it this way: not only are you speaking your truth, but it’s also promoting the album you created, reflecting these past ten years with the old record label.”
“Doesn’t hurt to think about it,” Levi muses. “Strike ’em back, but ten times harder.”
“This is our second-to-last show in North America, Florida. How do you feel about that?” Leonidas sensually speaks into the mike, shirtless and sweaty.
The intimidating crowd of twenty thousand people surrounding us boo. The light-up wristbands they wear glow different colors, painting the arena in a beautiful rainbow. Fans in the pit raise their diabolical signs, jumping up and down in an effort to get our attention.
“Damn, you guys love us that much?” Laughter in his voice is evident. “We’ll be back soon; don’t worry.”
I feel the deep, somber notes that I’m strumming from my guitar on the bottoms of my feet. Closing my eyes and blocking out everyone around me, I beg to start thinking with my heart and not my head. Because the latter only leads me to run offstage while having a panic attack.
It’s such a strange feeling, being onstage. One moment, I’m in pure bliss, living my dream; the next, I realize how vulnerable my siblings and I are, under a spotlight onstage, at the mercy of the thousands of people around us.
What if someone else in this crowd is filled with so much hate that they take it out on us and strike?
No, no, no. Stop.
Sweat lingers on my skin; my fingers slip up on the chords. The mistake is heard from everyone in the arena. Behind her sparkly pink drums, Amelia gives me a concerned look.
Not wanting to worry her, I smile before giving the crowd a funny face. Distracting them.
“Our new album, Four Stages, is a very important piece of work to us.” Leonidas gestures behind him to us. “To be honest, we try to keep our ears away from the media. But we still hear stuff.”
What the fuck is going on? We agreed not to say anything.
Amelia sends me panicked eyes as she tries to keep up with the beat.
“If you’re waiting for a response from us, hate to break it to you, but it’s been under your nose this whole time. This—our album—is our truth. Maybe you just haven’t listened close enough.”
I almost laugh. My brother, who is known to lash out and not think twice about his actions, just uttered the most beautiful, mature, real statement.
“I wanna hug you, man,” I scream into the mic, and I’m rewarded with a wave of laughter.